#i have to tag this like crazy i spent an absurd amount of time on it this morning bc the audio kept doing weird stuff

[jumpinjohnnyjumble]

2001 a space odyssey but hal is the tiktok text to speech voice

[sansxfuckyou]

from hero to the hunted

Summary: a brief glance into the ways John Dory coped with the isolation, and how the hell a Pop Troll managed to survive for twenty years in the mountains

Warnings: gutting a massive fish (it gets a bit gross), grieving, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: I've been thinking of how in the fuck he survived out there in isolation since I saw the movie, now I've written about it so I can sleep easy at night. anyways! hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider dropping a reblog or checkin the ao3 port, it really means a lot

"It's just me and my armadillo now, I guess," John Dory said, out loud, too himself, even though no one else existed in this empty forest. It was just him and his armadillo, which he was going to kill for meat, but chose against it when he realized she was sort of... Hollow.

She didn't have any meat, she was just an exterior, why she was like that he didn't know. And he would've left her alone, forever, but she decided to nuzzle up against his leg and chirp at him and he couldn't deny that. Only a monster would deny that, so he picks her up and starts on his way to carry her through the woods so she doesn't step on anything sharp.

It's kind of stupid, adopting an armadillo for no reason other than 'she looked at me and made sound' but he's a big brother. He's the oldest brother, he's spent his entire life before leaving being the caretaker. Their parents just paid attention to each of them equally and it didn't feel like enough, so he decided to start taking care of his little brothers too. Packing lunches, doing laundry, just being as good a brother as he could be before the band started.

And now it's been four years since he left, he's twenty one and he's probably going a little bit crazy with the isolation. Just a little bit nutty, a minuscule amount of absurd with how much he hasn't interacted with anyone or anything in years. Maybe that's why he's picking up this little creature and carrying her around like she's his little sister. He needs a placeholder to fill that void of a little creature in his life, that'll fend off the depression if nothing else.

"I'm gonna call you Rhonda," John stated as he placed her down on a log and started on foraging on some small twigs and slightly larger rocks for a fire pit.

Rhonda just chirps in response.

-/-/-/-

"I think it's a big one!" There's a laugh on his voice as reels in dinner for the night. It fights, thrashing and kicking up a massive splash of water every which way.

Rhonda is quick to amble over and bite the back of his vest tugging him just a bit whenever he lurches forward. Step by step she slowly pulls him back while keeping the cord from snapping with the tautness of it.

"Thanks girl, I'll save you the liver," John promises, it elicits a purring chirrup from Rhonda. He yanks the rod one last time and the fish is in the air, falling down to the ground in seconds, "Hold it down for me."

The armadillo does as told, pressing one paw on the tail fin to keep it down despite it's writhing. She bats it once or twice with her other paw while John grabs his knife, although it's more of a cutlass compared to the size of his body. He drives it through the eye and holds it until the fish stops moving, Rhonda steps back, resting on hind legs as John works.

He works smoothly really, digging the tip of the knife into the tender underbelly of the fish and running it up to the base of the jaw. Blood is minimal, but it still drips from the frayed flesh as he pops on his goggles. He takes a deep breath before diving into the complete and utter darkness. It's dripping with whatever rests inside of a fish's organ cavity and it used to make him feel like vomiting, but that was a long time ago, back when he could still carry Rhonda in his arms.

It's a pulsing and oozing mess, but he persists, cutting the cords and just hauling them out like they're anything but organs. He takes extra care with the liver and tosses it to Rhonda specifically before sliding out and moving onto cutting off the head.

"I hope you like that liver, this guy was living offa swamp scum," John commented as he lopped off the head, severing the spine with a practiced ease to his motions.

He's twenty seven now, ten years into his isolated life in the mountains and the forests and the swamps. He doesn't know how much longer he's gonna stay out there for either, he's probably a freak to the average Troll society now. He's happy here anyways. He has Rhonda, he has his sword, he has a group photo of him and his brothers before everything went wrong.

He's absolutely odd these days, positively so, talking a shocking amount of thoughts that enter his head. Eating whatever plants don't look poisonous and having Rhonda hit him with those defibrillator paws if he passes out from said plant. Cutting open giant fish and other assorted creatures that he comes across. He can store most of his stuff inside of Rhonda anyways, he could sleep in her if he wanted too, but the nights are never cold enough he has to leave her alone at night.

"Hey girl, can you get a fire going for me?" He asked rather loudly as he worked on trying to wedge some of the bones from delicate fish flesh. It was a tedious process but he'd rather do so than risk Rhonda choking on some bones.

There's a loud rumbling purr before Rhonda walks off to get some sticks.

-/-/-/-

It's a bad night, age thirty and he's spending another night laying awake thinking of his brothers and he left them. He thought he dropped this habit on his sweet, sweet twenty sixth birthday where he found an abandoned barrel of lager. He drank himself into a waking coma that night and came too about a week later, semi naked and covered in tinsel and hay. He still shudders to learn where that tinsel came from, but even more so about where the fuck the hay came from.

He's sleeping inside of Rhonda that night, the cold bite of winter air too much for him to bear. He's stuck staring at the ceiling with his few mementos of what his brothers were lay beside him plastered to a wall. He knows they've changed by now, for fucks sake, he's changed, albeit, probably for the worse considering how feral he is. He eats meat, he's always on the run from some monster, he talks to his armadillo van, he definitely wouldn't be able to just assimilate back into society.

John heaves a sigh, tears are hot on his face and his body shudders as he exhales. He misses his brothers. He misses the nights he'd spend falling asleep nestled against Spruce cause he stressed too hard over the song line ups, or he worried too much about his brothers in one way or another. He misses having Floyd there to try and calm down, he regrets not listening to his younger brothers worries and soothing words. He misses all the jokes and the choreography that Clay would carefully craft for them, he misses their secret handshake. He misses Spruce, he misses Floyd, he misses Clay, he (somewhat) misses Branch.

He doubts they miss him, he broke the one law of eldest sibling: never leave you baby brothers. He shattered it, he ran off to the mountains and he's been in said mountain for thirteen years hiding and scavenging. He left, he abandoned them to go be 'brolone' and he's experiencing a intense wave of regret again when he was sure he was over it.

"This is fucking stupid,"

He's an idiot, he thought he'd be fine alone. He adopted an armadillo, he killed her parents, her siblings, he killed all of them and took her in to replace his brothers. He can't go alone, he's not built like that. There's no more stress to keep all of his pieces together, he's gotten so comfortable in the mountains the wilderness fear has gone down too much to act as a substitute.

John just rolls onto his side, away from where his few memorabilia of his brothers exist. Out of side out of mind. He's crying because he lost his favorite vest to the woods, not because he lost his brothers due to his own hubris. Definitely not, and maybe if he tells himself that lie enough times he'll believe it.

[ibelongtowrath]

I Forgot To Say “Goodnight” - MLQC Gavin (NSFW)

Summary: It's been a long day of investigating the mysterious illness that seems to be plaguing Loveland. Gavin brings you home, only to be stuck for the night from an impromptu quarantine. Rating: Explicit! 18+ NSFW Relationship: Gavin x Reader, Gavin x Female Reader (1st person) Tags: oral sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, fingerfucking, fluff and smut, eventual smut Word Count: 4,406

Read on AO3

Notes: This is my first ever fanfic, and I had to go big by writing a smut one! I hope you like it!

It’s late, almost midnight, so everything is quiet as Gavin and I walk through the door of my apartment; almost eerily so, adding to the already dismal mood I’ve been in for the past hour. A whole day spent investigating, only to end up with no answers as to the mysterious illness that’s been going around Loveland. People have been falling ill left and right, with seemingly no explanation as to why. Evol powers have been getting out of control lately in Loveland, the amount of incidents skyrocketing exponentially since last month. 

Before I enter the door behind Gavin, I steal a quick glance across the hall, and just as quickly, look away and walk through the doorway. It’s been weeks, and not a single word from Lucien.

He might have an idea what’s going on. Lucien...  

Suddenly, the memory of his betrayal flashes before me. Raw anger and sadness grip my heart for a split second, and I have to suppress a gasp. The thoughts weigh down on my mind, and I feel a sigh escape from my lips.  I can’t think about this now. I can’t.

My eyelids suddenly feel heavy, as though they’re made of bricks, and I’m struggling to keep them open. Giving in to the fatigue, I allow myself a moment of sweet darkness as my lids close slowly. Gavin,  sweet, sweet Gavin , catches my arm as I stumble forward.

“Are you okay?” he asks, studying me, his brow slightly furrowed.

“Yeah,” I answer, opening my eyes further. “I’m just...tired.” My eyes meet his, their honey-colored amber hue daring me to get lost in them. He squints slightly, then lets his eyes soften as he relaxes his brow. He releases my arm once I’m stable and standing up straight. I lean against the counter, studying him as he faces me.

“We’ve had a long day. That’s understandable. You’ve been working yourself to the bone.”

I nod in agreement. I take a second to admire the way his light brown hair falls messily, but carefully at the same time, across his handsome face. I know he has to leave soon, now that he knows I’m safe. 

But... I kind of wish he doesn’t have to leave.

I shake my head furiously at the absurd thought, mentally picturing myself crumpling it into a ball, and throwing it away. I had been dealing with these confusing feelings for a while now; stowing them in the back of my mind, not quite sure how to sort them.

Gavin is always there for me, when I need him most. He’s always ready to rescue me, telling me that as long as I’m in the wind, he can find me. It was difficult trying to reason with myself as to why my heart pounded harder, harder every time I thought of him. I’m always the damsel in distress, and he’s always my knight in shining armor. 

I realize Gavin’s still looking at me, and feel the heat of shame rush to my cheeks, even though he has no idea what I was thinking. The dimmer switch is on low, casting a hazy light over the kitchen. I silently pray that the lighting gods have blessed me, and Gavin can’t see the embarrassment written on my face.  I wonder if he thinks these things about me ...I cough abruptly, then look up at him.

“Thank y-” 

The shrill, ear-splitting sound of a siren suddenly interrupts my gratitude. I instinctively clap my hands over my ears, wincing at the sound. Gavin looks around, assessing the situation calmly. He’s so good at this, and I’m...not. He looks at me, then turns towards the door.

“Stay here,” he demands as he goes to leave the apartment. As he opens the door, the wail of the siren shrieks louder. He steps out the door, and the alarm ceases. I sag in relief. Glancing out the window, I see familiar red and blue lights, flashing brightly against the dim light of the apartment. Gavin turns back around to look at me again, stepping forward, and-

“Attention. Attention. ” A loud male voice stops us yet again. “ Please remain in your respective homes. We are enacting a temporary quarantine until further notice, effective immediately. There is no immediate cause for alarm. Please remain in your home, and do not leave under any circumstances. We anticipate opening the building back up again sometime tomorrow. Thank you.”

What is going on? Is it this serious ? I shake my head. I can’t help but wonder if Lucien is in his apartment, and secretly wish I could ask if he has any idea what’s happening.

I hear the click of a door being closed, my head turning towards the sound, and realize it’s Gavin. He reaches his arm behind his head, gazing towards the floor, an impassive look on his face. It finally hits me, the fact that he is unable to leave, and will have to spend the night. I feel myself blushing furiously again, silently cursing myself for my earlier wish.

Be careful what you wish for, dummy …

I inhale deeply, attempting to control the frenzied chaos of the varied emotions swirling around inside of me. My eyes meet his, and he gives me a reassuring smile.

“Looks like I’m not going anywhere, so I’ll be able to protect you a little bit longer,” Gavin says. I feel a wave of gratitude overtake all the other feelings, and I’m finally able to focus. “Everything will be okay.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, returning his smile. “I’m sorry, my couch probably isn’t all that comfortable…” I trail off, because my next extremely intrusive thought slams its way into my head:  We could share my bed …

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” There’s that reassuring look again. The way his face softens when he looks at me just about does myself in. Afraid I’m going to suddenly collapse into a pile of bouncy Jell-O on the floor, I force my legs to move to the closet, where I grab a blanket and a spare pillow for Gavin to use. I fold the blanket gently over the couch, placing the pillow on one of the arm rests.

I must look nervous, and I do feel a bit shaky; suddenly Gavin crosses the room just then, and gives me a soft, reassuring squeeze of my shoulder. I startle a bit, then look up at him. A sense of calm comes over me. I truly feel safe whenever he’s with me.

Looking back at the couch, I cough again. “If you need anything else, just let me know. Oh, and, if you need to…,” I trail off again, trying to quell the heat threatening to betray my calm exterior, “you can use the shower. I have plenty of towels in the linen closet, and if you don’t mind smelling like lavender, the shampoo and conditioner are yours to use too. Oh, and there’s a spare toothbrush.”

He laughs, patting the top of my head. “You’re always thinking of everyone else before yourself,” he tells me. “Go to sleep. You need it.”

I look up at him, grinning. “Okay, Officer Gavin.” I salute him, and he laughs again as I walk away towards my bedroom. I open the door, close it gently, then run and collapse onto the bed, a deep sigh escaping me. I feel my eyelids grow heavy again. I’m exhausted, and ready to welcome the sweet, dark embrace of sleep.

A few minutes later, I hear the click of the bathroom door closing, and the  swish  sound of the shower turning on. Just then, I realize I never actually said “good night” to Gavin, and, being the way I am, it bothers me. I resolve to wait until he’s out of the shower, then tell him. It will make me feel better, especially since I barely got to say “thank you” for always being by my side.

About twenty minutes pass. The water shuts off, and a few minutes later, I hear the bathroom door open. I cross my room, open up the door and walk out. Cheerfully, I pad my way over to the living room.

“I forgot to say goodn-” 

Immediately, the sight in front of me causes the part of my brain that controls my speech to fizz out. Gavin is standing in the living room, with only a grey plush towel wrapped around him, sitting low on his hips. His arms are raised, drying off his hair with another towel. The ripple of his strong, muscular shoulders flex with the movement of his arms. Several scars decorate his deltoids, tempting me into tracing their outlines; to feel the stories hidden deep within them. At the sound of my voice, he turns around. He looks surprised, but the look quickly turns into something else that I can’t quite place.

I am absolutely floored, and nearly have to grab the doorway to prevent myself from falling to the ground. The beautiful, intricate muscles I could see when his shirt had accidentally lifted, are finally on full display. His broad, strong shoulders and his chest are still slick with a slight sheen from the water. 

His arms are perfectly sculpted, as are his chiseled six-pack abs; they, too, glisten with tiny beads of water, dripping over the taut ridges of his abdomen. Even the muscles around his clavicle are taut and defined; I want to bury myself in his neck and breathe him in. 

For a split second, I let my eyes drift down to his low-hanging towel that shows off a delicious, tantalizing line of muscle by his hips; that perfect v-line, driving me crazy, and in the middle of it, I can see the happy trail of fine, light brown hairs that travel from his navel down to where I can’t see...but I wished, more than anything, that I could.

“I, uh, I...I forgot to say ‘goodnight,’” I stuttered. My face is so hot, it feels like it could burst into flames at any moment. 

The impassive look on Gavin’s face quickly softens. He relaxes his arms, resting the towel around his neck. He smiles, taking a step towards me. 

“You’re so cute.”

Okay, now my face is absolutely  flaming . I can only imagine that my skin tone looks akin to a tomato at this point. Quickly, I turn around to retreat back into my bedroom. As I’m turning, I feel Gavin’s warm hand grip my arm, gently forcing me to turn back towards him. Up close, the sight of him is even more disorienting, and I can’t help but look down where the towel is hanging off of him.

Suddenly, his hand moves from my arm, tracing the curve of my neck. He cradles my face in his hand, gently moving my head from its downward position so that I’m looking straight up at him. Our eyes meet, and this close, I can’t help but to fall in deep; deep into those beautiful, honey-colored eyes that I never want to look away from. The only way I can describe the emotion in his eyes is...hungry.

His lips part slightly. His thumb traces over my lips, surprising me with how soft his skin feels. I can smell the relaxing lavender perfume of the shampoo in his hair. I feel myself compulsively leaning into him, our bodies now pressed together. I want nothing more than to kiss him, to feel his lips on mine.

Gavin leans in, lips soft on my neck. He kisses it gently. Slowly, methodically, he kisses my neck again, making his way to my jawline. He gently presses me forward, so that my back is leaning against the arm of the couch. Finally, he presses his mouth to my own, which I part slightly, ready for him. At the touch of his lips, I feel a burst of heat travel down my body, and it feels as though I am blooming under his touch. His lips are surprisingly soft, and I don’t want it to stop.

