#the curse of 'what you fixate on at 14 will stay with you forever' is very real

[neomachine]

You couldn't have come at a better time.

[emmyrosee]

For the 50 Types of Kisses writing Prompts: 5 & 14 with Axel :b

It had been weeks. 

Axel had never been known for his ability to stay in one place for too long, his needs to change scenery often keeping you and everyone around you on your toes, waiting for the day he would leave you and your life forever, the thought alone enough to make you feel absolutely ill and weak-kneed. You’d tried to convince yourself that he would stay, maybe, just maybe, you’d found and diminished the wanderer in his soul and he could find his forever home and location in your arms. He was happy with you, always assuring you of his love and devotion for you.

Three weeks from yesterday, you’d be proven wrong. Instead of turning on your side and smelling the cheap, drugstore cologne seemingly embedded in his tattoos and hair, it was the clean linen of your sheets. Instead of coffee and waffles with fruit dancing in the air, it was the stale morning dew and the misplaced, glorious glare from the sun through your windows. 

He was no where to be seen. No phone calls. No messages. No trace of Alexander Cluney, gone like a goddamned ghost in the chilled night.

Tissues and tears flowed, curse words and cheesy Polaroids slicing the thickened air of your heart break as you tired to readjust to your old norm, roughly three months ago before being infected with Axel’s addictive poison. 

Three weeks from yesterday was the last time your eyes would seemingly ever lay on Axel Cluney, three weeks for yesterday was the last time your ears would be blessed to hear his uncharacteristically innocent laugh or his husky voice close to your ear in the early hours of the morning and the deepest hours of the night.

It wasn’t until almost four weeks went by that a noise in the kitchen would wake you up out of a dead sleep, wishing now, more than ever that Axel was with you to keep you safe from whatever was in your home. You paw for your phone and dial the first two digits of your emergency line along with the metal baseball bat kept under your bed as you slowly approached the noise. A tall, looming figure in the opposite of the kitchen from you seemed to glow in the moonlight, almost unaware of your presence just feet away. In their right hand, a knife, in their left, a piece of bread-

A piece of bread?

“DROP IT!” You shriek, making the intruder do exactly that, with a loud clang of the knife to contrast the soft ‘plop’ of the bread hitting the floor. Before they can protest, you flick on your light, ready to whack the brains out of-

Axel.

“Babe, don’t!”

“What are you doing, you psychopath!” You continue to scream, no longer out of fear, but out of anger. “Are you in fucking sane!”

“I’ll explain everything, just please don’t hurt me!”

“I can kill you legally!”

“And I’m asking you to not!”

Even now, terrified by you, he still looked divine. Hie emerald green eyes widened in fear, dirty hands shielding his face with his cherry lips hanging open, shudders of breath trying to regulate his heart. 

Slowly, you lower your bat, “how did you even get in here?”

“I never got to give you your spare back,” he says softly. “A-A-And I didn’t want to give it back.” He scratches at the back of his neck, “I.. I want to stay here.. with you.”

A heavy ball of a sob weighs in your throat, your eyes welling up with tears, “you’re the one who left me for nothing. Why should I give you anything more?”

Slowly, he sinks to his knees, his eyes still fixated on you. “Because I love you,” he flinches as soon as he says it, but the expression quickly dissipates. “I... I never got to say it when I was here before. But I do. I love you so much. And I’m so scared but I’m so tired of running..” he slowly approaches you, his hands coming up to your waist, a chaste kiss placed to your stomach. “I-I love these hips and curves.. I love these hands,” he grabs your hands in his, wet kisses being placed on each finger. 

“I love your smile. I love your laugh. I love your heart and your kindness and your words and I don’t...” he licks his lips and moves his gaze down. “I don’t want to be scared of you.. of this. It’s ours, baby... please..”

After a moment of silence, you toss your bat to the side with a shattering clang! before you throw yourself at him, arms tight around his neck, his warm skin smeared with your tears. Your impact knocks you both onto your kitchen floor, mere feet away from the bread, though you say nothing in need to lock your lips together desperately, your limbs lacing around him desperately, as if scared to let go and have him disappear. 

“Don’t you dare break my heart again, Alexander Cluney,” you sob, immediately diving back into a kiss. He hums and pulls away, his movements cautious and sure of themselves, “never again, baby.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”  

(5. Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.

14. A kiss so desperate that the two wing around each other, refusing to let go until the are finished)

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 22

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Angst, Swearing

Words: 3,372

A/N: Again, special thanks to @ithinkimawriter​ for beta-reading this chapter and her encouragement! All the love goes to her!

It was hard for Arthur to fathom that he was backstage at his idol's show. Being there in the dressing room, sitting in front of the vanity mirror with all its lights, was incredible. If he hadn't been able to feel the bristles of the brush when he put foundation on, the cool of the water as he drank it out of the fancy glass they'd provided, or perceive the way the warm smoke from his cigarette filled his lungs with every drag, he would have been sure this was all make-believe.

The nearby table had a set of bowls with various snacks. He wasn't hungry, but he tried them anyway, wanting to keep himself busy. The round, beige nuts, a variety had hadn't eaten before, had a buttery flavor he liked - he'd have to ask Y/N what kind they were when she got there. And there were individually wrapped pieces of chocolate with a gooey center - he stuck a few of those in his pocket for later. There was also a gelatin pyramid with fruit and marshmallows suspended in it; he stayed away from that completely.