I bite down gently on his lower lip, and his tongue makes its way to meet mine. I hook my left leg around his waist and he pulls his tongue away, while a soft moan escapes his lips. My arms are around him, and I dig my nails into his shoulders, as if he’s anchoring me to that spot; I don’t want to move, or for him to stop, for that matter. Surely, he can feel the pounding  thump, thump  of my heart against his chest.

His mouth presses down on my neck again. I feel his hand gently reaching under my t-shirt, gliding along the curve of my waist; the touch sending shivers up my spine. Gavin’s hand travels further up, up, and he cups my left breast, causing a small moan to escape from my lips. I can feel his toweled erection between my legs. My own excitement starts to thrum, and I can feel the arousal drenching my underwear.

At that moment, Gavin pulls away. I feel suddenly cold, the absence of his body on mine almost like a shock to my system. I pant slightly, aching for his touch again. He holds his head in his hands, shaking it furiously.

“I can’t...I’m so sorry,” he says, walking towards the front of the couch. He sits down, still holding his head, which is hanging low. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you. God, I…” he trails off.

My legs are a bit shaky, but I make my way over and stand in front of Gavin. He drops his hands into his lap, looking up at me. His eyes widen, and I know he’s drinking in the sight: my lips are pink and swollen, my hair messily falling around my shoulders, and eyes full of desire.

“Gavin...I want you. I  need  you,” I tell him. He doesn’t say anything as he watches me move towards him. “I don’t want you to stop. Please.” Feeling bold, I don’t let Gavin answer; instead, I straddle him, my legs on either side of his waist. He inhales sharply, then grins, his mood visibly shifting.

He presses himself against me again, and I feel his soft lips against the curve of my right breast through my t-shirt. Every touch feels like sparks igniting on my skin. I feel so powerful in that moment, so bold and sexy. I pull away from him briefly, cross my arms to grip the bottom of my shirt, then lift it above my head and off onto the floor. Gavin’s breath hitches, and I feel his arms reach around my back and onto the hook closure of my bra, undoing it so smoothly I barely feel it come loose.

I let the straps fall off my shoulders, and the bra drops to the floor, my breasts now completely exposed. Gavin puts his mouth to mine again, and I grind my hips against his legs, pushing closer, both our bare chests now pressed together. 

The fire returns, shooting straight from my heart down to my hips, and landing between my legs. The desire I feel burns deep; all I can think about is Gavin and his body, and I feel his hardness pressing against me again, which only helps to stoke the fire within. His mouth travels downwards towards my breasts again, while he stops along the way with short, tender kisses against my hot skin. 

His right hand caresses my left nipple gently as his lips make their way down, and I groan. Then, I feel his lips on my right nipple, his tongue flicking at it gently, and I shudder slightly with the pleasure of it, small goosebumps forming on my skin. I lose track of time, with no idea of how long we’ve been pressed together like this; eventually, Gavin pulls away from my breasts and makes his way back to my lips, his tongue meeting mine again, hot and heavy with lust, almost greedily. 

Gavin leans back then, pulling our bodies apart, and I look at him. The yearning, raw desire written all over his face is so satisfying. I hold his amber gaze steadily, and he leans in towards me, mouth next to my ear. He nibbles lightly on the lobe, making me bite my lip to hold back a whimper. Suddenly, he picks me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and he places me on the kitchen counter.

“How badly do you want me?” he whispers, his voice husky, leaning into me, asking the breathy question directly into my ear. His breath tickles deliciously. The throbbing heat and desire between my legs won’t stop growing, and I can feel how wet I am with the anticipation.

“I could tell you,” I purr, my voice dripping with honey, “but it would be much easier to  show you.” 

I take his hand and guide it under my soft shorts, letting his fingers hook gently underneath my underwear. Gavin’s breath hitches again, and his fingers venture in further, gently massaging me. The fire is now an inferno, impossible to put out. Then he slides two fingers inside of me, and I cry out in pleasure. 

“Mph!” My moans are muffled by his tongue on mine. Gavin’s fingers curve upwards and down, in a come-hither motion, and I lean back on both my elbows onto the counter; my back arching, my body writhing in the thrill of it. I pull him closer to me, and he leans into my neck, biting the skin gently and sucking. I move my hips along with the rhythm of his fingers, and the delicious mix of pain and pleasure drives me to the edge. I cry out again as the orgasm shudders through me, my nails raking across the skin of Gavin’s shoulders.

I come back down, breathing heavily. Gavin removes his fingers from inside of me, and I grab his hand, sucking on his fingers with my tongue, tasting myself. I’m so  hungry , hungry for more of him; more of his touch that sears my skin. At that moment, he tugs my shorts down my hips, taking my panties with them. They drop to the floor, and he looks at me then, taking in the sight. It’s a gaze filled with such raw desire, and he swallows, all thoughts of the self-control he was trying to have earlier completely erased at the sight of my pretty pussy on full display, the evidence of my arousal dripping down my thighs.

I let my hand trail the fine hairs of his lower abdomen, retreating into the towel still somehow wrapped around his hips. He’s rock hard, and I wrap my fingers around his dick gently, teasing them down the shaft until my thumb circles the head, caressing it lightly. I repeat this a few times, feeling the slick wetness of his pre-cum on my finger. I grin, and Gavin moans into my neck.

“Wait,” he groans, and backs away. “Not here.”   

I can’t help but look at him in that moment, his breathing labored, desire wild in his eyes. I hop off the counter, my legs a little unsteady. I take Gavin’s hand in mine, and lead him into my bedroom, the lights still off. Out of habit, I pull the door closed, even though I live alone. The window is open slightly, a warm breeze caressing our bare skin as we walk towards the bed.

Gavin sits on the bed, grabbing my hips and pulling me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him again. He finally undoes the towel knotted around his hips, and his cock springs out as the fabric pools underneath him. I grab him again, stroking him gently, smiling devilishly at the delicious feeling, knowing I’m doing this to him. Suddenly, Gavin stands up, lifting me with him, and gently lowers me down onto the bed, spreading my legs with his knee.

“You came already, but I'm feeling generous, so I’m going to give it to you again,” Gavin coos. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do next, but all I know is that I want him, desire him in a way I’ve never felt about anyone else. He presses his mouth to my navel, planting kisses as he makes his way down the contours of my body. His lips leave a trail of fire down my abdomen.

His lips graze my inner thigh, and again on the other side. My pussy throbs with the anticipation. The feeling of it is so delicious, so tantalizing, I hunger for more. I feel Gavin’s tongue between my legs, licking and sucking my clit ever so slightly, driving me wild with the pleasure of it.

He pulls his tongue away, replacing it with his fingers. His thumb begins to circle my nub, and I cry out. His fingers find their way back into my pussy, and they plunge in and out of me. His tongue resumes its rightful place licking around my clit at the same time. I feel the orgasm start to crescendo, and instinctively buck my hips against Gavin’s face. He hooks an arm around my leg, holding me down, not missing a beat of pleasure.  I relax my body, and as I reach the climax, I feel a gushing between my legs.

“Gavin!” I cry out. I lose control then; legs shaking, my body nearly spasming with the orgasm, arching my back, and then pitching my body forward. My legs still parted, Gavin comes up, then leans forward and presses his dick against me. My legs are still shaking, and I’m so, so wet. I can feel the fluid dripping down the bottom of my thighs.

“Good girl,” murmurs Gavin into my neck. His dick presses harder against me. He thrusts into me then, filling me up with himself, and I gasp at how big he is. I’m so wet, so ready to take him in, that it doesn’t hurt; just a slight pressure, and it feels so good. He begins to thrust back and forth, leaning over me, lips pressed against my neck, groaning softly. I arch my back and he lifts my hips up, making the angle deeper.

My arms are around Gavin’s neck, and I thread my fingers into his soft, still slightly damp hair. He continues slamming into me, moving his mouth down lower as he does, tonguing my nipple. The feeling has my blood thrumming with the pleasure of it, my entire body electrified; then, suddenly, he pulls out. He’s panting heavily, raking his eyes over my body as I’m in this compromised position. He leans over me, stroking my face gently; a gesture that doesn’t match the hungered, lustful look in his glistening amber eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “you feel so good...I was about to bust and I’m not ready yet.” 

I sit up on my knees, facing him. “Let me ride you, and I bet it’ll be even harder for you to not lose it.” 

He grins, challenging me, and we switch positions: he lays on the bed, and, finally, straddling him, I’m in control. I lower myself onto his cock leaning over him to press my face into his neck, and begin rocking my hips back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. He moves with me, our movements in sync, hands on my hips, guiding me up and down with the tempo of our own song. My head is in the clouds, filled with ecstasy; the feeling of power that comes with knowing that I’m in charge of his pleasure. I feel so amazing, so sexy; something I haven’t felt in months, and I’m relishing every second of it.

Gavin keeps his hands on my hips as I move up and down slowly, then a little faster. “Ugh, fuck,  fuck …” I hear him murmur after a little while. I lean back, curving my body slightly, opening up the angle a bit. My breasts are bouncing with our in-sync movement. I feel Gavin move his hand from my hip, further down; taking advantage of the angle, he begins to circle my clit with his thumb again. 

I’m still sensitive from the previous orgasm, and, mixed with the pleasure of his cock thrusting in and out of me, feeling my pussy tighten around him with anticipation. I dissolve into the pleasure, like a spring coiling tightly, and then releasing; the delicious wave of fire and lightning coursing from between my legs all the way up into my chest. 

“Gavin,” I whimper, leaning over him once again, and he kisses me gently. We resume our previous rhythm, and I know he’s getting close. He grunts, deepening the kiss, then shudders slightly and moans against my lips as he emptied himself into me, filling me with his seed. 

Gavin pulls out, and lays next to me on the bed, cradling my face in his hands. He cups my cheek, and I nuzzle my head into his hand.

“Gavin…,” I whisper, not quite sure what to say. He kisses the top of my head, stroking my hair gently.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into my hair. I bury my face into his chest, both of ours rising and falling with the same rhythm. It’s so late, and suddenly I feel so worn out, and so comfortable in his embrace, that I feel my eyelids flutter. I can’t keep them open anymore, and, with Gavin stroking my hair, fall into a deep sleep.

When I wake, it’s light out. I rise slowly, leaning on my arm, and notice the bed is empty next to me.  Gavin ? He probably got called out on a mission, and had to leave. I walk out of my room and into the living room, glancing at the unused blanket and pillow still sitting on the couch. Smiling, I pick them up to put them back into the linen closet. On my way there, I see a small yellow note, decorated with gingko leaves, folded on the counter. Confused, I pick the note up and unfold it carefully.

Good morning , it says, in Gavin’s handwriting. I grin unabashedly, closing my eyes, remembering his touch. As though in answer, a warm breeze trickles through the open window, gently reminding me that Gavin is always with me, no matter where I am.

[welllpthisishappening]

All was Golden in the Sky (2/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

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Rating: Mature Tag List: @kmomof4 ; @shireness-says ; @profdanglaisstuff ; @captainsjedi ; @ultraluckycatnd ; @thejollyroger-writer ; @winterbaby89 ; @melsbels ; @tiganasummertree ; @jennjenn615 (If you’d like to be tagged or not tagged or tell me your thoughts about library chairs, let me know.) AN: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING SO LOVELY ABOUT THIS STORY. I am genuinely so excited about what’s to come and we’ve got some banter and Chinese food and Ruby and KISSING. THERE’S KISSING IN THIS CHAPTER. Another huge shoutout to @resident-of-storybrooke for her art @distant-rose for her chapter banners @bmbbcs4evr for being the best and @cssns for hosting this event. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

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They don’t find much. It’s incredibly frustrating. 

And what they do find isn’t in English and only leads to more dead ends and Emma wonders if she’ll end up in the papers if she starts pulling her hair out. The next few days pass in a blur of lingering worries and latent anxiety, slightly musty books and a very nice librarian with brown hair and an easy smile and she’s still got no idea how to save magic or defeat some sort of mythical evil. 

Ruby’s spent the whole afternoon trying to figure out how to translate the latest book they’ve requested. It’s not in English. 

“This is the worst thing we’ve ever done,” Ruby announces, slumped into one of the chairs at the table they’ve commandeered as their own. Emma is starting to consider the chairs some kind of New York Public Library torture device. 

She’s definitely got a bruise on her back. 

“Is it?”

Ruby nods seriously, and the bags under her eyes have bags. “Bar none. Including that one time you and Mary Margaret tried to sneak me out before the full moon so she could talk to that one group of rabbits.”

“That was not my idea at all,” Emma argues, memories flitting through her mind and Mary Margaret had been certain that Ruby’s heightened wolf senses would help. It was absurd. The rabbits were terrified. Ruby was hungry. And Granny had threatened to tie them up by their shoestrings in the basement of the diner as soon as she figured out what was going on. 

“Semantics,” Ruby mumbles. She huffs out a breath of air, frustration obvious in the sound and someone wearing very expensive headphones actually has the gall to shush them. Emma widens her eyes. “God, this city is the worst,” Ruby continues, voice rising. It’s on purpose. 

Emma knows. 

She understands. 

She’s going to have find ice for back. 

“What if we call it a night?” she suggests. “We’re not going to figure anything else out and you’re going to go attack that guy sooner rather than later.” “I resent the suggestion.” “Rubes.”

Ruby sticks her tongue out. “He’s just being a dick for the sake of being a dick. Those headphones are definitely noise-cancelling. It’s ridiculous.” “Chinese or pizza?” “You’re changing the subject on purpose.” “Yes,” Emma nods, slamming shut the book in front of her. The dust it emits makes her cough. “And I really can’t sit in this chair anymore.”

“Ah, well, I guess that’s fair. Alright. And pizza, obviously.”

They order pizza. And eat the whole thing. Plus garlic knots, Ruby making several pointed jokes about vampires that fall a little flat, but Emma’s exhausted and they don’t find anything the next day either. Or the day after that. 

And the sun is just starting to go down when Emma jogs up the stairs towards her door, keys clattering in her hand and several different emotions that, mostly, boil down to just pissed off lingering at the base of her spine. There’s someone standing in front of her door. 

“C’mon,” Emma groans, and she does not have the energy to fight the Dark One right now. Or his minions. Animated or otherwise. “Are you kidding me?” she yells, a sudden tension in the air that she refuses to take responsibility for. Mostly because it only serves to make it blatantly obvious that the person standing in front of her door is not intrinsically evil. 

He turns slowly, like he’s a little worried about the reception he’ll get otherwise, a hand in his hair and one side of his mouth tugged up and--

“Hey,” Killian says. “Sorry, uh...hold off on the curses, ok? This isn’t an attack.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Was that not a funny joke?” “No.” “Ah,” he nods, lips quirking back down. He hasn’t moved his hand. “Right, right. Well, ok--that’s thrown a wrench in my plan, honestly.” Emma lifts her eyebrows. “Did you have a plan?” “Like. Half a one. Possibly three quarters.” “To?” “Talk to you? I saw you this afternoon.”

She cannot possibly get her eyebrows to go any higher up her forehead. She tries anyway. “You know you’re really not selling this whole no-stalker thing.”

“Yeah, I realize that,” Killian laughs, hand falling back to his side when he takes a step towards her. Emma doesn’t flinch. “I don’t usually work that far uptown, but Belle asked me to cover her shift and she’s been telling me about this woman coming in for the last few days asking about myths and legends and--” “--Hold on, hold on,” Emma interrupts sharply. Her hands are resting on his chest. She doesn’t remember deciding to do that. “Belle the very nice librarian? Is talking about me? To you?” “She’ll like that title quite a bit actually.” “Killian!”

Emma has to stop staring at his mouth. It’s doing weird things to her...soul. And the voice in the vision or whatever she’d had a few days before was oddly familiar. Killian swallows, tongue flashing between his lips and he moves his hand excruciatingly slow, fingers curling around her wrist like they belong there. 

“Belle and I have worked at the library for years,” he explains. “Known each other since the dawn of time and all that cliché shit. She’s my friend. And Scarlet’s fiancée.” “No shit.”

He barks out a laugh and for one, incredibly crazy, sleep-deprived second Emma is certain he’s going to kiss her. Right there in the hallway. 

She has to glance down to make sure she hasn’t burst into flames. 

She hasn’t. 

And Killian doesn’t kiss her. 

Damn. 

“I promise I’m telling you the complete and honest truth, Swan,” Killian grins. “But, uh...Belle’s been fascinated by whatever it is you’re working on. Said it was the project of the century or something. Only, well, she and Scarlet had to do some wedding venue thing today--” “--Wow, you’re really getting into the romance of it, huh?” His eyebrows are more impressive than hers. “I hate the uptown D. It always smells like garbage on that train.” “We’ve been walking.” “God, that would take forever.” Emma hums, tugging lightly on the shirt her one hand is still resting on “Tell the rest of your story. So, you were stalking me again?” “Not intentionally.”

“Points for effort I suppose,” she mutters, hopeful she’ll get another smile for her joke. She does. “And you didn’t want to...you know, say something when you saw me?”

“You looked rather caught up in thought, love. It’d be rude to interrupt someone so studious.” “Sure it would. So...what is this, then? You letting me know that you were staring longingly across--what’s the name of that one room?”

“The Rose Main Reading Room.” “Naturally.” Killian scoffs, ducking his gaze and digging the toe of his shoe into the horrendous carpet of their apartment building’s hallway. “I just...well, like I said, Belle mentioned that you’d been in there. Obviously she didn’t know I knew you, but--what?” The face thing. It’s got to stop. 

“Do you?” Emma challenges, and it’s too much, an overstep and movement away from flirting, but her magic is soaring and she’s having a difficult time staying cognizant. Her fingers grip Killian’s shirt tighter. “Know me?” He blinks. “I’d like to.”

And that’s enough. It shouldn’t be. But it is. It’s enough and then some, a promise and a guarantee and Killian’s soft exhale is warm on Emma’s cheek when he moves his head back up.

He can’t possibly feel her magic. 

She knows it. 

She wants to be wrong. 

Desperately. 

He didn’t actually object to her use of longing. 

“Huh,” Emma says lamely. Killian smirks. “Belle’s been talking about the research? “She’s a giant nerd.”

Her smile moves across her face like it belongs there, any sense of nervous energy disappearing into a cloud of magic and...something else. The cloud is metaphorical. “It sounds a little bit like you’re the giant nerd and you just don’t want to give yourself up.”

“I’m not disputing the possible idea that I may be passably curious in whatever you’re doing in the classics section and why some of the books that you’ve been requesting are not in English.”

“Shouldn’t there be, like, some kind of librarian-patron confidentiality agreement?” “Not as such, no.” Emma clicks her tongue. This is flirting. “Ok, so. Belle’s a great, big giant gossip and she tells you...what? That I’m researching something, some of which is in a language I absolutely cannot understand and--” “--I can.”

“I’m sorry, what?” “She mentioned one of the books you requested two days ago was a myth about the Olympian crystal and as far as I know the only version the Library has of that is very much in Greek.” “And you can read Greek?” Killian nods, all smug and certain and it’s not a bad look either. “Jeez,” Emma groans. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Why are you looking at scripts about the Olympian crystal, Swan?” “No explanation about the Greek thing, huh?” “I was in the Navy. It was an elective.” “Honestly?” He eyes her meaningfully, a look that probably shouldn’t send a spark of heat down her spine, but Emma’s lost control of the entire situation and even the idea of the Olympian crystal freaks her out. “You’re really not going to let this go? Why were you lurking outside my door? And don’t tell me it’s about the Greeks. It’s--I know, that’s not it.”

She really, truly does not mean for it to be an accusation. She doesn't. It just comes out that way. And she’s positive she’s right. 

Killian sighs. 

“I wanted to apologize,” he mutters. “For...well, upsetting your friend and even letting myself into your apartment and--”

“--I invited you in.” “Yeah, but that doesn’t…” He cuts himself off, a tick in his jaw when he clenches it. “What’s going on, Emma?” They both tense slightly at the use of her name – the first time that’s happened and it’s only their second conversation. Emma resists the urge to shake her arms at her side, flush with energy and magic and missing something. Something big. 

“The Olympian crystal is supposed to be incredibly dangerous,” Killian continues. “Destroy someone’s entire existence. It’s not…” “Real?” “I didn’t say that.” “And what are you saying? Exactly?” Killian tilts his head, looking almost defeated. That’s a not-so-great look. “When I woke up the other morning your friend said that you couldn’t let people in. Why? Because it has to do with the Olympian crystal?”

“Oh my God,” Emma hisses, yanking her hand back to her side. She elbows herself in the ribs. “Who the hell do you think you are? And can you pick a goddamn lane? One second you’re apologizing and flirting and doing that stupid eyebrow thing and--” “--Stupid eyebrow thing?” “Shut up! I..” She exhales, hard enough that she ruffles the ends of her hair. Killian doesn’t move. “I can’t tell you what is going on, because it’s--well, frankly it’s way too much for you to deal with and you’re some guy from the hallway. You’re not...you don’t know anything about me. Nothing. And this would...you’d run.”

Killian takes a step back. 

He looks like she’s slapped him. 

“Try me,” he challenges, a sneer to his lips that makes Emma’s blood and magic boil in equal measure. 

“No.” “Swan.” “No.” Killian clicks his tongue, the blue in his gaze getting sharper when he crowds back into Emma’s space. The hand that lands on her hip is heavy, warmth seeping through the thin material of her shirt and the light at the other end of the hall flickers again. “Try me,” he repeats. “You can even say it in Greek if you’d like.” “I can't speak Greek.” “Then I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, love.”

She considers her options. Option one is punching him squarely in the jaw. It’s appealing, honestly, but she can’t remember if she’s supposed to keep her thumb insider her fist or out and that kind of nullifies the whole thing. Option two is cursing him. Also appealing, but just as irresponsible, even if the magic roaring in her ears is any indication of what she’d be able to do.

Option three is..terrifying. 

And, naturally, the one she picks. 

“I’m a witch.”

The pinch that suddenly appears between Killian’s eyebrows will very likely linger there for the rest of his life. “Wait. What?” “I told you, you wouldn’t be able to handle it.” “You’re putting words in my mouth, Swan. I never said that. I’m just...trying to process. Like. A real witch? Do you have a broom?” “That’s rude.” “That’s a legitimate question!” “No, it’s not. I don’t need a broom.” “Naturally.” She rolls her eyes at the forced casualness of his voice. “Ok, so why would a witch need a powerful soul destroyer from the Gods?”

“Sit down. This might take a couple minutes.”

Emma tells him. The whole goddamn story. Prophecy and evil beings and she’s not sure she can actually destroy someone’s essence like that, but she’s not sure she has another choice and she can’t figure out why the Dark One hasn’t made a move yet. 

And Killian, to his credit, doesn’t interrupt. He listens and nods and that pinch is still there, but Emma figures that’s more than fair and her mouth is dry by the time she finishes. It really is an incredibly uncomfortable wall to lean against. 

“Huh,” Killian says when Emma finishes, twisting her mouth at the rather lackluster response. 

“You don’t believe me.” “I need you to stop making such sweeping assumptions about me, love. It’s disappointing.” “I don’t know you.” “And yet you told me about this.” “You were waiting outside my door to apologize for being invited inside.” He hums, fingers finding the back of his hair again and it’s a nervous habit. Emma’s starting to catalogue those. Maybe she’s also a librarian. “That’s true,” he admits. “But, uh...just to make sure I’ve got it all right here. You, the prophesied Savior of magic, left your magical hometown when the evil guy--” “--The Dark One.” “Right, right, when he showed up. And now you’re going to use the Olympian crystal to destroy him from existence.” “God, it sounds like shit when you say it like that.” “I’m afraid it’s not a particularly positive experience, Swan. The heroes of the stories didn’t use it very often. And how do you figure the crystal will help you restore magic? Keeping in mind that you do, in fact, still have to find it. If it’s real.”

He catches her hand when she tries to swat at him again. 

“You’re no help at all.” “I’m pointing out facts. To go along with your fact-based story. You really can’t do any magic?” Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, not an agreement nor a disagreement because she feels like she could teleport to the moon. Or the sun. They’re on some kind of light-based theme. She closes her eyes, trying to focus on the hum in the back of her head, a quiet push of energy and power and it should be easier than this. 

It’s always been easier than this. 

Her magic has always been instinctual, like walking back into a dream or falling into a memory. Now it feels like it’s buried deep within her, as if using it will take all her energy and she gasps at the taste of blood in her mouth. 

She’d been biting her lip. 

“Swan,” Killian mutters, thumb brushing over the curve of her jaw. “C’mon, look at me love. It’s fine, you don’t have to prove anything.” “Holy shit, are we honestly doing this again?”

Emma’s head slams into the wall when she snaps up, Ruby all but snarling a few feet away. Killian sits up straighter. “I don’t think we’ve actually been introduced,” he says, standing up and offering Ruby his hand. She glares at it. “Killian Jones. I live next door.” “And want to keep flirting with Emma.” “Yes, that’s true.”

Ruby clearly isn’t ready for that particular brand of honesty. Neither is Emma. Her heart grows and shrinks and grows again, hammering against her chest in double time. “Em,” Ruby calls, bypassing Killian’s outstretched hand to kick at Emma’s outstretched legs. “Are you going insane? Honestly, tell me because I feel like I deserve to know at this point.”

Emma opens her mouth – her own pointed and vaguely sarcastic remark sitting on the tip of her tongue, but her eyes move to Ruby’s hands and the longer-than-usual nails at the end of her fingers. “Rubes,” she nods. “Look.” “Fucking a…” “Yeah, that’s something isn’t it? When is the next--” “--Tomorrow, actually.”

“Does someone want to explain what is going on?” Killian snaps, and Emma’s going to concuss herself if she keeps slamming her head into the wall. 

“Oh, uh, Ruby’s a werewolf,” she says. He can’t quite school his face on that one. It makes her smile. That feels wrong. 

“Em, are you fucking kidding me?” Ruby yells. She’s jumping again, bouncing up and down while Killian stares at Emma and the whole thing has dissolved into chaos rather quickly. 

“Should we worried about some kind of hallway transformation?” he asks. 

Emma’s head hurts. She’s not sure if that’s from the repeated hitting or the eye rolling or how small that type had been, although it may just be a perfect storm of all of that, and Killian’s lips quirk up when she looks at him. “That’s what the amulet is for,” she explains, nodding at the the stone clutched in Ruby’s hand. “So she can control it and--” “--Like wolfsbane potion?” “I need you to stop comparing everything to Harry Potter, it’s not like that.” Ruby makes another strangled noise, disbelief in her gaze when she realizes what that means. Emma holds her hands up. “He can read Greek.”

Ruby stops making noise. At least any that are immediately threatening. “Yeah?” “Yeah. And, I...well, I trust him.”

In the grand scheme of everything, that’s definitely not the most surprising thing that has happened in the last few weeks, but it somewhere in the top five, at least, and Ruby’s mouth falling open is slightly offensive. 

“That so?” Emma’s eyes dart towards Killian. He nods. “Yeah,” she says. “I do, and I know Regina said we have to be focused on this and I am. I am all in on operation: save everyone, but I can’t read Greek and his roommate is marrying that librarian.” “Belle?” “Why do you know her name?” “Why don’t you? We’ve talked to her, like, sixty-two times.”

“She brings up a fair point, Swan,” Killian murmurs, moving back towards her and every instinct in Emma’s body, magical or otherwise, screams out to let her head loll to the side. So she can rest it against his leg. 

She doesn’t. So she’s at least got that going for her. 

Ruby nods approvingly. “Exactly. You know, maybe you’re not the absolute worst. You can stick around, sailor.”

Killian’s hand falls on Emma’s shoulder, gripping her like he’s trying to stay afloat and they all need to stop making water puns. “What?” Ruby asks. “That was funny.” “Not the only one making bad jokes,” Emma mumbles, tilting her head up. As soon as she fixes her magic and gets rid of the Dark One and there are no more imminent threats to most of society, she’s going to break down this wall. 

With her hands. 

“That turned out to be a far more accurate joke than I was anticipating,” Killian chuckles. “Alright, so this leaves us...where, exactly? Because we still don’t know if the crystal is even a real thing.”

“Oh my God, did you tell him everything?” Ruby screeches, Emma nodding before she finishes the question. She huffs, but it doesn’t sound entirely like exasperation, more like acceptance and Emma will have to thank her for that eventually. “Ok, well--it is kind of weird that your roommate is marrying Belle. And you were just...out here when Em was coming back from her Twinkie quest.” “Zebra Cakes.” “It’s also weird that you remembered that.” “She bought a lot.” “And am still sitting right here,” Emma points out, but Ruby barely acknowledges her. She’s staring at Killian instead, a penetrating gaze that looks a little predatory and a little defensive and the déjà vu has got to stop. 

“Wait say you, sailor?” Ruby asks. “You going to help? And not fuck this up for us?” “I don’t have any magic,” Killian says. “I’m not sure how I could possibly fuck it up for you.” Ruby hums noncommittally and the anxiety lingering in the pit of Emma’s stomach moves to wrap around several other internal organs. It’s the worst. “Alright,” Ruby mutters. “Well, I’m still not big on this whole fate thing, but there was a prophecy involved--did she tell you about that too?” Killian nods. “Figures,” she continues, “ok, you’re in, I guess. You better translate the hell out of the Greek.” Killian salutes. They order Chinese food. And he hands Emma the last fortune cookie without asking if she wants it. She totally wants it. 

“Thanks,” she says, letting her fingers brush across his and the spark that snaps there is obvious and visible and Emma is positive it has to be a trick of her eyes. It isn’t. She’s really bad at lying, even to herself. “It’s getting kind of late.” Ruby fell asleep twenty minutes earlier, curled into the corner of the living room with more blankets than one person should be allowed to use. 

“Yeah,” Killian breathes. He doesn’t move. He’s still staring at her fingers like Emma is going to combust. “What time tomorrow?” “It’s your job, not mine.” “Are you actually in law enforcement?” She laughs. “Yeah, actually. Even the magic folk need laws.” “And you’re the…” “Sheriff of Storybrooke.” Killian lets out a low whistle, thumb moving back and forth across the back of her wrist. “I’ll admit I’m a little intimidated by that kind of power.” “I’m not the mayor.” “There’s a mayor?” “It’s a real town,” she grins, and she’s not sure how they’ve gotten even closer. Her forehead is half an inch away from his, close enough she’s positive she can feel the heat radiating off him. “There’s just some caveats.” “Of the magical variety. Sheriff though, that sounds like an authority.” “Where are you going with this?” Killian shrugs – and there’s no explanation for how easy this is, like they’ve been having these kinds of conversations for their entire life. “If I tell you I have absolutely no idea, but I’m incredibly curious is that going to make you try and hit me again?” “That’s very dramatic. It’s not really hitting it’s--” “--Playful flirting?” His eyebrows defy modern science, twisting and jumping in time with Emma’s ridiculous pulse and she’s going to kiss him. Or he’s going to kiss her. It genuinely does not matter. So, naturally, it gets fucked up. 

“Can you guys be quiet for two seconds?” Ruby whines, burrowing further into her den of blankets. Emma sighs, embarrassment mingling with disappointment and neither of those emotions make sense for a grown woman who fate claims will save anyone, but she suddenly feels like a teenager caught making out with her boyfriend and they didn’t even get that far.

“Ten?” Killian asks. “I’ll bring caffeine.” “You don’t have to do that.” “I know a place. I’ll be the one on the other side of the door, ok? Try not to curse me when you open it.”

He’s as good as his word the next morning, although he is a few minutes late, kicking lightly at the bottom of her door and the smile he flashes Emma as soon as she opens it is equal parts stupid, charming and stupid again. Just for good measure. 

“Sorry I’m late. Too much stuff to hold, couldn’t knock,” Killian explains, answering a question Emma apparently didn’t need to ask since he appears to be some kind of mind reader. And she doesn’t actually make any noise, which is probably good, but she hadn’t really noticed before and now she’s kind of staring and there’s only one hand. 

He’s only got one hand. 

He nods towards one of the cups, lips shifting again when her fingers brush his and she’s half a second away from calling him out on how absolutely, goddamn charming he is when-- “There’s cinnamon in this.”

Killian blinks. “Yes.” “Why?” “What?” “Why?” Emma repeats, the word scratching its way out of her throat. It feels like an impossibly large question and an even bigger answer, his eyebrows flying into his hairline. “How did you know that?” “Do you need the coffee to make sense, Swan? You’re speaking in tongues.”