Bouncing up and down on his feet, he hung onto the open front of his suit jacket, pulling at the soft, red fabric. He cocked his head and looked in the mirror. His hair was slicked back more neatly than at the open-mic night. The skin of his face was a bit smoother, the lines in it softened by make-up and the gentle lighting of the room. He'd done a good job with his appearance, he thought as he fixed the collar of his white shirt. Now he just had to get through his material.

He sat in the chair before the vanity and started paging through his notebook, chuckling to himself. It had been impossible to memorize everything he'd written the past few days, though he knew one or two jokes by heart. He sometimes had difficulty with retention, anyway. Reading his set would be sufficient if his delivery was correct. If he could get the words out, it would work.

There was a knock at the door, then it suddenly opened. More emotion than expected filled Arthur when he turned to see Murray Franklin, the man he'd fantasized of being loved and accepted by ever since he was a little boy. His chest tightened, and he didn't try to hide the watering of his eyes, rising from his chair excitedly and taking the man's hand. "I feel like I know you," Arthur said. "My mother and I have been watching you forever."

Murray simply smiled, nodded, and delivered instructions: nothing too edgy, no dirty jokes, and no cursing. Arthur would be right on after Dr. Sally. "Didn't you have a guest?"

"She's not here yet. But she will be," Arthur answered, nodding to convince himself Y/N would run into the room any minute.

"Good. Someone will come get you, okay? Good luck," Murray said.

"Thanks, Murray."

Once the the host left and the door closed behind him, Arthur eased into the make-up chair and let out a long breath. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. The airing of the show was going to start in ten minutes. She'll be here. She wouldn't miss this. She wouldn't do that to you. He turned to the news playing on television. All he could do was wait and hope she'd show up soon.

~~~~~

Getting into the building had been straightforward. The doorman had asked for Y/N's name, she'd said it was "Melissa Treble," and, after finding her on the guest list, he'd let her through the backstage entrance. He hadn't even asked for an ID. It left her wondering if they were always lax, or her still being dressed in her office clothes had helped. Despite the ease of entry, her heart was hammering in her chest. She held her handbag to her as if some invisible force might rip it away. Straightening the visitor badge clipped to her blouse, she tried to walk as nonchalantly as possible, searching for a map of the building.

When she found the elevators, she read the directory hanging between them carefully. NCB news studios were on the fourth floor, and the offices for it were on the fifth. She wasn't going to try to run into the studio while they were in the middle of a broadcast and get arrested for trespassing. That wouldn't do. She decided to look for the stairwell and walk to the offices' floor. The stairs would be less crowded, she assumed, making it unlikely she'd be seen.

As she climbed, her steps growing slower with every floor, she took off her heels. The concrete was cold on her nylon-stockinged toes. But the discomfort kept her focused on the task at hand instead of allowing her to fixate on being nervous. The anxiousness she felt wasn't only for herself, but also for Arthur. She knew what she was doing was a desperate, last ditch attempt at making a difference. That even if she succeeded in getting her information to someone, it didn't mean anything would be done with it.

But Arthur was putting himself out there, against her advice, on the show of the asshole who'd made fun of his disability. Though she hadn't seen him have an attack since last week, she hoped he wouldn't start laughing uncontrollably. And that his new stand-up wasn't only filled with cute jokes, which would invite unkind snickers. She simply wanted him to succeed. Perhaps that would help him shed the insecurity she knew he still carried, and he'd be free to display the grace she'd seen glimpses of when he dared to trust himself. Maybe he'd finally realize how terrific he was.

She rested against the railing when she reached the fifth floor, then opened the metal door leading out of the stairwell. Sticking her head into the hallway, she looked each way, relief filling her when she saw the emptiness of the perpendicular corridors. She snuck out and held her breath as she shut the door behind her. So far so good.

It was impossible for her to know which way to turn - it was a fifty/fifty chance either way - so she picked the way with the fewest illuminated office lights. Keeping her shoes in her hand, she walked quietly along the wall, reaching into her purse and grabbing the envelope with "NCB News" typed on the front. She needed to find a door labeled "reports" or "tips" or something, anything that sounded vaguely like they'd look at her notes instead of throwing them away.

"What do you mean you didn't receive the finance report? I faxed it over this afternoon," a man's voice said, coming from one of the nearby offices. Y/N slunk back, creeping into the door of an open, presently unoccupied office behind her. The sound of papers being shuffled echoed against the linoleum floor. She closed her eyes, trying hear his movements over the pounding pulse in her ears. "Hold on, hold on. I'll bring it down to you," the man continued.

At the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, she moved to crouch behind a desk. She bit her knuckle to stop a chuckle at the ridiculousness of a grown woman playing hide-and-seek in an office building. The man walked by, grumbling to himself the whole time. When she heard the distant ding of the elevator, she tip-toed to the door and looked into the hallway.

Y/N considered the best option. The man's office door was open. He had mentioned reports. This was as good a chance as any. She darted across the corridor, dropped the envelope on his desk, and scurried back towards the exit. Heading back to the stairwell, she broke into silent sprint as she got closer. She tried to stop before slamming into the door. But her slippery nylons caused her to slide and bang into it as it opened. Ignoring the possibility that she'd just given herself away, she started booking it down to the second floor so she could see Arthur.

The show was already being aired as she walked to his dressing room, trying to catch her breath. Monitors in the hallway were playing Dr. Sally's latest advice and Franklin's stupid quip about how he would try her tips with his next wife. When she reached the door labeled "Arthur Fleck," she didn't knock before opening it.

"Y/N..." Arthur sprang up from his chair and went to her, taking her hand in his. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

Smiling, she leaned back against the door and exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry," she said, giggling, trying to expel the stress in her body. "There were a lot of stairs. But, thanks to you, I did it." She laughed lightly, and started rummaging in her purse. "It's out of my hands now. Here," she said, pulling out a black-eyed Susan. She stuck it in his jacket pocket and gave it a light pat. Then she took a few seconds to look him over, appreciating how his suit accentuated the lankiness of his physique. "You look great. Are you nervous?"

The corner of his mouth crooked uncertainly as he angled his head to look down at the flower. "A little. But you're here." He gave a small shrug. "Maybe everything will be okay."

She only had a few moments to tighten his red and gold tie before a producer came to get him. The peck she gave Arthur was quicker than she would have liked, but he was already half out the door. With a grasp of his hand, she was able to stop him for a split second. "Be yourself and don't let them mock you."