Emma sighs, kicking her foot forward until he gets the message and the cup is going to burn her hand. That probably isn’t a sign either. She’s a disaster. Honestly, prophecy can suck it. “How did you know about the cinnamon thing?” she presses, enunciating every syllable for emphasis. 

Killian laughs. 

It’s kind of offensive. It’s way too early for quasi-strangers that she inexplicably trusts with her deepest secrets to be laughing at her coffee habits. 

And yet…

“Are you suggesting that you’re the only person who puts cinnamon powder in their coffee?” Killian asks. “That’s awfully presumptuous, don’t you think?” “Do you?” He stops laughing. Emma grins triumphantly. “That’s not an answer you know,” she continues, bumping her shoulder against his and she’d barely noticed that they were still moving. They’re already at the bottom of the stairs, the sounds of the city making their way towards Emma’s ears. It’s getting more and more difficult to breathe. 

“No.” She almost doesn’t hear him at first – there’s a siren and people and then another siren because someone’s always seemingly getting arrested in Manhattan – but it’s a very slim almost and Emma’s head nearly flies off her neck when she snaps her gaze towards Killian. He doesn’t blink when she looks at him, staring straight ahead with a certainty that’s kind of jarring and kind of comforting and the absolute, visual embodiment of an answer. 

He knew she put cinnamon in her coffee. 

Weird. And not. Very not. 

“Good guess, I suppose,” he mutters, but those words sound like a lie and taste bitter in the air around Emma and her magic needs to chill the fuck out. 

She hums, taking a sip of coffee. It’s good. Sweet. It wasn’t a guess. “Right, right. Well, more points to you or whatever. So you want to go find some crystal that can wreck people?”

Any hint of tension around them evaporates as soon as Emma’s tongue presses into the corner of her mouth, a look that makes Killian’s expression shift slightly, eyes going just a bit darker and brows pulling low and the fluttering in her stomach is oddly pleasant. 

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are, love.” “Incorrect. I think you think I’m hysterical and you want to help. You said so.”

That’s not flirting anymore. That’s serious – deathly, even, or however the Olympian crystal works. Emma’s still not really sure what the difference between a person’s life and their existence is and she’s only a little confused by the inclusion of souls in that, but she can’t think about any of those things when Killian’s eyes do something again. 

She takes a deep breath. 

“Yeah, I do,” he agrees softly, rocking forward like he’s trying to stop himself from touching her. It’s a dangerous line of thought. “Car or train?” “What?” “Car? Or train? I was serious about the uptown D though, it’s the worst train in the world.” “Seems kind of dramatic, right?” Killian shakes his head. “No, worst train. Bar none. I don’t think they’ve even gotten any of the new ones on there. The map’s not digitized or anything and I live in fear of what exists on those seats. Probably the plague or something.” “Jeez.” “Car.” “Why did you ask then?” “I was being polite,” he says, flashing a smirk over his shoulder when he pulls open the door and Emma can’t roll her eyes when she’s being impossibly charmed by the whole thing. 

“Ah, so a gentleman, huh?” “Always.” Emma scoffs, but she knows he’s telling the truth – at least when it comes to her and neither one of them say anything about how close their legs are in the back seat of the cab he hails. He refuses to let her pay – “It’s absurd, you know I have a shit ton of money.” “How is that legal, Swan?” “I mean...it’s not really.” “Poor example of the law, love.” – tugging on her hand to weave through the crowd of people who seem to always be assembled in front of the library. 

“Wait, wait, what are you doing?” Killian hums in confusion, Emma yanking on the hand that’s never actually let go of hers because they’re not going to the room with the torture chairs. “What are you doing?” Emma asks again. “Don’t we have to go that way?”

She jerks her head back towards an ostentatious staircase with ridiculous banisters and what may actually be marble steps and the the tips of Killian’s ears go red. He squeezes one eye shut. “Uh, no,” he says, voice clipped and Emma can’t help the way her lips curl up. 

“No? I think you’ve got a plan again.” “Part.” “You ever think you’ll come up with a full plan?” He clicks his tongue, but Emma’s close to actually giggling at this point and she barely notices any of the tourists anymore. “I think that I have,” he twists, pulling out a set of keys from his back pocket with the fingers that are currently twisted up with Emma’s, “the ability to provide the lady a very quiet room with, at least, one kind of chair that is not a patented torture device.” “You’re sure you not magic?” Emma quips, ignoring what those words do to her heart beat. She wishes the words would just be words. Maybe not in a library. “You seem awfully good at reading my mind.” “Those chairs are the worst. No give at them at all.” “Yeah, well, they’re wood or something.” “Wood,” Killian confirms, the hint of a laugh on the edge of his voice. Emma’s fairly certain she doesn’t imagine his head dropping closer to hers. It makes that one piece of hair drift dangerously close to his left eyebrow. “And old. We love old here, but they’re not exactly conducive to prolonged research. So,” he jangles the keys in front of Emma’s noise, “you’ve already stolen from CitiBank, what do you think about some casual breaking and entering?” Emma giggles. It’s ridiculous. And her magic flares to life again, the ends of her hair ruffling with the force of it until she’s a little worried she’s also inadvertently levitating. She’s not. That’s good.

Less good is the look on Killian’s face – slightly stunned and a little awed and he can’t feel that. That is impossible. People can’t feel other people’s magic. Unless…

No. No. Absolutely not. 

“Swan?” “Yeah,” Emma nods, pushing the magic back into the corners of her brains and her right heel. Like it’ll ground her that way. “Let’s break some laws.”

The whole thing is actually ridiculously easy. They get the scripts from the main desk, Killian grinning at a few more workers and making quiet requests that sound a bit more like demands and Emma probably shouldn’t be impressed by the whole thing. 

“You’re like...captain of the library,” she says, half a step behind him as he directs them down a hallway behind a different door. “How’d that happen?”

“You’re very loud.” “I’m curious. Not all of us are mind readers.” “That seems incorrect,” Killian objects, and he has to let go of her hand to get the keys while still holding everything else. Emma is not disappointed by that. Obviously. “Shouldn’t magic work that way?” Emma makes a contrary noise in the back of her throat. “No, no, you’re making sweeping judgments again. Magic’s very...particular, I guess. And personal. It settles into you and...I’m not very good at explaining it.” “I’m in no rush.”

The lock clicks, and Emma only just notices that this door has the words barred from the public emblazoned on the slightly foggy glass. She mumbles several pointed opinions under her breath and every single one makes Killian laugh. 

So, points, or whatever. 

And it is quieter, fewer footsteps and soft lights and the chair behind the far-too-large desk in the corner has padding. 

“Oh shit, that looks comfortable,” Emma mutters before she can stop herself. Killian’s hand tightens when he laughs, head thrown back with ease and a distinct lack of any concern regarding the end of the world or the questionably late appearance of the Dark One. 

“That was the point, love. C’mon, sit. Explain the particulars of magic to me.”

Emma does as instructed – only because her back is starting to ache again and she does her best not to audibly groan at how absurdly comfortable the chair is. Killian smirks. “You’re looking very pleased with yourself,” she points out, swinging her feet onto the edge of the desk. If only because she’s fairly certain it will make the smirk more powerful. She’s not disappointed. 

“I love watching a plan come together, that’s why.”

“Yuh huh. And avoiding my questions, it seems.” “I think we may be running at the same pace on that one, actually.” “How’d you end up at the library?” Emma asks, doing her best not to make it sound like an accusation. Or an interrogation. “Doesn’t seem…”

Killian’s eyebrows jump. She’s given the smirk too much power. “Doesn’t seem like what?” “I mean...ok, well, you brought it up. You said that some guy wasn’t the worst thing you’d ever been called. So, like...what’s the worst?” “You’re very curious aren’t you?” “I just like to know who I’m talking to.” “Is that a law enforcement thing?” Killian counters, and they’re going in circles. Ruby’s going to be very annoyed if they don’t translate anything. “Or just a magic thing? A need for even more power?” His voice turns hard as he continues talking, an edge that wasn’t there when his fingers were laced through hers and Emma’s getting whiplash from it. “Wow,” she breathes. “That’s kind of a dick move.” Killian sighs, body sagging like he’s holding the world’s heaviest weight. “Yeah, it absolutely is. I--um, well it’s not a good story.” “I told you that I’m the prophesized Savior of magic yesterday and then couldn’t actually prove that I’m capable of doing magic. That’s not the best story either.” He doesn’t object, but Emma knows he wants to, is undeniably convinced that the story she’s about to hear is completely and utterly depressing and she’s only a little disappointed to be proved right. “I wasn’t lying about the Navy,” Killian starts, moving around the desk until he’s perched on the edge and neither one of them point out that his hand lands on her shin. “Enlisted as soon as I could, followed my brother and--” “--What’s your brother’s name?” “It was Liam.” “Oh.” HIs smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He squeezes his hand. “Right,” Killian says, hissing in a breath of air through his teeth. “We were--poor’s not really the right word. It was...bad. But I was young and didn’t realize at first and then Liam enlisted and it was a little better, until it wasn’t and--”

He cuts himself off, face turning pained and Emma doesn’t think. She moves, feet landing on the floor with a thud and her arm moves of its own volition, like there are magnets there or, more likely, magic and Killian presses his cheek against her palm as soon as her skin touches stubble. 

Like they’ve done this before.

His fingers are cold when they wrap around her wrist. 

“Anyway,” he continues brusquely, “Liam was dead and I was...drowning. God, that’s not even clever.” Emma chuckles, finally letting her forehead rest against his and she’s moved between his legs at some point, an arm around her waist that doesn’t feel strange at all. “It’s almost true though. I did not--” “--Cope?” He nods, eyes flitting down to the plastic at the end of his arm and Emma’s barely noticed it. Really. She’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. “I ran. Which, as you’d probably guess, is generally frowned on by the Navy and most of the armed services. Those in charge don’t really appreciate when you refuse to be held accountable for your actions. I’m not--I’d rather not be told what to do anymore.” “That’s understandable.” Killian jerks back like he’s been shocked, eyes wide and impossibly blue and Emma knows he can hear the magic singing in her veins. “It is,” she adds. “I--well, I get it, I mean. That’s...I’ve never really had something like that, but I...well, I said magic is personal right?” He nods, gaze turning piercing the longer he stares at her. “It is. And my magic has always been instinct. No thinking, just surges of power. But it’s also only ever been mine. Sometimes, when there’s a deep connection between people, they can feel it. David and Mary Margaret are constantly aware of where the other person is.” “That doesn’t sound like it would be enjoyable at all times, love,” Killian reasons. HIs thumb is doing that thing again. 

“Eh, it’s more just...knowing that the other person can feel it. Does that make sense?” Another nod. Maybe the mind reading thing is paying off. “Because that means there’s that connection. That...I have no idea how I got to Storybrooke.” Killian blinks. “I don’t understand.” “Neither do I, honestly. I know I’ve been there for years, remember things with Ruby and Mary Margaret and even Regina, but I don’t...the specifics of it don’t make much sense.” “And you don’t…” “You need to finish your sentences,” Emma mutters, curling her fingers around the front of his jacket. “But, uh, no. Not that I’m aware of.” “You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

She scrunches her nose. “I’ve got a very strong hunch. And, no, I have no idea about parents or seemingly any family and it’s…well, lonely is depressing, isn’t it?” “A little.” “You’re no help at all,” Emma says, and she can’t move her hands. He’s still holding onto her, nearly every inch of him pressed up against every inch of her. It leaves her breathless and a little overheated and-- “You still didn’t tell me how you became captain of the library? What were you in the Navy, by the way? Like...an officer? Was there a uniform?” “It’s the Navy, love, of course there was a uniform.” She’s going to self combust. 

“Not an answer.” “I think you’re thinking about me in uniform.” “Presumptuous.” The smirk has taken on a life of its own – aided by ridiculous eyebrows and a color Emma is certain she’s never seen before, particularly when his eyes flicker towards the lip she’s biting again. “Lieutenant,” Killian mutters, and if Emma was concerned about souls before it’s nothing to what she feels now, as if she’s being twisted and yanked and gravity appears to have disappeared entirely. “I was a lieutenant when I left.” She nods dumbly, trying to get her brain to stay on this plane of existence, a challenge she didn’t entirely expect after having just one cup of coffee that morning. 

“I ended up in New York by chance,” Killian continues. “Bounced around a few other cities and thought about staying in Boston for a little while because, well, there’s water there, but...I started stacking books for minimum wage her and then just--”

“--Became captain of the library,” Emma finishes. Her throat is shrinking. That may just be her lungs. 

“You’re giving me far too much credit, Swan. I just like knowing things.” “Because you’re a nerd.” He grins – and it would be so easy to kiss him, a quick head tilt and a push of her fingers in his hair, the grip on his jacket tightening slightly with the force of how much she wants to do just that, but Emma’s still teetering on the edge of something that may honestly be insanity and she...has to save the goddamn world. 

“Wait until we translate things and then come back with the pointed insults.” Emma nods, a rushing in her ears and she’s glad for the desk so she doesn't fall over. And Killian’s arm. “Swan,” he says lightly, fingers ghosting over her spine, “what are you thinking, love?” “Nothing.” “You’re a rather terrible liar. Everything you’re thinking, straight on your face and--”

She’s going to scream. He won’t finish his sentences and her magic will not do what she wants and the world genuinely cannot wait any longer. “Let’s translate and then I’ll, um...I’ll buy you coffee once we know if I can wreck the Dark One, ok?” The smirk is a genuine smile. It’s worse. Better. Emma clearly needs to read more. 

“Of course,” Killian says, moving her back into the chair and her back appreciates that. “Give me a couple minutes, ok?”

It doesn’t even take a few minutes. Emma’s a little annoyed by that and just...everything, because the, approximately, two seconds it takes for Killian’s eyes to scan the research in front of them leads to one very obvious and world-ending realization--

“It’s broken.” Emma waves both her hands in the air, jumping out of the chair in the process. “What is?” “The Olympian crystal,” Killian answers, tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck. “It’s broken. By Zeus himself, if I’m reading this right.” “And we’re sure you’re doing that?” “Swan.” “I know, I know,” she sighs, and that one cup of coffee was not nearly enough. “So what--why was Zeus an ass about this?” “Well, you’ll find that, more often than not, that was just his normal state of being, but, according to this particular legend, Hades had used the crystal to destroy Kronos.” “Am I supposed to know who that is?” Killian smiles, moving back into her space and it takes some finangling to get into the chair with her perched on his leg. Strangers. Neighbors. Obviously not that. The light in the corner of the room flickers. “He was a Titan,” Killian explains. “Father of several gods, including Zeus and Hades and, if you don’t want to interrupt me again, was also kind of a dick.” “Seems to be a trend.” “It’s par for the course when it comes to mythology, I’m afraid.” Emma scoffs, letting her head loll onto his shoulder. “Anyway, what I just read claims that Kronos had chosen Zeus to be king of Olympus and Hades didn’t particularly like it. So. He tried to use the crystal to destroy Zeus. Only it didn’t work and Zeus was well...Zeus.” “Meaning?” “Meaning he destroyed the crystal so Hades couldn’t destroy him. Self defense.” “He’s a god,” Emma argues. “That’s bullshit. So there’s no crystal? Nothing? Not even pieces I could find somewhere?” 

Killian shakes his head. “It’s in the Underworld.” “Oh, well, yeah, naturally. Fucking hell.” “So, uh...it seems in order to get the shards of the crystal from Hades, you’d...you know, have to actually die.” “I understand how the Underworld works,” Emma snaps, more ridiculous eyebrow movement and lip quirks and she’s going to fall on the floor. It’s the most absurd sentence in a conversation about Greek gods. “God, don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “I don’t know. Like...I can only say mind reader so many times before it starts to get redundant.”

Killian chuckles, nosing at the curve of her shoulders and Emma’s fingers are going to actually spark if she doesn’t get them in his hair sometime soon. “God forbid we start getting redundant. So, what now, Swan?” That’s not the question she expects. 

“What?” “Well, it seems to me the Underworld option is a bit out of the realm of possibility--” “--And possibly not even true.” She’s starting to resent the tongue click a little bit, leaning back when Killian does it again. His eyes are wide. And she hadn’t been that off about the finger sparking thing. 

Emma mumbles a few curses under her breath, including some rather scathing opinions about every Greek god she can think of, but the light in her hand doesn’t disappear and the bulb on the other side of the room shatters loudly. 

“Holy fuck,” she breathes, every letter shaking its way out of her. “What the hell, what the hell, what the hell?”

She tries to jump again, is determined to pace out the energy she can feel shooting up and down her spine and every single one of her limbs, but the arm around her waist is too tight and the look on his face makes Emma freeze. “Hey, hey, relax,” Killian says, but there’s a worry to his voice that makes Emma’s lungs pinch again. “It’s ok. It’s ok. You’re ok, just breathe.”

She doesn’t follow instructions. Maybe they’re both bad at that. 

“Emma, c’mon, look at me, love. It’s fine. That wasn’t you.”

There’s a sudden surplus of oxygen in her lungs – a complete turnaround that’s jarring and terrifying and the look on Killian’s face is dangerously close to pleading. Because it doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t know that. 

“Right at me,” he whispers, fingers moving across her like he’s trying to make sure she’s still there or something as equally impossible as him knowing what magic was her magic. It certainly wasn’t the light bulb thing. “Count in three and exhale five.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Emma mumbles. Her head falls forward again, colliding with his collarbone and the skin under her his warm. 

She needs to stop making so many sun puns in her head. 

“Everything about this has been ridiculous.” “God, it’s really frustrating when you’re right.”

He laughs again, easier than it’s been all day and the crinkles around his eyes are distracting. “You’re not counting, love.” “And you’re endearment obsessed.”

Killian hums, fingers cupping her elbow because Emma’s never actually let go of his jacket and it takes approximately one deep breath, the word cyan flashing across her brain and the magic in the air turning electric for everything to feel as if it’s, finally, settled. 

“You alright?” Killian asks lightly, and Emma licks her lips before she answers. She’s got absolutely-no-fucking idea. 

“Where’d you learn the breathing thing?” “Honestly?” “No point in beating around metaphorical bushes, right?” She can see his jaw tense, lips pressed together until they’re barely more than a line and that’s kind of...awful. “Right,” he sighs. “I, uh...have no idea. Just felt like the right thing to say.” “Ah.” “Yeah. Well--that’s magic, huh?” “Something like that,” Emma says, anxious energy curling in the pit of her stomach. He’s still staring at her like he’s surprised she’s there. She’s kind of surprised he hasn’t run. Or she hasn’t run. God, they’re a mess. “Thanks for the help. With the uh...breathing thing.” Emma is going to curse his tongue. It darts between his lips and clicks in reproach because they both know they were half a second away from something and he knew what to say and none of this makes sense. They’ve got to get out of that rom – the walls feel like they’re closing in, air turning heavy and a little muggy, but there’s still an arm wrapped around her middle, skin tingling and pulse racing and--

“My pleasure.” Emma scoffs because none of this is fun and he can’t possibly keep staring at her like that. It’s unnatural. It’s-- “Ah, fuck it,” Emma mutters, and the rest is only slightly irrational. All things considered. She yanks on the front of his jacket, pulling him forward when he lets out a soft grunt of surprise and that’s the only sound she registers until her brain realizes she’s the one making the sounds, a groan and something that might actually be a moan because Killian is impossibly good at kissing her. 

Emma’s fingers fly into his hair, carding through strands and scratching lightly at the back of his head. She still doesn’t let go of the jacket. His teeth nip at her lower lip, nose pressed against her cheek and she can feel him inhale, like he’s trying to breathe her in. 

She honestly wouldn’t object. 

They only pull apart so they can fall back together, a steady rhythm of lips and tongue and slightly heaving shoulders. She can feel his fingers curl around the back of her head, holding her there with a desperation that should probably be far more terrifying than it is. Instead, it’s almost comforting, like he wants her there or needs her there and Emma’s magic rushes through every inch of her, a burst of power and flare of belief and they’re both going to knock this goddamn chair over.

They rock back and forth, trying to occupy the same space and it’s as if someone’s hit some kind of switch. Or moved them to the next level. Of making out. And possibly getting this jacket out of the way. 

Killian’s fingers brush over skin, working a sound out of Emma that she refuses to be held accountable for, particularly when she can feel his smile against her mouth. 

“That’s stupid,” Emma grumbles, drawing a laugh out of him and the sound feels like it works its way into the very middle of her, settling between the spaces in her ribs and dousing out that nervous, anxious feeling lingering in her stomach. 

“You can’t say things like that, Swan, you’ll give a man a complex.” “Yuh huh, you seem to be really lacking confidence.” “Maybe I’m just particularly inspired.” “What a line.”

He leans back, lips far too red and gaze drifting a little bit towards wrecked in a way that makes Emma wonder if they do, in fact, have to leave this room. “That’s not what it is,” Killian says, another promise she hopes she’s not imagining. “I, um...I think I could--” And just like that, the whatever is gone completely and the darkness on the edge of Emma’s vision starts to creep back in and the ringing phone in her pocket is impossibly loud.

“--Don’t,” she warns. “Don’t say things you can’t actually mean.” “Swan…” She shakes her head quickly, standing up and all but slamming the phone against her ear. “What?”

The scream she hears makes Emma’s knees buckle, a piercing sound that’s nothing short of absolutely terrified. “Emma,” Ruby cries, other voices in the background and a few grunts of pain from a person she can’t distinguish. “Minions. Now. Here. Now!”

The line goes dead, but that may be because Emma’s dropped her goddamn phone and she needs to stop doing that. 

“Swan--” Killian snaps his jaw shut as soon as he sees whatever look has landed on her face and she barely gets her hang onto me  out before she’s lacing her fingers through his and squeezing her eyes closed. 

[jaybeartodd]

Colleagues Pt 16/17 -- Jason Todd x fem. reader

Tags: @sarcasmismyfirstlove @tsctd @multi-fandom-dumpster @wordsmusicandchocolate @cattwomannn @itstoastytodd @nicunt @browneyedangel @amnahs9695 @mad-hatter-has-nothing-on-me @prancingdestiel

Permanent Tags: @vividmjs  @alohabucky

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Warnings: cursing, violence

A/N: Yes it’s true, this is the second to last part. So it is super late and I spent about four hours working on this SOB and I am not 100% sure I even like it but it’s whatever and I am posting it. I want to get started on a new series so if you would like to be tagged let me know or if you have any suggestions hit me up. Thank you so much to the people who have been constantly supporting me. I can’t even fully express my gratitude. And of course thank you to honestly everyone who takes the time to read any of my stuff. I love you guys and I really hope you enjoy!!! 

“48, 49, 50!” you finish Jason’s ridiculous amount of time. You then wander around the endless hallways in search of your absurd boyfriend insistent on playing hide-and-seek. Not that you protested that much.

“Bad boys, bad boys, what you gonna do?” you start singing softly to yourself as you enter yet another bedroom. You get several feet in when the light suddenly turns on.

“Are you seriously singing the Cops theme song?” you twirl around to find a very smug man with the side of his mouth turned up amusedly. 

“Does that make me the bad boy?” he theorizes while suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.

“Ah-ha! Gotcha!” you yell excitedly.

“Not if you can’t catch me!” he challenges and darts down the hallway laughing maniacally. 

“No fair! I found you!” you protest and swing your head around the corner watching his retreating figure. In the end, you know it is only futile so you follow his loud footsteps.

You both wind down hallways until he traps himself in a corner. You don’t even hesitate in pouncing on him and he stumbles a few steps as you grab onto his back. This is much easier without a sling in the way. You and Jason had finally decided your shoulder was healed enough to burn the bastard.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law,” you giggle into his ear. He growls and curls his fingers over your thighs securing you onto his back.

“This is an assault on an officer of the law!” You yell still laughing as he carries you towards the bedroom. He dumps you on the bed and crawls so that he is hovering over you.

“And what is my punishment, Officer?” he inquires lowly as a seductive grin taunts you merely inches from your own lips. You interlock your mouths and twist your fingers in his shaggy hair. He breaks contact panting with a playful glint in his eyes. 

“Just so we are clear, I most definitely won hide-and-seek.”

“Oh shut up and kiss me.”

“Jason, it has been almost two weeks,” you say from your upside down position on the couch. You feel the cushions sink next to you as Jason takes his spot. A piece of popcorn hits your face and you sit up to shoot him a glare.

“Stop doubting yourself. The article is amazing and they would be idiotic not to take it. They probably have a mess of emails to work through,” he says and kisses you softly on the lips. 

“I know I am just nervous,” you say biting your lip anxiously. He puts his thumb to your lip and gently removes it from between your teeth.

“I know Doll but there is only so much we can do.” You smile warmly at him and he drops his hand to grab the remote, “Now shut up and watch this movie with me.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. You curl up against him and steal a handful of popcorn. You silently send a prayer thankful for having Jason with you through this whole ordeal. He has been keeping you busy with random activities so you aren’t completely driven mad with anxiety over the article and your family. 

An incessant knocking on the door wakes you from your deep slumber. You open groggy eyes to see that you are still laying on the couch with Jason’s arm wrapped around you. You two must have fallen asleep while watching the movie. The knock sounds again so you lift his arm off of you to which he only responds with a grumble. 

You rub your eyes as you walk towards the door.

“No housekeeping needed. Sorry-” You pause as you swing the door open to reveal Nick.

“Nick? What the hell?”

“Y/N! I need to talk to you!” he says looking around frantically. Suddenly you are gently moved and staring at Jason’s muscled back.

“What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Roy?” Jason asks using his authoritative voice.

“I snuck out while he was sleeping. I-I need to talk to my sister…alone,” you hear his shake voice reply. You peer over Jason’s arm that is firmly gripping the door.

“Of course you can.” “Hell no.” You and Jason say at the same time.

You glare at him and he returns with an identical one. 

“Jason, he’s my brother.” you try.

“Hm, yeah you see no one just sneaks out on Roy. What did you do? Drug him? Bribe him?”

“Jason!” you duck under his arm and turn so you are facing him.

“No, he, uh was honestly sleeping,” Nick falters. 

“Come in, Nick,” you command and grab his hand. You push at Jay’s chest and he takes a cautious step back not ever retreating his watchful eyes from Nick. Nick takes a seat next to you on the couch. Jason sits on the couch facing you, his muscles braced for a fight.

“Could I maybe have a glass of water?” Nick mumbles hesitantly. You squeeze his hand and nod your head while looking expectantly at Jay. His eyes, however, remain narrowed in Nick’s direction.

“Jay, could you get us some water please?”

He grunts and stands up obligingly.

“What did you need to tell me?” you wait for Jason to be in the kitchen and ask. You jump as Jason slams the cabinets loudly and pours the water keeping his eyes trained on the two of you. The fucking dramatics of this man.

You sigh as he returns with the glasses and resumes his seat in front of you.

“Thanks Jason,” you mumble sarcastically.

“How do you know you weren’t followed?” Jason questions intensely.

“Uh, I mean I don’t know for sure, but I checked behind me?” Nick replies nervously. Jason laughs ironically in response.

“For crying out loud why don’t you go put on your Halloween costume and check?” you snap incredulously. Jason purses his lips and you raise your eyebrows in defiance.

“Fine, but I won’t be long,” he stands up and briskly walks towards the bedroom in a huff. You run a hand over your face sighing.

“I will be right back, Nickie.”

You follow Jason into the room and close the door behind you. He is angrily undressing his sweatpants and replacing them with his Red Hood gear.

“Jason,” you quip sternly but he continues to put his gear on.

“Jason!” he looks up at you and freezes with his helmet in his hand.

“Something isn’t right, Y/N,” he declares and points his helmet, “He is up to something.”

“He is scared and confused, Jay. And I would know exactly why if you weren’t like an overprotective hound. You, sir, are the one acting crazy,” you point out and tenderly grab his arms.

He looks at the door shaking his head and you rub your hands up and down his arms, smoothing the tension.

“No, this is not part of the plan,” he grumbles and your hands freeze.

“Plan?” He snaps his head down at you suddenly looking abashed. 

“Oh, um, I mean the plan of keeping you guys separated to thwart the bad guys,” he sputters with a nervous grin.

“Jason Todd, are you seriously hiding something from me?” you swear and drop your hands to place them on your hips.

He opens his mouth to protest but is silenced by a door closing. You turn on your heel and walk out of the bedroom.

“Nick?” you search for him in the living room but he is no longer sitting on the couch. Panic starts to rise within you as you shout his name.

“Y/N,” Jason says softly. You spin around to see him holding a note out towards you. You yank it from his grasp and immediately recognize your brother’s messy scrawl. 

“Y/N, I have to do this for you and Trey. You’ve done so much and I hope Trey will always have you in his life. Tell Jason I just couldn’t risk it again. I am so sorry for everything I have done. This hopefully makes up for some of it. I love you and please tell Trey that I love him, Nickie.”

You are frozen gaping at the note.

“That stupid son of a bitch,” Jason mutters angrily.

“We have to go find him,” you exclaim without any apprehensions and walk out the front door.

“Y/N, wait! Jeezes this woman will be the death of me,” Jason grumbles following you out into the hallway. 

“I am not arguing with-” you close your mouth as a loud boom sounds off and the building shakes. You and Jason grab onto the walls to steady yourselves.

“What in holy hell?” Jason shoves his helmet on and begins sprinting down the stairs. You follow closely; well at least you try to match his outrageously long strides. You eventually make it to the streets to find them in absolute chaos.

There are people screaming as they run away from a smoking heap of rubble. Rain beats down heavy as another explosion rocks the streets and you stumble.

“Come on!” Jason yells reaches for your hand, “We have to get out of here!”

“Someone care to explain?” he inquires into his com while leading you through the insanity. He pulls you behind a building and listens intently to his earpiece. 

“I will be right there.”

“J-Red Hood, where are we going?”

“Wayne Enterprises is being attacked again.”

You swallow back fear as he tugs you forward towards an alleyway. Nightwing and Red Robin are pacing back and forth indicating you have made it to your destination. Your own exhausted panting is not matched as Jason brushes off the run as if it was nothing.

“Hey, what’s the plan?” 

“Batman is helping Gordon and the rescue teams evacuate people trapped in the buildings. We are about to join him but we wanted to give you the flash drive.” Dick says eyeing you nervously.

“Forget about it. The kid went and turned himself in. We were busted,” Jason growls.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you grab Jason’s arm and turn him so he looking at you.

“You brother was going to turn over this flash drive to Mask with fake information and it would infiltrate his data so we could get his location and take him out before he could retaliate against you over the article. But then,”

You stop Jason with a slap across the face. His nostrils flare as he looks at you.

“Now isn’t the time Y/N,” he says angrily.

“Damn straight,” you retort and turn on your heel. Jason grabs your hand and spins you back around so you are facing him. He takes in your shaking wet form and a sense of regret rises from his stomach but he swallows it back. He removes his helmet so he can look you in the eye.

“Listen, he wanted to do this. To make up for all the shit he’s done. And I am not one to stop a man from earning his redemption.” He says dangerously low.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would never agree to it!”

“Because it’s stupid!”

Your phone rings breaking the thick tension suspended between you and Jason. You reach down ready to silence it when you read the unknown number.

“Where is he?” you demand through clenched teeth. Jason puts his ear against the phone and you give him a side glare.

“Nickie is doing fine for right now. He does miss his big sister awfully so,” the mocking voice answers from the other line. You tighten your grip on the phone.

“What do you want?” 

“I want you and your boyfriend to pay for that half assed plan to betray us. Didn’t know you were so manipulative.”

“Where do I meet you?”

“But not patient obviously…meet me at the warehouse where we had our first date.” He hangs up the phone and you shove it into your pocket. With an angry huff you take a step away from the boys.

“Where are you going?” Jason squeezes your arm as you turn away but you yank it from his grasp.

“Leave me alone, Jason,” you snarl. He rolls his eyes at your stubbornness.

“No, listen to me Y/N,”

‘No I am done listening.”

“Fine,” he resolves. He grabs your wrist and spins you back against him. 

“What the hell? Let go of me!” you yell into his chest but he ignores you. You feel something metal clamp around your wrist.

“Jason, if you do not let go of me!” you scream but he ignores your threats and drags you underneath an overhang. He cuffs the other end of the handcuffs to a bar. 

“Tim, watch her,” he commands still ignoring your protests.

You grab ahold of his arm and sink your nails into it. He whips his head around. You flinch as the water drips down over his eyes stormy with emotion.