~~~~~

Arthur closed his eyes as he waited behind the curtain to go on stage, a hint of ire joining the strains of anxious excitement in his frame. They were playing that terrible Pogo's tape again, and Murray was telling Dr. Sally he thought Arthur had problems. He needed to focus in order to do the entrance he'd practiced.

He stretched an arm in front of him, then circled his closed fists, one over the other, until an open hand was held over his head as he breathed out. Then he extended his arms, one in front of him and one back, as far as he could, before bringing his hand back to smooth down his chest and stomach. Arthur could sense the producer next to him staring his way as he performed his strange ballet, then stepping back from him. But Arthur didn't care. The movements would soothe and, he hoped, center him enough so he could get out onto that stage and say what wanted.

As the multi-color curtain was opened for him, he was struck by how blinding and hot the stage lights were. And the spotlight was a hell of a lot brighter than the one at Pogo's. Still, he stepped out with polish, gave the audience a confident nod and wave, and went to Murray's desk. After firmly shaking Murray's hand, he approached Dr. Sally. Compelling himself to be brave, he took her offered hand, kissed her cheek sweetly, and whispered a soft, "Thanks." She looked a bit confused, but he thought he detected amusement, too. Then he wiped off the yellow chair next to Murray's desk and sat down, adjusting himself and crossing his legs, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

His breath caught as he looked up into the audience. This was it. This was real. This was the culmination of a dream. There were hundreds of people sitting there, cheering for and seeing him. And there were even more at home watching him on television. His lips parted as his gaze roved over the crowd. He'd barely heard Murray speaking when his question broke through the haze he was in, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Arthur said quietly, nodding. "This is exactly how I imagined it."

"Well, that makes once of us," Murray quipped.

That and the audience's laughter brought Arthur back. He forced himself to smile and remember he wasn't there only as a guest. But also as a prop.

"So," Murray started. "I know you're a comedian. You live here in Gotham. Backstage you said you grew up watching this show with your mother?"

Turning to him, Arthur nodded, loosening his shoulders, trying to be self-assured. "That's right, Murray."

Murray gestured towards the camera almost directly in front of them. "Is she watching tonight? Do you want to say hi?"

Arthur knew greeting his mother would be the usual thing to do. But, apart from brief asides, he hadn't been able to think about Penny without angrily tearing up. He clenched his jaw and waved the suggestion away. "No."

After a pause, Murray continued. "Well, have you been working on any new material? You wanna tell us a joke?"

The throng in the studio roared, applause filling Arthur's ears. He didn't answer immediately, reveling in their attention. "Yeah?" he asked them, his beam becoming genuine. His throat clenched as he straightened his legs and put his hands on his knee. It was hard to believe, but they actually seemed to want to listen to him. "Okay." Flashing Murray a grin, he pulled his journal from the waistband of the back of his trousers.

Murray started in on Arthur as he soon as he began flipping through the pages. "He's got a book. A book of jokes." As Arthur searched, Murray continued to badger. "Take your time. We've got all night."

Arthur gave Murray side-eye and chuckled to himself as he found what he was looking for. "Okay, okay. Here's one." He swallowed, then took a deep breath. "Knock knock"

Murray pointed at the book. "And you had to look that up?"

At the sound of everyone laughing at him, Arthur’s face became serious. Murray was already making the effort to be mean to him. Arthur looked at Murray's co-host, seated next to Dr. Sally on the couch. His guffaws were the loudest. "I wanna get it right," Arthur said earnestly. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?" Murray answered exaggeratedly.

"It's the police, ma'am. Your son jumped off of Wayne Tower." Arthur started to snicker. "He's dead."

"Oh, no, no, no." Dr. Sally rounded on him as the audience groaned. "No. You cannot joke about that!"

Murray sounded annoyed. "Yeah, that's not funny, Arthur." He tapped his cue cards against his desk, addressing the crowd as he admonished him. "That's not the kind of humor we do on this show."

"Okay. I'm-" Nodding furiously, Arthur continued. "Yeah, I'm sorry. It's just, you know..." He tightened his mouth. "It's been a rough few days, Murray." Sniffling, he tried to smile though the pain welling in him. "My mother having a stroke, finding out I was abused as a kid, trying to meet my father."