“I’m saving you from yourself Y/N!” He yells frustrated. You grimace at his tone and remorse immediately fills him. His eyes turn sorrowful and he leans close enough to your face so your hot breaths mix.

“I know if I don’t go trade my ass in for your worthless brother then you will. And I…I can’t handle that again.” he gives a grin intended to be snarky but instead just looks defeated, “Call me selfish I guess.”

You stare open mouthed at him and he presses his lips onto yours in a feverish kiss. He pulls back and you feel tears prick at your eyes.

“Jason, you don’t have to do this,” you pull at the cuffs knowing well it is useless.

“I do, Doll, I do,” he walks out of your grasp and turns on his heel towards his motorcycle. Dick jogs after him trying to knock sense into him but Jason just puts on his helmet and kicks off on his bike. Dick swears and pulls out his grapple gun to follow him.

You turn your head and catch Tim’s eye but he turns to the gadget in his hand obviously flustered. 

“Tim,” he looks up with a blush still on his face, “Let me out of these.”

You tug against the cuffs and he scratches his head, “Look, Jason said not to.”

“And Jason is an idiot who is about to get himself killed if you don’t let me out.”

“Red Robin, come in,” Tim looks at his com in relief and answer back.

“We need your help cracking whoever hacked into the Wayne server.”

He sighs and looks towards your smug face.

“Looks like you have better things to be doing than babysitting me.”

He looks at his com then back at you. “Fine!” he groans and uncuffs you. 

“Just don’t do anything rash. Dick will stop Jay and we will get your brother back without you risking your own neck.” You nod, seemingly complicit, but he just narrows his eyes suspiciously. 

His gaze suddenly jerks to behind you.

“What-” you turn and see that a black SUV parked itself on the street next to the two of you.

“Move!” He yells as men pile out of it packed heavy with weapons. You follow him as he runs behind a pillar and bullets spray the air.

“Bats, we need backup!” he cries into his earpiece. He pulls out his grapple gun and his eyes search desperately for an escape route that would not involve the two of you being peppered with bullets.

You glance at Tim with wide eyes as the bullets stop and footsteps approach the two of you. You hear another car pull up and you lose track of the amount of feet you hear stomping towards you.

“Weapons down Red Robin!” a voice commands. The grip on his staff grows tighter and you place a hand over top of his.

“There’s too many of them Tim,” you whisper. He turns a worried face towards you and you give him a nervous smile.

“It’s me you’re after. It’s Y/N. Leave Red Robin out of this!” you yell and step out of cover with your hands raised.

Your hands shake in fright but you manage to stand confidently in front of weapon clad henchmen. You blink the rain from your eyes and clear your throat.

“No, I suppose he doesn’t,” a mocking voice that seems to be the narrator in all of your nightmares steps up between you and the gunmen.

“Scarecrow,” you whisper attempting at hostility.

“Hello, Y/N. Long time no see,” he smiles menacingly and you cringe.

Two of the soldiers step forward and roughly grab your arms. Red Robin steps out with his staff poised. 

“Drop it or you both will be Swiss cheese,” Scarecrow warns and Tim looks hesitantly between all the guns pointed in your direction. He drops the staff to the ground and several men respond and push him down to his knees with a gun pointed at his head.

“No!” you yelp and struggle against your captors. 

“He may not be directly related to this but why pass up the opportunity to hurt the Batman,” Scarecrow’s voice cackles and he pulls a syringe from the array he has in his trench coat.

Tim watches him angrily as he approaches. You manage to plant your foot on one goon’s foot and escape his grasp only to have five more hold you back.

“Bye bye birdie,” Scarecrow says and plunges the needle in Tim’s neck. You scream as Tim’s eyes roll back in his head. The men holding him let go and he slumps to the ground. He begins trembling and you watch helplessly as the serum that almost killed you takes over his body.

“Now, we should probably get you in the car. You have a date,” Scarecrow points at you and your captors drag you kicking and screaming into the van. A heavy cloth is placed over your face and your struggles grow weak as the world fades around you.

“Jason, this is idiotic! Turn around and let’s talk about a plan!” Dick’s voice demands through Jason’s helmet. He switches it off and revs his bike to go faster. He knows exactly what will happen if he turns around and has a heart to heart with Dick that would make the Brady Bunch smile. You will somehow manipulate Tim, if you haven’t already, into letting you go and you will find yourself in Mask’s hands again to save your harebrained brother. And Jason would die twice over before letting that happen again.

He skids the bike to a stop in front of the warehouse where he accidentally revealed his moonlighting to you. Usually picturing the pissed off expression on your face would amuse him to no end but right now it is bloodied with the thoughts of you being in danger.

He kicks down the door and looks around the empty warehouse with his hands on his hips. “Honey, I’m home.” He takes notice that the rubble that had nearly buried him remains.

“Hood, good to see you. I am surprised though. My money was on Y/N beating you here.” a henchman steps out from the shadows with a sickening grin.

“Yeah well she is a little tied up right now. You know kicking ass in school, exposing shitheads to the world, it keeps a girl busy,” Jason retorts covering up his anger at him referencing you.

“Enough pillow talk, where is Nick?” Jason says growing tired of this whole ordeal. The man clucks his tongue and begins pacing comfortably in front of Jason who is clenching his fists to hold himself back from pummeling him.

“The deal was the bitch and her boyfriend. It was not an either/or.”

With lightning speed Jason has his hands wrapped around the man’s neck and pressed against a wall.

“I asked nicely which already makes it a good day for me. I wouldn’t push it, asshole.”

“Hood, drop it,” Mask’s metallic voice commands from behind. Jason presses against his neck one more time before dropping him wheezing to the ground.

“Ah, Mask, long time no see. How are the kids?” Jason asks turning to face his former ‘boss’. Mask chuckles and Jason grimaces at the grotesque noise.

“They say everyone has a soulmate, Red. And I think you may have found yours.” he continues chuckling and Jason clenches his fists, “She said the same thing.”

Someone comes out with your unconscious body slung over his shoulder. Jason’s face hardens and his hands immediately grab at his guns. 

“Put the weapons away Hood. She is all yours,” Mask says and points at your captor nodding. He tosses your body at Jason’s feet and he immediately kneels down and presses two desperate fingers on your neck. Relief floods him as he feels a pulse beating steadily. 

“Don’t worry. She will be fine. A bit of chloroform to help her remain unconscious.”

“What do you want with us?” Jason asks more urgently now knowing you are in the same predicament as him.

“Well I need you two to suffer for the dent you have put in every one of my plans. And I am thinning out the Bats’ resources while I destroy every scrap of Wayne Enterprises in this town. And to keep you behaving, I need your little girlfriend here as a persuasion tool.” 

“What do you mean thinning out?”

“I mean someone is probably already rushing to save poor Red Robin who is our test subject for the most recent fear toxin. I am sure someone is searching for you and unfortunately the Batman can’t be everywhere at once.” Jason snarls while pulling out a knife from his boot.

“Bring the boy out,” Mask commands with a flick of his finger. 

Two henchmen carry out a struggling Nick strapped to a chair. He is red-faced as his screams are muffled by duct tape.

“Now here is my offer. You can use that knife on him,” he points towards a terrified Nick, “And you and your sweetheart can walk out of here in one piece and live happily ever after.” 

“Why don’t I just plunge it into your gut?” Jason suggests. 

“Because then those guns trained on you and Y/N there won’t miss a shot.” Jason looks wildly at the two men holding guns aimed at the two of you.

“Why should I believe you would let us live?” 

“Because if you kill this man you are returning back to the Red Hood we all know and love. Except for Batman, actually. I believe there is a strict ‘no kill’ rule. Oh and not to mention she would lose a brother.” He glances down menacingly at your limp form and Jason steps up so that he is between you and Mask. His jaw tightens as his eyes wander to Nick.

“Yes, Hood. Remember this man has put the lovely Ms. Y/N in danger multiple times. He even ordered for her to be injected with the fear toxin. You wouldn’t even have to tell her. And her life will be so much safer without him in it.” Tears stream down Nick’s face as the words and the probable outcome of this sinks in.

Jason clenches the knife tighter in his hand as he looks at your sleeping face. Hair he has brushed back many times rests lightly over your peaceful face. His gaze wanders down to your shoulder that is just recently out of a sling and memories of your suffering flash before him. He flinches at the thought of him soothing away your nightmares, racing to get your depleting body to an antidote and restraining your terrified body as you thrashed against your worst fears. And then you pushing all of your own concerns away for him. It was always him that put you in harm’s way. Nick.

Jason walks furiously to Nick and puts his knife to his neck. He is panting heavily with flaring nostrils as Nick looks at him with a deflated expression. Jason searches for the pleading in his eyes but he only finds resolve. 

“Do it Red!” Mask yells. You start to stir from your state of unconsciousness at the sound of Black Mask. Blinking your eyes you turn an aching head towards the sound. Your eyes widen and you feel the protest on the tip of your tongue as you watch the Red Hood sink a knife into your little brother’s gut. 

“No!” you scream standing up shakily. Jason’s head jerks towards you. You sprint to your brother’s side pressing a hand over his wound. He looks at you with foggy eyes as his head falls to his chest.

“No! Nick, talk to me! Stay with me!” you cry with your brother’s blood falling over your hand. 

“Now let us go, that was the deal,” Red Hood’s robotic voice commands. You flinch at the coldness. How could you have ever found comfort in his words. Your hands press tighter to Nick’s abdomen as tears flood heavily down your cheeks.

“Indeed we did,” Mask acknowledges and nods his head.

“Y/N, let’s go,” Jason demands coolly grabbing your forearms from behind.

“No! Let go of me you fucking bastard!” you wail struggling against him as he pulls you away from your bleeding brother. He ignores your cries as he pulls you towards the exit.

“Take care Red Hood,” Mask boasts saluting him off.

“Yeah, we will see about that,” he whispers. You twist in his arms trying to escape his grasp. You manage to get a few scratches across his arms.

“Y/N, would you stop and look!” he hisses into your ear. You turn your glassy eyes towards where he is indicating and see Nightwing slowly making his way down towards Nick behind Mask and his goons’ backs who are focusing on the two of you.

He grabs ahold of Nick and slips something on the chair. He slings Nick over his shoulder and grapples up to a perch. 

Jason suddenly pulls you outside of the building and shields your body with his own as an explosion rips through the air. Your ears ring and your vision is obscured by Jason’s armored chest. Jason suddenly shoots up and you cough as the dust fills your lungs. 

“We have to go!” You hear Jason shout over the ringing. You shake your head and look at him fuming.

“You stabbed my brother!” you yell and shove his chest.

“I had to, to get us out of there, Y/N! He will be fine! I didn’t puncture anything vital!” Your breathing slows at this as the anger dissipates ever so slightly.

“Fine but-” you are cut off as leftover goons appear around you. Jason cocks his pistol and looks at you.

“Remember those moves I taught you Doll?” he questions. You swallow and nod your head confidently.

“Good,” the men rush forward and Jason begins taking them out one bullet at a time but not quick enough to detain all of them from reaching you.

One man approaches you carelessly, obviously not expecting much of a fight from you. So you show him otherwise. You dodge his outstretched hands and kick out his back leg. His nose breaks beneath your fist as you deliver a punch. Your knuckles ache but the adrenaline numbs it for the moment. And other men are happy to provide a distraction.

You dodge and deliver hits where Jason taught you in dizzying motions. Bulky arms wrap around your chest and you try wiggling your way out. He squeezes and you let out an involuntary cry of pain.

Jason’s focus whips towards you momentarily distracting him. You manage to jab an elbow into the man’s side and Jason smirks as he evades another hit.

Suddenly a shot reverberates through the air and Jason cries out in pain as he grabs his wounded leg. 

“Ja-Red Hood!” you shout and run towards him but another asshole steps up. You fight him off the best you can feeling your energy wavering and your attention now on Jason.

“Not again Hood!” a glitching voice hisses venomously. 

“You just can’t friggin’ die can you?” Jason exclaims dumbfounded as Mask approaches him with a gun in his hand.

Rex appears and you warn Jason just in time as he sprints at him in all his heavily muscled glory and tackles him to the ground. A hit lands itself across your jaw and you stumble back. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and you feel the aches on your body but you manage to land a swift kick to this man’s nether regions and he collapses in pain.

Rex managed to get Jason down on the ground and he is repeatedly pummeling him with his fist. His helmet has broken and Rex tosses it to the side. You flinch at the bloodied bruises littering Jay’s face but he uses Rex’s momentary distraction to grab his fist and gain the upper hand. Mask limps towards them with a crazed demeanor. You narrow your eyes and run towards him. You swing your hand hard on the back of his head but immediately regret it when pain shoots up your now broken bones.

He turns his head and looks at you maniacally. You wince at the parts missing from his face that must have been blown off in the explosion. He wraps his metallic hands around your throat and you choke as the air is ripped from your lungs.

“Did you think you could stop me? You and your idiotic brother?” he growls and you push at his hands.

“No,” you wheeze out, “Just. A. Distraction.”

His eyes widen at this and you fall to the ground as his hold is forcibly removed.

“Survive this bitch,” Jason has Mask’s head in the crook of his elbow and a gun pressed to his temple. As much as you yearn for him to be ridded of forever a nagging voice causes you to shout at Jason.

“Red Hood!” you yell and he turns his battered face towards you inquisitively. “The rule. Batman.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh and looks back down at Mask.

“You don’t deserve mercy,” he fumes but knocks him upside the head rendering him unconscious. Jason then looks at you through one hooded eye with a pained expression and spits out a wad of blood.

“Are you still mad at me?” he laughs and then hisses in pain.

“Of course,” you mumble but run up to him and wrap your arms around his body.

“Oof,” he lets out an exclamation of pain and wraps one arm around you while the other one hangs dislocated. Rex really did a number on him. He pulls your head close and presses his face into your hair relishing in your safety.

“We need to get you to a doctor,” you observe and pull away from him.

“Good thing we know a pretty good one at the manor,” he winces and you put his arm around you so he can take at least some of the pressure off of his shot leg. You help him to the side of the building and you both slump down against it waiting for backup.

You glance at Jason and see him breathing heavily through the pain. He turns towards you and his bruised lips lift into a grin.

“We did it, Dopey.”

[oopsabird]

1; & 3, 5, 10 for take my heart &/so much like stars

1. Of the fics you’ve written, which is your  favourite and why?

Of all of my fics, that award I think would have to go to “I have loved the stars too fondly” (my Hamlet fic). Partly because I’m exceptionally pleased with how the prose and story/visuals execution turned out (in the most recent edited edition, which I think was last spruced up in 2016), and partly because since Hamlet is public domain, it technically sits on a sort of par with The Lion King in terms of canon-ness (or at least that’s what I say to boost my own ego lol). Of my WW fics (completed ones), I like “And In The Morning” best - it executes exactly the imagery and mood I intended it to, and I like it so much that I actually frequently forget that the hug it adds to the airfield aftermath scene isn’t actually canon, despite me carrying it over to all my other fics (it happened off-screen and I will take that headcanon to my grave). gambit, that wonderful whumpy collection of historical anachronisms, medical bullshitting, and tropes, is a very close second there, purely because I designed it to be a collection of things I enjoy in fic so of course I love it.

3. Which part of [title] was hardest to write?

take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat: Trying to convey exactly the physical positions and body language I was picturing in my head while maintaining prose and mood was probably the toughest. I tend to picture my fics like films in my head beforehand, complete with camera angles and cuts and mood lighting and a lot of minute physical/action detail, so trying to cram all that information into a sentence that still reads nicely and gets the intended feeling across is my most frequent struggle in writing. This was a fic that to me carried just as much of its mood and angst in things like the touch of a shoulder or the intonation of a word as it did in the prose, so it was tough, but I think I struck a pretty good balance.

so much like stars: I know the answer to this instantly, and you may know it too since I mention it in the end note of the fic: the undressing scene. Like, I basically worship Lindy Hemming for her costume design work in this movie and legitimately think she deserved to at least be nominated for an Oscar for it (product placement: the Wonder Woman Artbook is well worth its $50 price tag for the incredible insight into the crazy amount of craftmanship and work that went into making this movie. Must-have if you are fascinated by film-making and Wonder Woman. Hence why I have it.) All that being said, the (truly excellent) costumes for Sameer and Charlie have an INSANE amount of layers and pieces, and because I am a stickler for prop continuity I took it upon myself to keep track of each and every one. Except for a few I omitted because I knew nobody else is enough of a nerd about this movie to know the difference lol. It was a nightmare of my own making but in the end also a good writing exercise for managing prop pieces in a scene. But still. SO. MANY. JACKETS.

I really do go on in the rest of these answers, so please find them tucked under the cut!

5. Did you make an outline for [title], and if so did you stick to it?

I have what I would call a very ADHD writing technique, in which I will generally impulsively write the scenes I have visualized most clearly first, regardless of their place in the fic; then I spend possibly weeks jumping around and filling in the patches between scenes whenever inspiration strikes, generally working either from a vague “it will go like this overall” plan stored in my brain, or a placeholder in-text like “[they leave the bar and travel home. Charlie falls asleep in the cab]”. I almost always write my openings last, after having built the rest of the fic together bit-by-bit and now needing a way to segue the reader into it. That’s process is basically how I wrote both of these, except these were essentially written as a moment of hyperfocus rather than over a long period of time - each of them developed very quickly from initial idea to publication in a short period because I didn’t do literally anything else during that time (take my heart over a period of 12 hours, so much like stars over a period of three days). The only fic I have that really has a concretely written formal outline is The Big Fic (that mythological creature from my WIP list), and that’s because I’ve spent months actively workshopping the shit out of it and treating the damn thing like a novel (which is probably why finishing it escapes me).

10. What are some facts that readers may not know about [title]?

Ooooooo this is a delightful question, because as you can probably tell from my lengthy author’s notes on AO3, I looooove giving “director’s commentary” and spilling extra-textual info about my fics!

take my heart: 

I don’t like that this is yet another WW fic I’ve done where Diana appears but doesn’t speak, but couldn’t (yet) find a way to give her even a passing line that didn’t feel shoehorned. 

The choice to use present tense was made on a whim.

Though the fic doesn’t actually mention it explicitly (the one that I borrowed my own headcanon from does), the injury Charlie received to his shoulder and was put on leave for is that he “froze up” during their last mission and got shot (it was a graze), fell off his sniper perch and hit his head (a version of this incident is detailed in To Burn And Keep Quiet).

I worry that I write too many fics where Sameer is just a lens for processing Charlie’s trauma and emotional arcs in the text, and want to do more pieces that give Sami other plots and motivations and have him operating as a character more independently from his relationship to and feelings for Charlie.

Originally the idea was going to be Sami saying “I love you” knowing it will be forgotten in the morning, but then when I was writing it I was like “wait, I’ve thought of something worse! how delightful!”.

The “over breakfasts and newspapers” line is intended as a reference to Steve’s in-movie explanation to Diana of what people do when there are no wars to fight.

I decided to have it rain at one point because in the movie when Diana enters the pub with Steve the pavement is shown to be wet so I figure it must have been that kind of day, and also because it was raining all day while I wrote so I was really feeling it.

so much like stars: 

I went to painstaking googling lengths to find a French-language song  for the opening that was both period-accurate and suitable to the mood.

I actually omitted at least one costume piece: Sami wears these absurd-looking knit legwarmer-looking things over his boots and the bottom of his pants (these can be glimpsed in some scenes), and not only do they really look strange with just the suit (less so with all his coats and everything on), but I have no idea what they’re called and was sick of writing costume pieces, so I left them out knowing nobody else is enough of a nerd about it to notice.

I originally wanted to give this fic a fade-to-black/”soft focus” They Done Fucked romantic get-together conclusion (hence the setup with the windowless room, the creaky bed, the washbasin), but as the fic progressed I decided against it because it didn’t feel right for the tone/situation or the fact that that’s not my actual headcanon for how that night would’ve gone (and I was shooting for canon-compliant). An unfinished draft of that alternate ending does exist, but it’s not as of yet in any shape to be shown to anybody. Yet.

I worried while writing (still do, a bit) that this fic wouldn’t be liked/read by other fans because I know that the version of Charlie I have developed/analyzed out of my repeated close readings of the film and headcanons is a much more likable character than the impression of him you get after just one or two viewings of the film, so I worried that more casual/less obsessed fans reading this (and indeed, several of my other fics) wouldn’t be able to suspend their disbelief enough to accept me saying “yeah, Sameer is very in love with him. attacted to him, even.” without having been along for the ride on my entire crazy obsession with this movie and these characters. Luckily the way Sameer’s interactions with him in the film are acted and shot do the vast majority of the heavy lifting in-canon for this ship already, so readers are more likely to take “Sami is in love with Charlie, secretly” as read without me having to do too much extra stuff to back it up or make it plausible. “Charlie is in love with Sami” doesn’t require nearly as much work to “justify” because Sami is extremely handsome and charming and much of the fandom seems to adore him anyway, so its more like “yeah obviously, who WOULDN’T be in love with him in some way or another?”

I watched the entire “Night In Veld” set of scenes (through from Sami bringing Diana and Steve drinks to that wonderful Wondertrev fade-to-black scene) probably about 8+ times during the process of writing this fic, just to keep myself in the right frame of mind/mood; at this point I could recite it word-for-word.

Sami’s list of “Reasons Not To Tell Him” is pretty much my favourite part of the fic.

The “Sami wears undershirts with sleeves, Charlie wears sleeveless ones” distinction is my own little bit of costume design and also a headcanon that I carry through almost all of my fics.

I had a lot of trouble trying to balance my dedication to the principle “write non-English dialogue in the correct language” with “you can’t subtitle this, there is a LOT of French, and it needs to be comprehensible for an English audience”. What you see in the fic is my version of a happy medium, which I think works rather well.

Thank you for asking this!!!! And thank you to anybody who stuck it out to read this whole damn thing and indulge my infodumping!

[brokehorrorfan]

Best New Horror Movies on Netflix: Summer 2017

I know there's an overwhelming amount of horror movies to sift through on Netflix, so I've decided to take out some of the legwork by compiling a list of the season's best new genre titles on Netflix's instant streaming service.

Please feel free to leave a comment with any I may have missed and share your thoughts on any of the films you watch. You can also peruse past installments of Best New Horror Moves on Netflix for more suggestions.

1. Clown

Before Spider-Man: Homecoming swings into theaters, watch director Jon Watts' feature debut. Beginning as a faux-trailer that went viral, Clown was essentially willed into existence with the aid of genre favorite Eli Roth (Hostel, Cabin Fever) as a producer. Andy Powers (Oz) stars as a dad who comes across an old clown costume to wear to his son's birthday party, only to find that he physically cannot remove it. He then develops an insatiable hunger for children, soon learning that he must sacrifice five kids in order to remove the suit. Laura Allen (The 4400) plays his wife, while Peter Stormare (Fargo) provides the ancient, demonic history of clowns. Not your typical killer clown movie, Clown combines classic monster movie motifs, body horror elements, supernatural undertones, and gallows humor into one coulrophobic package. Read my full review of the film here.

2. Beyond the Gates

Beyond the Gates was clearly made by horror fans for fellow fans. The 80-minute romp can best be described as Jumanji meets The Beyond. Estranged brothers Gordon (Graham Skipper, Almost Human) and John (Chase Williamson, John Dies at the End), along with Gordon’s girlfriend, Margot (Brea Grant, Halloween II), find and play an old VCR game. They must obey the tape’s host (Barbara Crampton, Re-Animator) in order to solve the mystery of their father's disappearance. It's slightly hindered by a limited budget - the set-up is slow and the ending is a tad anticlimactic - but it's so spirited along the way that the faults barely register. First-time director Jackson Stewart taps into the VHS nostalgia to create a film that would feel perfectly at home on a mom-and-pop video store shelf in the late '80s. Read my full review of the film here.

3. The Eyes of My Mother

The Eyes of My Mother is too pensive for horror fans look for typical blood and scares, but those who appreciate arthouse fare are likely to get wrapped up in its unsettling tone. Writer/director Nicolas Pesce makes an impact with his debut, utilizing stark black-and-white photography to explore a character study illustrating the repercussions of murder. The story is told in three chapters, which each one showing a significant familial moment in a woman's life that shapes her into the disturbed individual she ultimately becomes. It’s a slow burn, even at a mere 76 minutess, but every moment is spent ruminating in its dark tone.

4. Backcountry

Backcountry is based on a true story of a black bear attack. The predator doesn't show up until two thirds of the way through the film; the rest of the time is spent developing the relationship between Alex (Jeff Roop) and Jenn (Missy Peregrym, Reaper), who embark on what's supposed to be a romantic and relaxing weekend hike through the woods. Tensions first rise upon the introduction of an Irish backpacker (Eric Balfour, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre), then again when the couple gets lost in the dizzying forest. It finally takes the form of a suspenseful survival thriller when the ferocious bear begins attacking their campsite. The investment in character development is worthwhile, as it causes the viewer to care about them, thereby making the final act even more harrowing. Real bears were used during production, adding to the ripe intensity.

5. Dig Two Graves

The first act of Dig Two Graves could be mistaken for a coming-of-age drama - not only thematically but also stylistically - as a young girl (Samantha Isler, Captain Fantastic) from a podunk town attempts to reconcile with her brother's death. Things really heat up when a trio of creepy men tell her they can bring him back to life... but someone else has to take his place. The story is structured in an interesting way, sprinkling in flashbacks that contextualize the actions taking place in the present. Isler delivers a brilliant performance, as does Ted Levine (The Silence of the Lambs), who plays her grandfather, the town's sheriff.

6. XX

XX is a horror anthology made up of four segments written and directed by females, each one strong and unique. “The Box” by Jovanka Vuckovic adapts a Jack Ketchum short story about a boy who's forever changed upon seeing the contents of a mysterious box. “The Birthday Party” by Annie Clark (better known as musician St. Vincent) is a darkly comic tale about a woman who finds her husband dead on the day of her daughter's birthday party. “Don’t Fall” by Roxanne Benjamin (Southbound) turns a serene hike into a blood-thirsty creature feature. “Her Only Living Son” by Karyn Kusama (The Invitation) finds a mother learning a deep, dark secret about her son. There's not much of a through line outside of them all being female-led (3/4 of which are maternal roles), though neat stop-motion animation wraps around the tales. Several familiar faces populate the cast, including Melanie Lynskey (Heavenly Creatures), Natalie Brown (The Strain), and Mike Doyle (Law & Order: Special Victims Unit). It's no secret that we need more female voices in film, and XX is a potent declaration that's impossible to ignore.

7. Stake Land II: The Stakelander

Despite a terrible title that could be mistaken for a joke, Stake Land II: The Stakelander is a sequel to Stake Land, Jim Mickle's impressive 2010 vampire film (which you should watch first; it's also on Netflix). Mickle resigns to executive producer, but his co-writer, Nick Damici, returns to pen the script. Damici also reprises his role as Mister, reuniting with Connor Paolo as Martin. The vampire slaying duo embark on a journey across a Mad Max 2-style post-apocalyptic wasteland infested with ferocious vampires, which resemble zombies more than your traditional bloodsuckers. As is often the case, it's the other humans that prove to be the real threat. Like its predecessor, the film finds a rare balance between drama and intensity. It's not as effective as the original, but fans won't be disappointed by the follow-up.

8. Tag

Tag (also known as Riaru onigokko) is not for everyone, but it's too gleefully weird not to warrant a recommendation. Written and directed by Sion Sono (Suicide Club), the Japanese film opens with a bus full of school girls getting sliced in half in one fell swoop. It only gets stranger from there as the infinite possibilities of multiple universes are explored. One girl survives each time, continually awakening in different realities after watching all her friends get killed in gory fashions - including a teacher mowing down her class with a mini-gun. I thought it might be adapted from a manga, as it has that bizarre, fantastical feel to it, but it's instead based on a novel. It's dreamlike and absurd but not without heart.

9. The Windmill

The Windmill (formerly known as The Windmill Massacre) is a slasher film from the Netherlands, although it's (mostly) in English. It follows a guided bus tour of Holland that breaks down near a mysterious windmill. One by one, the passengers are picked off by a cool-looking killer armed with a scythe. With glossy production value and a dark tone, it feels more like a throwback to late '90s slashers rather than the golden age of the '80s - but there's still some solid gore and practical effects. It doesn't reinvent the wheel, but the film offers a slightly more involved plot than the average slasher, including flawed characters and supernatural elements. It's also gleefully mean-spirited to the very end.

10. Man Vs.

As you may have guessed from the name, Man Vs. uses a survival reality show as the framing device for a creature feature. Doug (Chris Diamantopoulos, Silicon Valley) is the survival expert/host, filming himself in the Canadian wilderness - only to learn that he's not alone. It would have been cheaper to make a found footage film, but it's more effect as a traditional movie - though there are some shots from Doug's gear. The set-up is a bit slow, however you may learn some survival tips along the way. The story essentially becomes Survivorman vs. Predator in the final act. Unfortunately, the CGI creature is Syfy-level bad, preventing the big reveal from having much impact, but Diamantopoulos delivers a solid performance nonetheless.

11. Abattoir

Abattoir is directed by Darren Lynn Bousman (Saw II-IV, Repo! The Genetic Opera), based on the same named graphic novel he created. It follows a real estate journalist (Jessica Lowndes, 90210) and a detective (Joe Anderson, The Crazies) as they investigate a series of houses in which tragedies occurred having the offending rooms torn out. They end up in a Twin Peaks-esque town where a local (Lin Shaye, Insidious) tells them of Jebediah Crone (Dayton Callie, Sons of Anarchy), an enigmatic reverend attempting to build a gateway to pure evil. Although set in the present, the picture is an unabashed love letter to film noirs of the 1940s and ‘50s. While the execution of the fascinating concept is lacking, Bousman manages to create a wonderfully imaginative neo-noir universe rife with spooky atmosphere. Read my full review here.

Bonus: The Keepers

If you were among the throngs of viewers morbidly captivated by Making a Murderer, The Keepers will be your new true crime fix. The Netflix original documentary series is every bit as compelling and frustrating as Making a Murderer, but the heinous crimes are even more stomach churning. The story revolves around an unsolved murder case of 26-year-old nun in 1969 and her then-students who have teamed up decades later to try to get to the truth. There appears to be a cover up that involves sexual abuse at the hands of a priest. The show consists of seven hour-long episodes. It probably could have been shaved down to five, but it's structured in such a way that make you want to keep binge watching.

Bonus: Riverdale: Season 1

Riverdale is like Twin Peaks meets Pretty Little Liars by way of Archie Comics. It reinvents the classic Archie characters for a modern audience with an interesting murder/mystery plot. I'm admittedly beyond the key demographic for the trashy teen drama that ensues, but the first season is fun enough, albeit inconsistent, to hook me. Several of the younger actors deliver great performances, given the heavy-handed material, but it's even more fun to see the parents played by '90s stars like Luke Perry (Beverly Hills, 90210), Mädchen Amick (Twin Peaks), Robin Givens (Head of the Class), and Skeet Ulrich (Scream). If you enjoy MTV's Scream, you'll likely get a kick out of this one as well.

[ibelongtonegan]

The Argument (Negan one-shot)

All right, so this all started out with a scene from Extant, where JDM’s character, JD Richter is trying to stop his daughter from leaving the house by slamming his hand on the door above her head… This scene got me thinking and it turned into this naughty little Negan one-shot…

Summary: you are one of Negan’s wives and have a heated argument with him leading to hot, rough make-up sex…

Characters: Negan x Reader, Lissa (OFC, one of Negan’s wives), Simon and Negan’s other wives make a cameo as well

Word count: 4,091

Warnings: angst, dirty talk, smut (breath play, mild coercion, mild restraint, rough sex, vaginal sex), swearing

Tags: @negans-network

You can read this fic on AO3 as well.

“That’s enough, Negan! I’m done with you!”

You were yelling at the top of your lungs at your husband, not being able to control your anger anymore. You were tired of him and his games. It had been three months since you agreed to become his wife but your marriage was anything but perfect. He barely had time for you, and even when you were together, you most certainly didn’t act like a normal couple. Not that your marriage could be labelled as normal, far from it.

Your husband was Negan, the leader of the Sanctuary, a factory complex that provided shelter for a few hundred of survivors of the apocalypse, who in return for safety, worked for him. Negan did not rule these people only: he made several communities of survivors in the area provide for him, through weekly offerings of food, guns, supplies, or whatever they could scavenge or produce in exchange for protection. But Negan was busy with other things too: he had five other wives beside you.