Murray pressed his lips together before seemingly deciding to try to save the segment. "It sounds like you had a tough week." Arthur flinched when Murray nudge his arm with his elbow. "Come on, tell us another wisecrack. But a family one, this time." he said, pasting on a showbiz smile.

Arthur rolled his eyes and closed his book. "Why is everyone so upset about my joke?" he asked.

Murray began to scold him. "Because that's too serious to kid about. People who would try that are sick. We should-"

"I've been that person," Arthur said, throwing his forearm down on his leg. "And if it was me dying on the sidewalk, you'd walk right over me." He drew his brows together, turning more fully in his seat. "You think it's funny to play my video, to invite me here to make fun of me, but I can't joke about what I know?"

There was disbelief in Murray's face, as if he couldn't believe Arthur was calling him on his bullshit. "That video got you here. On the biggest TV show in Gotham." The crowd cheered. They seemed to be taking Murray's side.

Fury grew in Arthur as they brushed off his words. "Comedy is subjective, Murray. Isn't that what they say?” Didn't the people of this city know the harm they'd caused him over the years? That tape had tormented him. And they didn’t even realize they were laughing because of his condition. “All of you," he said straight to the audience, "the system that knows so much, decides what's right or wrong. The same way you decide what's funny," he pointed at himself, "or not." Giggling, he indicated Murray.

Murray was looking over Arthur's shoulder as he spoke. "Look, Arthur, if you're not careful, we're going to have to stop this interview."

Arthur felt like he was being ignored, again. They thought what he had to say wasn't worth the air it took to speak it. He tried to take a deep breath, reminding himself Y/N was watching backstage. That he could finally look forward to the weeks ahead because, at last, someone loved him.

But as much as her affection had improved his life, helped him get through every day, it wasn't enough to erase his hurt and anger. And now that he had this platform and was being seen, now that he'd opened his mouth, he couldn't stop talking. His volume rose as he continued. "Have you seen what it's like out there, Mur-ray? Do you ever actually leave the studio? I've been in enough observation rooms to make a few observations."

The wetness in his eyes distracted him for only a moment before he continued. "Nobody’s civil anymore!” he yelled. But then his voice got quiet, cracking on his next words. “Nobody thinks what it's like to be the other guy."

He thought of the possibility of being thrown out of his apartment, and Mr. Wayne socking him in the face when all he wanted to do was talk. "You think men like Thomas Wayne ever think what it's like to be someone like me? To be somebody but themselves? They don't. They just think we'll sit there and take it."

Murray scoffed at him. "There's so much self-pity, Arthur. I'll tell you-"

"And you're awful, Murray."

“Me? I’m awful?” Murray sounded incensed. “Oh, yeah? How am I awful?”

The skin of Arthur's chin trembled as he tried to hold himself together. "I never had a father growing up. I always wished he was you. I loved you. But you're just like the rest of 'em."

Murray folded his arms and leaned on his desk, narrowing his eyes at him. “You don’t know the first thing about me, pal. I invited you on here and all you're doing is insulting me.”

Arthur swallowed and looked up at the ceiling, pressing his lips together. "How about another joke, Mur-ray?"

"I think we've heard enough of your jokes," Murray said sternly.

If he was about to get kicked off, Arthur wanted to end with a zinger. "What's the worst part of having a mental illness?" he started, feeling tears start despite his efforts to hold them back.

Murray nodded towards someone in the back. "Gene, cut to commerci-"

Arthur interrupted, his voice breaking. "People expect you to behave as if you don't."

It got quiet, then. Arthur decided no one knew how to respond to the reality in the joke he'd just told. As the silence from the audience, the other guests, and Murray lingered, he started chuckling. He placed his hand on the arm of the chair and squeezed, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm as his body shook and he bent forward with laughter.

After a minute, he heard the click of high-heels approaching. When Y/N knelt in front of him, he met her gaze and let out a breath of relief. "Y/N," he said, swiping at his nose. She'd put her hand on his knee. He reached to cover it with his fingers, holding tight. "You're still here," he whispered.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she nodded, her eyes rimmed red. She squeezed gently as she addressed him with a shaky voice. "Let's go home."

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​@invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss​ @gruffle1​

[rogers-metaphor]

Lessons in Falling in Love: Chapter 14

Permanent warning/disclaimer:  this will be a story that contains smut, will have cursing, and other themes like these. So, if you’re under the age of 18, please skip this story. Also, everything in this story is completely fictional and not based on real life!!!!!!!! It’s for dramatic and entertainment purposes only.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this chapter!!! Let me know what you think and if you have an predictions for whats to come!

previous chapters: One, Two, Three , Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, 

my masterlist

Selene’s heart was pounding in her ears, even as he answered the door with a warm smile. He moved to the side to let her in, and she stood waiting as if she hadn’t been there a million times before. She could barely breathe, counting the steps to get to his dining room table where she sat. She remembered that first time she sat there, the morning after their first night meeting and she felt nostalgic. The scent of his house was the same. Fresh and manly all at the same time. It all looked just as she remembered it, nothing had changed as they got to the kitchen. More memories flooding back in. 

Joe’s heart was heavy in his stomach. Of course Selene came to his house looking beautiful. To him, she always was. His favorite looks including when she was fresh out of the shower, her damp hair falling around her face, skin tinted a bit red from the hot water. Another being when she’d wake up, sleep still in her eyes, a lazy smile on her lips. He loved these moments and they came back as he found her standing in front of him on his doorstep. 

Today hair was pinned back off her face, her eyes lined in that familiar black sharp lines. He used to watch her in the mornings applying it with precision. He was hypnotized watching her turn her face into a piece of art. 

“How are you?” his voice interrupts her thought train, snapping her attention to him. She shrugs, debating on how honest to be. 

“I’m okay.” her eyes avoided his, and instead scan around the familiar kitchen. The same kitchen she spent her afternoons in, her arms wrapped around Joe’s waist her cheek pressed against his back. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she fidgeted with her hands. This was the same kitchen she would cook with Joe in. The ghost of the laughter hung in the air, it was too much for her. Her knee began to bounce, as these memories still ate at her. She didn’t think she’d be affected like this, she didn’t think it would hit her like a slap in the face. 

“Do you want some coffee?” he asks. “Or tea. I still have your favorite afternoon tea here.” he says, and his eyes drop down to her bouncing knee. His eyes searching for hers, but she’s still busy replaying old memories. So they stay fixated on the polaroid of the two of them, now pinned on the fridge. 

He wanted to reach out and comfort her. Wrap his arms around her and tell her that she didn’t have to be anxious around him, of all people. That’s what he was used to doing. That’s what he liked to do. 

“Yeah.” she said, not answering the question straight. She shook her head, trying to shake out her jumbled thoughts with it, realizing her mistake. “Sorry. I’ll take some coffee.” she half smiles, though it’s hard. Her eyes only flash to his for a minute, his gaze too intense for her to keep it any longer. 

She can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s sad in that moment. She too, wants to comfort him, but refrains from moving. She swallows, watching as he grabs a coffee mug, her favorite one, printed with giraffes. He bought it just for her, to keep at his house. She had drank so many cups of coffee out of it. Coffee that helped get her through her all nighters. Coffee that came with sweet kisses from Joe in the morning. 

She inhales deeply before exhaling, watching as he turns on his coffee machine and starts it up. “How are you?” she asks, not being able to stop herself. She did want to know, she was curious to what he had been up to. 

“I’m okay.” he shrugs. Her lips turn down, at his short answer. What does that even mean? she ponders silently to herself. 

“Good.” she manages, though her throat burns with unasked questions. 

It’s silent. It’s not the comfortable silence she’s used to with Joe. It’s almost loud. Like everything they want to say to one another is there, hanging in the air. It’s thick and heavy and she feels like it’s laying across her chest. It almost blocks out the sound of him stirring her sugar into her cup. She hadn’t realized she zoned off, until he set the coffee cup in front of her, making her jump at the sound and how close he was. 

He smelled nice, he always did. Not just faint cologne but the smell of his laundry detergent. The smell of his peppermint face wash. Then coffee. She tried not to think about it. He looked good. He looked refreshed, and handsome as always. She looked down at her coffee and sighed silently again. This was harder than she thought. 

“I-I don’t know where to start.” she can barely manage, her voice is so quiet it’s almost like she’s whispering. He offers her a smile, one that’s encouraging. It was the same smile he’d give to her when she was having trouble with homework. Or when she’d second guess herself. She looked back down, her bottom lip raked over by her teeth. She looked up at him, silently begging him to say something first, anything. 

“Are you really okay with this?” he asks, coming through. “Being in Gwil’s wedding.” he clarifies. 

“It’s not my call to make.” she says. “I just want them to be happy.”

“Nova isn’t happy.” Joe responds, and he sounds disappointed or sad. Selene giggles, without being able to stop. 

“She’s not.” Selene clarifies. “But, I can talk to her.” 

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” he says, “I know Nova never will.” Selene finds his eyes. Pretty and hazel, and sad. She loses her train of thought in them, her heart skipping a beat. If anything, this makes her angry. “I just need you to know that I love you. I still care about you… I miss-“ 

“It’s not about us.” she snaps. “It’s not about us.” she repeats in a quieter tone.  Joe just nods, his lips pressing into a hard line. His eyes falling down to table. “I want to try and be friends.” Her words coming out faster than she can stop them. He lights up a little, his lips curl into a smile. 

“I’d like that.” he sighed, as if he couldn’t breathe before that sentence. She is hesitant and for a moment she wants  to change her mind. Her eyes find his again. 

“I better go.” she says, looking back down at her coffee cup. Filled. She changes her mind immediately. “Maybe I should finish this.” she offers, and he smiles and nods. He wanted nothing more than to have her sat across from him. 

“Please.” he says, his arm out as a welcoming gesture. 

They sit quietly for a few minutes. Again, the air is filled with just their thoughts. Unsaid words and feelings hung in the air. Selene’s eyes found his and she felt that familiar heat rising in her chest, especially watching him smile, and look down bashfully. His eyes crinkled at the sides, his cheeks rose up. His pearl-white teeth shined. She smiled too, but quickly looked back down into her cup, still coffee sat almost at the top.   She tried to brush it off like it wasn’t affecting her, like it didn’t hurt her heart just enough to burn. 

She was the one to break the silence.  

She asked about his mom, his sister, and brother. Missing them, as much as she missed him. He happily filled her in, and that just got their conversation going. It led to two cups of coffee. Then it led to sitting on his couch, talking about her classes. His classes. Until it didn’t feel awkward anymore. Until it didn’t hurt to talk about their current lives apart from one another. 

She tried to ignore their blatant chemistry that was palpable with each topic of conversation. With each carefree laugh and each lame joke. She tried to brush of the butterflies that still seemed to inhabit her stomach when he’d laugh so hard and throw his head back. That was when she found him most attractive, and she hated the way she still felt herself gazing at him, like he was the most beautiful thing she’d seen in her entire life. 

He was fighting the same thing. The urge to reach out and move hair that fell in front of her eyes when she laughed so hard tears welled up. The urge to hold her hand and cuddle into her as she spoke about her life void of him. He was happy she didn’t mention her love life, or another man. It gave him a little hope that maybe one day they could be together happily again. 

“I better go.” she says, after some time, standing up because if she didn’t she’d probably stay even longer. He jumped up too, and again they both acted like they didn’t know what to do next. She didn’t want to leave. She knew she had too. He opened his arms, and she hesitated but  practically fell into him. 

big mistake. 

He held her tightly, like if he let go she would disappear. They both molded into each other, like nothing had changed. Their eyes fluttering shut. His head resting on hers, her cheek pressed against his chest. She could hear his heart racing beneath his sweater. Joe’s hand running up and down her back was comforting, and she hated how good it made her feel. She wanted to stay there, because that’s where she felt the most safe.

She had memories of laying in his arms after rough days, cuddled against him. His scent the same, calming and fresh. Memories of him holding her after they made love, trying to catch their breath, lazy smiles on their lips. She could stay there forever. He felt memories of holding her like this. When he was having a rough day, he would fall into her arms, her nails running through his hair, through his beard. The smell of her hair brought back their shared showers, and mornings when he’d wake up before her. He wanted to make her stay, beg her for a second chance. They stood there for a few minutes longer. That’s when she pulled away, slowly. 

She found his eyes again, feeling her heart sink and her breathing start to shutter. She could feel in the pit of her stomach what was coming, and the way he held her in his arms meant she was right. His hands slowly found their way up to her cheeks, his thumbs gently running along her skin. She burned red hot at his touch.  He leaned into her, her arms involuntarily wrapping around his neck, just like she was used to. Her head tilting up just a bit, his lips were close to hers, and she longed for his familiar kiss. She missed it. She craved it. She could feel his nose brush hers when her eyes fell shut. Her breath hitching, her heart beating heavy against her sternum. She braced herself for his lips, inhaling a shaky breath. 

Then she thought about Ben. Ben didn’t deserve this. 

“We shouldn’t.” she whispered. Though she didn’t move. Joe let go of a breath he had been holding, his forehead falling against hers. “I can’t… I’m sorry.” Her palms rest against his chest.

He nods, “I understand.” he spoke, his tone is soaked in heartbreak. Her hands are still against his chest, his hands are still holding her but he’s the one that let’s go. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” she says, sighing. They stand in front of one another for a few seconds before she moves for the door. “I’ve got to go.” she says, “It’s getting late and I promised someone I’d go see them.” she doesn’t mention a name, but in that moment, Joe knows. His heart sinks into his stomach. He knows it’s another guy. He tries to play it off, like tears aren’t threatening his eyes. 

He simply nods, following her and watching her get to her car. Watching as she drives off, both of them are unsure of where being friends would take them. If they made the right decision. If being friends was even a viable option.  

...

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Nova said, “Joe doesn’t have to be in the wedding party.” 

“It went fine, obviously.” Selene groaned.

“Yeah it went fine. You do realize now Joe and Ben are both going to be in the wedding party, right? Your ex boyfriend and your new boyfriend.”

“Ben’s not my boyfriend.” Selene corrected.

“Yet.” Heather chimed in. 

The three girls sat around the couches at Selene and Nova’s. They had the house to themselves and had been watching movies and hanging out all day. Selene had just gotten back from a sleepover at Ben’s when she found her two best friends waiting for her. 

“You could cancel the wedding and go to Vegas instead.” Selene suggests. 

“Trust me, I wanted to do just that. My parents had another plan in mind.” Nova rolls her eyes. “My mom is looking up venues while Gwil and I try to make up a guest list to get a head count… I hate all of this.” 

“We’re here to help.” Heather tries to comfort her. Nova gives her a genuine smile. 

“Now if we can help her,” Nova mumbles with a nod toward Selene. 

“I’m fine!” Selene protests.

Heather and Nova both glare at her, turning toward one another. “She needs our help.” they say in perfect unison. 

“I’m good. I’m over Joe. I am fine.” Selene says, her hands raised in defeat. Her friends look at each other and back at her. 

“Are you, though?” Heather is the one to ask. Selene hesitates and sighs.

“Yes.” she says flatly. It’s soaking in a tone of unsure. Her friends know this. They continue looking at her skeptically.

“You almost kissed him.” Nova says, “The guy you’re over.”

“He almost kissed me!” she snaps, not angrily. Defensively. Her friends raise their brows in unison, and purse their lips. It was like a mirror image and Selene groans. “I went to Ben’s. Right after. I left him to go see Ben. So what does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means.” Heather groans. 

“You should have just left it. Gwil would have kicked him out of the groomsmen and we wouldn’t be having this exact conversation.” Nova groans too. 

“When do we get to go wedding dress shopping?” Selene tries to change the subject quickly. Nova looks like she might protest, just for a minute. Then she knows it’s no use in arguing anymore. They’d exhaust themselves going around in circles all night. She sighs. 

“My mom and Gwil’s are throwing us an engagement party. Then we can wedding dress shop.” Nova says, looking down at her phone. 

The subject stayed on just that, wedding stuff. All the planning to be done, the date, the dress, the location. It was a lot. Selene was gushing again, getting to talk about it. It was all she had ever wanted. She felt like her heart would burst at the joy she had for her best friend. Because she was happy. 

Then a little part of her felt sad. She always dreamed of her wedding day. Every part of it had been talked about hundreds of times. Selene had saved every wedding list she could find. Locations of her dreams, dates, honeymoon ideas. Color schemes and beautiful dresses. Themes and ideas and songs. And the guy. The guy that would be waiting at the end of the aisle. The guy of her dreams that would cry when he saw her dressed in white. Someone she would spend the rest of her life with. Her soulmate. 

and for a moment, only one had flashed in her mind. 

Joe. 

And she thought about how she felt like she’d never find a man that wanted to spend his life with her. Her dreams seemed to be out of reach and unrealistic to her. For now she had to brush these feelings aside and put on a happy face for her best friend.

@omgellenlouise@hellysthings@justapurrcat@endlesslydead@hardcoredisneynerd@laurenn-nicoleee@asiachekov106@babebenhardy@fairestkillerqueenofall @hellysthings

[hopeduckling13]

Find My Way Back To You: Chapter 28

Summary:  Hope Swan-Jones is the product of the product of true love and her true love, so her having very powerful magic was always in the cards. Luckily she lives in a town where everyone is very familiar with magic, so nothing can go wrong, can it?

Or so everyone thought, but then one day as a newborn Hope accidently travels back in time with her mother Emma.

How will the past population of Storybrooke react to their Savior having another kid and being married? And more importantly will the Savior and her baby daughter find a way back home to all of their loved ones?

- - -

Catch Up:

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857127/chapters/34395467

FF.NET: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12964592/1/Find-My-Way-Back-To-You

Tumblr: [Prologue] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20] [Chapter 21] [Chapter 22] [Chapter 23] [Chapter 24] [Chapter 25] [Chapter 26] [Chapter 27]

Reblog to be tagged in future chapters

Taglist: @capswantrue 

~~~ EMMA’S POV ~~~

Hope and I have been trapped in the past for a whole month now. Every day I lose more and more confidence, that we’ll find our way back to Killian. 

Why does time-travel have to be so freaking complicated?

Probably because it hasn’t been done yet – only twice. And somehow, I’m lucky enough to have been part of it both of those times. It just doesn’t feel like a whole lot of luck. I hate it actually.

I just want to go back home to the rest of my family. I see them here, but they’re so different. It doesn’t feel like my family is here at all sometimes. Just some other people, who might act similarly as my loved ones. They also treat me just the same, I suppose. But this still doesn’t feel like home.

I can tell because I miss my version of Storybrooke. I miss my future.

I don’t know how long I can go on like this. It’s hard. 

I just want my husband back. He’s someone I can’t even really hang out with here since it’d be suspicious. We weren’t friends back then, after all.

I just miss him so bad.

Luckily, Hope doesn’t seem to be aging, despite us having been here for a whole month. She still looks like that cute 3-week-old baby. She also hasn’t learned anything new. 

That’s great since it means, Killian isn’t missing out on anything - except spending time with us. 

I wouldn’t wish that on him. I know how it feels like since I gave Henry up. I do have some fake memories of raising him from birth, but those aren’t real. I never got to see him grow up because he deserved his best chance and I couldn’t give that to him.

And it feels even worse knowing, that now I missed another big part of his life.

I don’t want that to happen to Hope and Killian, and it seems like it won’t. Unless, of course, we never make it back to Storybrooke. That would suck.

But Killian wouldn’t notice then, would he? Because the future would never be the same. 

If I’m stuck here forever, I’ll never get married to Killian in the first place and Hope won’t even have been born. Will she just vanish one day?

I hope not. She’s my only real happiness in this place.

Except maybe Emma. She is kind of like a twin sister to me. I love that. I will miss her once we’re gone. I can tell it’s going to be hard for her to say goodbye, too. At least until I erase all of her memories.

Then, it’ll be like we never existed at all.

She isn’t enough reason to stay here though. I wouldn’t do that to her since me being here might mess up her happy beginning, too. I can’t risk that. 

She deserves to be with Killian and Hope one day. 

So, yeah, I have to find a way back home. It can’t be impossible, right? I just probably haven’t tried hard enough yet.

“Emma?” Mom’s voice surprises me and I almost jump. 

I mutter Shit under my breath.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She says quietly while approaching me. “I was doing some laundry and found these in your pockets. I thought, that I should give them to you.” 

She puts both my engagement ring and wedding band in the palm of my hand. 

I smile gratefully at her. “Thank you.”

She smiles in return and sits down next to me on the bed. She looks at Hope, who is lying in her crib. She has her eyes open but is completely quiet. She must be exhausted. She hasn’t slept much for a while now. I can tell, that she isn’t happy here either. She misses her dad.

I play with the rings by rotating them around my finger. I don’t even notice until mom looks at the rings.

“They’re beautiful, Emma.” She says softly.

“I know. My husband has got a good taste.” I smile proudly. He really does have really good taste. But what did I expect? He’s a pirate after all, so of course, he knows good jewelry.

But I can’t tell the past version of my mother.

“I’m glad you're happy.” She says. “Emma was so broken and lonely when we first found her. She still is. Sometimes I was worried, that she was never going to be okay. That she’ll never be happy. Thank you for showing up and showing me, that my baby gets what she deserves in the end.”

“You had doubts? Wow. That’s scary. No wonder I was so lost back then. If not even you were sure, I’d find my happy beginning. You are like optimism in human form.”

Mary Margret nods slowly like she’s afraid I’m going to get mad. I’m not though. I might’ve reacted that way a few years ago, but now I don’t see this as an attack.

“Hey, it’s okay that you worried about me. I never thought, that I’d ever be more than a lost little girl, who didn’t matter. But then Henry brought me to Storybrooke. For a long time, I didn’t realize this, but he wasn’t bringing me home to break a curse. He was bringing me home. He brought me back to my family.” A few happy tears run down my cheeks. 

I can also see some tears forming in Mary Margret’s eyes.

I take her hand in mine and look at her with meaning.

“I’m not mad, that you were worried about me. It only means that you care deeply about me, which I really appreciate. Thank you.”

I hug her tightly.

Then we hear the front door and Hope starts crying. I pick her up and cuddle her. She calms down immediately.

A few moments later, Emma comes running up the stairs.

“Is everything okay? Did I startle her?” She asks worriedly.

“A little, but it’s fine. She’s okay now.”

Emma sighs and reaches out her arms. I give Hope to her and she cradles her head while balancing her on her hip. 

“I’m so sorry.” She whispers into Hope’s ear. 

I run my hand down Hope’s back. A mistake, I realize too late.

It only takes a moment until Emma’s eyes fixate on my rings. This is the whole reason I didn’t wear them - I didn’t want to freak her out and now I failed at that.

To my surprise though, Emma seems okay. She even has a soft smile on her face.

“It’s okay, if you wear them, you know? I know about you being married anyway, so there’s no need to hide them from me. I won’t freak out.” 

Wow. She’s making progress. Maybe our combined magic will get me and Hope back home after all. Maybe she’ll be able to control hers soon. Who knows?

“Thank you.” I hug both her and Hope.

[abloodymess]

David Lynch was born on January 20, 1946. He is a late Capricorn, almost an Aquarius. As of now, he is 71 years old. Donald Trump was born on June 14, 1946. He is a Gemini. As of now, he is 70 years old. Two Grampas. Light And Dark. They are Grampas IRL, but also Grampas to Amerikkka. Both Grampas have weird, iconic hair. Both Grampas went to school in Pennsylvania for stuff that only tangentially relates to their later empires, which they built at least partially in 1970's NYC, a time and a place which formed who they would be and how they would be the rest of their lives. David Lynch has been married 4 times. Donald Trump has been married 3 times. They are fond maybe even fixated by women considered beautiful and alluring. David Lynch is the kind of Grampa who will tell you amazing stories in as few words as possible, which are totally precise and totally vague simultaneously, who will take you to places he deems important, or which have the best desserts. He is the Grampa you can hang out with while they make furniture and listen to old records but you are never getting bored because it is just nice to spend time with them. This Grampa is corny, tells off-color jokes which are embarrassing, can't get your pronouns quite right or figure out what your deal is with all of that, but you let it go because no harm is intended and ultimately their heart is full of love. This Grampa is getting ready to die and is at peace with it, wanting to give an account and a statement of themselves to the world before they do so, one which is so totally them, in all of their weirdness and flaws and eccentricities that it is an account of a life lived, for both good and ill, but one which is honest as possible. Donald Trump is the kind of Grampa who seethes and rambles, spilling language and phrases in as many words as possible, trailing off, contradicting himself, gossiping about the neighbors even when that stuff can't possibly be true, frightened of how the neighborhood is changing, angry at everyone around them, feuding with members of their family, unable to take responsibility for how their life is now, constantly threatening to rewrite the will to favor whomever is in favor and cast out whomever is not. This Grampa stays on the couch, watching TV all day long, yelling and cursing or muttering, forgetting to eat or eating only fast food that someone else has dropped off. Both Grampas are obsessed with conspiracy theories, with the nature of what Amerikkka really is. Both love and fear law enforcement, particularly the FBI for what it represents and what it can do. Both see the world growing darker as they attempt their final statements about who they were and what they have done. One Grampa you are psyched to visit. One Grampa not so much. People who know them like telling stories and anecdotes about their weird behavior and the strange things they have said in hushed tones of awe. Both Grampas operate improvisationally, open to possibility and changing fortune, requiring absolute freedom to unilaterally change course, contradict themselves, untethered to fixed being, shrouded in what is unclear, one in mystery and one in lies. Once they are gone from this earth, they will be remembered and talked about as legendary folk heroes and villians, people who couldn't possibly have ever really existed, yet whose mark on the world in which we live is indelible, formative, greater than their personalities, greater than their individual consciousnesses, each having created whole realities from themselves for others to inhabit for years and decades and maybe forever. They never fought each other with swords or with knives or with guns or with anything.