Initially you found the idea of becoming one of his wives crazy. Join his harem and share him with other women? You didn’t want to hear any of it. But Negan was a very persuasive man. If he wanted something, he didn’t stop until he got it. And he wanted you, badly. He did everything in his power to make you succumb to him and ultimately you couldn’t resist his charms anymore and agreed to marry him. Not that you actually had a proper wedding ceremony let alone a honeymoon. Such luxuries were not possible in the apocalypse. You exchanged vows in private and from the moment you said yes to him, your were his wife. His sixth. Thinking back on it now three months later, you had regretted your decision.

You were far from being happy in this marriage. You loved Negan, with all your heart and hoped that he loved you too, in his own way at least. But even if he loved you, he had five other wives and you couldn’t help but feel jealous of them. Negan tried to spend equal amount of nights with all of you, with Saturday usually being “your night” every week. But Negan didn’t follow anybody’s rules, but his own. He started to deviate from the schedule recently by picking another wife on Saturdays instead of you, and there was nothing that you could do about it. You tried to seduce, beg and fight him, but all your efforts were in vain, he couldn’t be persuaded in any way.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, you had a fairly good relationship with the other wives. You were all competing for the affections of Negan, but still got along relatively well with each other, well, at least most of the time. You were especially close with Lissa, Negan’s fifth wife for she took you under her wing when you married Negan and helped you settle in at your new home. She was the only person you trusted with your secrets and the only person who knew about your frustration with your husband.  

It was Saturday evening and you were all resting in the lounge area of the wives’ quarters, waiting for Simon, Negan’s right-hand man to arrive and announce Negan’s pick for the night. Sherry and Frankie were chatting amicably, Amber was reading a gossip magazine with a lollipop between her lips, Tanya was sipping on a cup of tea and Lissa was busy painting her nails a deep shade of ruby red. You were reading your favourite novel but could hardly pay attention to the story with your thoughts wandering around Negan. Biting your lip nervously you looked up to the silver clock on the wall, for the hundredth time in the last hour. Simon could be here any minute. You were wearing your favourite white shirt, navy miniskirt and that gorgeous pair of navy stilettos Negan gave you for your birthday. You put on some dark eye-shadow and a beautiful nude shade of lip gloss to complement your look. You looked good. Hell, not only good, but thoroughly fuckable and you most definitely were down to fuck, finally.

You held your breath when Simon appeared at the door, making your heartbeat quicken. Negan had spent the last two Saturdays with Amber and you missed him. You missed his touch on your skin, his lips teasing your body and the way he felt inside you. But Simon did not stop at your chair but walked over to Amber lounging on the couch and told her to get ready and meet Negan in his room in half an hour.

“What the hell, Simon? It’s Saturday!” you jumped up from your seat abruptly. The other wives stopped what they were doing and were staring at you in shock. They have never seen you act like this before.

“Easy, Y/N. I’m only following Negan’s orders. If you have a problem with that, you should talk to him about it,” Simon replied nonchalantly and left the room.

Keeping her eyes on the magazine Amber started twisting a strand of her blonde hair around one finger. The artificial fruity scent of her lollipop invaded your nose.

“Looks like somebody is jealous,” she muttered under her breath.

While beating the shit out of Amber in retaliation was a seriously tempting idea, you dismissed it quickly and decided to do just as Simon suggested: go and talk to Negan.

You threw your book down on the table and stormed out of the lounge heading straight to Negan’s room that was located at the other end of the corridor.

“Y/N, wait! You cannot just go to him now!” Lissa called after you, but you barely heard her due to the cloud of anger enveloping you.

Your furious steps echoed in the hallway, the heels of your stilettos clicking against the concrete floor. On the way there, you were trying to think of what to say to Negan. You knew that you have argued with him about this, in fact several times before, but nothing you said would make him change his mind. He always dismissed your complaints and said: “You don’t get to decide when I spend time with you, dear wife, I do.”

You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts when you arrived at Negan’s black door. Without bothering to knock, you pushed down the doorknob and stepped into his room only to find him sitting on the couch, talking to Simon who was standing next to the coffee table. Negan was visibly not pleased to see you dare to enter without knocking and him inviting you in first, but you didn’t care. Your blood was boiling with rage and good manners or Negan’s preferences about wife visitation were the last things on your mind right now. You went straight to the couch opposite Negan and sat down with your arms crossed in front of your chest, eyeing him intensely.

“Well pardon me, dear wife, excuse the shit out of my goddamn French, but what the fuckity fuck is going on?” Negan asked irritated, drumming his fingers on his left knee.

“I need to talk you. Now,” you said harshly.

“We are in the middle of a strategy meeting right now, darling. You and I will talk tomorrow evening after the run.”

“No, we need to talk now,” you insisted standing your ground.

“I think I better go and check the ammo inventory before tomorrow’s run,” Simon excused himself hesitantly, waiting for Negan’s approval. He knew all too well what was coming and didn’t want to get caught up in the middle of it. Negan kept his eyes on you for a moment before giving Simon a curt nod, effectively dismissing him. Simon went to the door and closed it silently behind him.

“What the fuck, Negan? Seriously? You are picking Amber for tonight? Again? Saturdays are supposed to be mine!” you blurted out, not being able to hold back any longer. You were too furious to sugar-coat your words.

Negan gave you a knowing smirk. It looked as if he had expected the exact same reaction from you. He leaned forward on the couch, his black leather jacket making a squeaking sound as he ran his gloved hand through his beard.

“Oh, of course. Here we are again, sweetheart. You still not being able to come to terms with your place in my harem,” he said smiling.

“I’m tired of this, Negan. I’m not your toy to be tossed aside when you get bored of me!” you spat at him and slammed your fist on the coffee table. Your whole body was shaking with fury.

Negan suddenly pulled out and grabbed your arm on the table. The buttery soft leather of his glove tightened around your wrist with an iron grip.

“Don’t you dare to do that ever again!” he snarled at you, his voice dangerously low.

“Or what? What are you going to do about it?” you challenged him boldly. You were adamant not to let him intimidate you.

“If I didn’t know you, doll, I would think that you are picking a fight on purpose, to piss me off. Looks like I need to remind you again that I own you, baby girl and can, indeed, do as I please with you,” he growled at you. You tried to free your wrist from his grip but he was holding it tightly. “If I want to spend Saturday or any fucking night of the week with you, I will and if I don’t, then I’m going to spend it with whichever of my wives I fucking want to. Either way, you don’t come to me, I come to you, if and when I like it,” he replied now himself boiling with rage. “And I suggest you watch your mouth, sweetheart, for I will certainly not tolerate that tone any fucking day of the week from you!”

A dangerous flame was burning in his eyes now that should have warned you to back off, but you were past the point of no return. His words have only fuelled your anger.

“Oh, forgive me, my beloved husband, for my ignorance and thank you for enlightening me on my place and rights as your wife,” you replied giving him a forced smile. “Now that I know what I can and cannot do, I know exactly what I’m going to do. If you don’t want to have me anymore, then I’m leaving. That’s enough, Negan! I’m done with you!” you yelled at him and tore your arm from his grasp. Jumping up from the couch you headed straight for the door. Once you have reached it you pulled it ajar but all of a sudden it slammed shut again before you with a loud bang.

You looked up to see Negan’s hand planted on the door next to your head. You were surprised at how quickly he reached the door but you had no time to contemplate this as he grabbed you by the throat and pushed you roughly up against the door, slamming his body against yours.

“Let me go, Negan, I’m leaving you!” you hissed at him trying to get away from his grasp but he held you firmly in place, his leather glove feeling cool against your skin.

“No, you’re fucking not!” he roared and before you knew it, his lips crashed against yours, claiming them in a passionate kiss. You tried to protest but he pushed his tongue inside your mouth.

You clenched your fists into balls and tried to push him away, but you didn’t stand a chance against him. He was taller and stronger, more than a match for you. He tightened his grip on your throat threateningly.

“Negan…no!” you protested as your breath hitched. You were still mad and didn’t want to give in to him, but couldn’t ignore the heat pooling in your belly. The way he took charge in bed has always been a turn-on for you and despite your mind protesting against it, your body started to respond to his touch eagerly.

“Oh, yes, sweetheart. You want this as much as I do. And you want it just like this, I know, so stop fighting me,” he grunted. You felt a new wave of heat course through your body at his words.

“No…I don’t want you…ever again!” you barked at him defiantly.

His lips curled up into a wicked grin.

“Oh, honey. I know exactly what you want. You want me to fuck you, right here, up against this fucking door, like there’s no tomorrow and you shall fucking have it.”

His lips came crashing down on yours again, eliciting a soft moan from you. You wanted to protest, but couldn’t anymore. Your primal instinct took over making you give in to him and meet his lips with equal intensity. To hell with logic, Negan was right. You wanted him and you wanted him to make good on his promise, just like he said. You slid your hands up his chest and wrapped them around the back of his neck.

He broke the kiss and released his grip on your throat for a moment to shrug off his leather jacket and then tossed it on his bed. He was wearing one of his favourite white t-shirts that showcased his toned arms and chest. He started licking his way down to your collarbone, peppering your neck with kisses and soft bites, his stubble lightly grazing your skin. A whimper escaped your lips and you brought your hands up to run your fingers through his hair, tugging hard as he continued to pleasure you. His musky scent invaded your senses, mixed with a hint of leather, after-shave and mint, creating an irresistible combination.

Your anger has completely dissipated and was replaced with something else: hot, liquid desire that was coursing through your veins, taking over your mind completely. The heat of the argument turned both of you on, heightening your passion and lust for each other. You didn’t care about what was said before, the only thing that mattered now was tasting, touching and feeling as much of each other as possible and letting out the pent-up energy that accumulated in both of your bodies.

Negan moved his hands further down and reaching your shirt, ripped it open, making the buttons fly off and scatter on the floor. A low growl escaped his lips at the sight of your bare breasts.

“No bra? Naughty girl…,” he whispered in a raspy voice.

He grabbed your breasts greedily, enjoying the touch of your hot skin. He moved his lips to your hard nipples, licking and sucking them gently. He moved his hand down to your stomach and started drawing tiny circles with his thumb around your belly button, sending a jolt up your spine.

“Fuck, Negan!” you mewled helplessly, your mind engulfed in a haze of pleasure.

“Soon enough, baby,” he smirked relishing in the power he had over you.

Reaching the hem of your skirt, he lifted the garment and before you knew it, his left hand was cupping your sex, while his gloved hand was still around your throat, holding you in place.

“Fucking hell, darling, you are soaking wet already!” he exclaimed feeling your wetness through your panties, rubbing the soft cotton against your pussy.

“Oh, God…don’t stop!“ you pleaded and opened your legs further to give him more access.

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t intend to,” he replied with mischief in his eyes. His lips continued their assault on your neck, now biting at your skin more firmly, leaving purple marks along the way.

“Oh, God! Negan, please!” you begged him panting hard.

“Please what, doll?” he asked huskily. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, baby,” he teased mercilessly.

“I…oh, fuck...I want your…I want your fingers inside me!” you managed to say in a shaky voice.

"Really? Is this what you want, doll?” he inquired matter-of-factly.

“Yesss…please!” you hissed through gritted teeth, overwhelmed by the sensual pleasures he was giving you. 

You tried to buck your hips against his fingers for more friction but he tightened his grip on your throat in warning and pushed his hips against yours to keep you in place. He pressed his erection into your core, making you gasp out loudly. You felt like you could come solely from the feeling of his bulge rubbing against you.

“Oh, no, doll, that’s not the way it works. You’ve been a very bad girl and for that I’m going to teach you a lesson. I will fuck you so hard that you will remember the feeling of my dick inside you for the rest of the week as a reminder that you are my wife, now and forever.”

With his free hand he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled out his hard cock. He pumped it a couple of times spreading the pre-cum over the smooth tip. With a single movement he ripped your panties from your body and tossed them aside. He picked up your legs and wrapped them around his hip as you kicked off your stilettos and let them drop on the floor.

Without hesitation he slammed into you, making you wince. While you were wet for him, he did not give you time to adjust to his size and started thrusting in and out of you in a brutal rhythm. The slight discomfort was soon replaced by sheer pleasure, making you arch your back against the door. You have missed the feeling of Negan filling you up completely and was already close to your climax.

“Who do you belong to?” Negan asked between thrusts, panting hard, snapping you out of your blissful haze. His pubic hair was grazing your clit, the friction driving you insane with need.

“To…ohhh...you…,” you stuttered between moans.

“Louder! Who do you belong to?” he urged tightening his hold on your throat, speeding up his thrusts at the same time. Tiny beads of sweat started to form on his forehead and temples. His moves became almost animalistic, the urge overtaking him. The sound of skin slapping against skin rhythmically filled the room.

“You! I belong to you, Negan!” you cried out feeling a little light headed from the lack of oxygen and starting to tighten around his cock.

“Good girl,” he praised, finally satisfied with your reply. His thrusts became faster and sloppier, signalling that he was getting closer to his peak.

“Now come for me, baby!” he commanded and his words finally pushed you over the edge making you scream out loud as pleasure washed over your entire body, making your arms tighten around his shoulders and your toes to curl up. It was the most intense feeling that cleared every thought from your mind. Negan pushed into you a few more times and came hard, cursing loudly and shooting his hot cum inside you.

Your legs felt like jelly and you couldn’t hold them around Negan’s hips anymore. You tried to steady yourself by holding onto his neck but you were so weak that your body started to slide down along the door. Negan released his grip from your throat allowing oxygen to fill your lungs, heightening the sensation of your post-orgasmic bliss. He grabbed your hips and knelt down on the floor, with his dick still inside you, so that you were straddling his lap. You were both panting hard, still coming down from your highs, your hair and clothes messy and your bodies covered in sweat.

“Looks like we should be arguing more often,” you murmured against Negan’s neck.

“We most certainly should.” he replied with a chuckle and started kissing your neck lazily. “I missed her so much.“

“Missed her? Who?” you mumbled sleepily against him.

“Well, your hot, wet pussy of course,” he laughed out wickedly.

“Asshole!” you exclaimed and punched him in the chest lightly, his crude remark earning a smile to appear on your lips. “I think she missed you too,” you whispered in his ear, giggling. His skin smelled of sex, sweat and a hint of soap and you snuggled closer to him to feel more of it.

“And what about Amber? Weren’t you supposed to spend tonight with her?” you asked hesitantly, remembering the reason for your argument earlier. You started drawing lazy circles on his chest absentmindedly. His skin felt hot and moist to your touch and his t-shirt stuck to his body.

“No, I was to spend tonight with you all along,” Negan replied simply.

You looked up at your husband in disbelief.

“But, Simon…he said that you…”

“Simon said exactly what I told him to say,” he countered looking at you intently, a mischievous smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“I…I…I don’t understand…why did you tell him to…?” you started shaking your head when the realization hit you. “No…no, Negan, you didn’t! You did this all on purpose? To make me mad and start a fight?”

“Sure I did, darling. I remembered the make-up sex after our last argument and just couldn’t help it…I had to have more of that. And so did you, I believe,” he added and continued to plant feathery kisses along your throat.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you replied curtly pushing him away, crossing your arms in front of your chest and pursing your lips at him. You felt anger bubble up in your chest again at his confession.

“Oh, doll, you want to start another fight? I’m up up for it, as long as we make up with some freaky-deaky fun afterwards,” he beamed at you, bringing his gloved hand around your neck again and grasping it gently. It wasn’t painful but it was enough to remind you of how he restricted your air supply while he was fucking you earlier. You obeyed instinctively and dropped your arms from your chest. He smiled triumphantly and continued kissing and sucking your neck. 

“So…uhm…Amber, did she know about this?” you asserted.

“She was in on the whole thing right from the beginning. In fact, she was worried as fuck about how you would react to me choosing her on the previous two Saturdays already,” Negan added licking your collarbone, his stubble grazing your skin tantalizingly slowly.

“Wow…you planned this all out, didn’t you?” you looked at him in awe. And you thought he was neglecting you in favour of his other wives. You were thankful now that you didn’t give in to the temptation of beating Amber up earlier.

“It was worth it, wasn’t it?” he replied with an evil grin on his face.

“So…what’s going to happen now?” you inquired cautiously as Negan’s tongue left goosebumps in its wake on your still sensitive skin.

“You mean, after round two?” he asked licking his lips.

You sighed out loud and slapped his arm playfully.

“Negan, you are still inside me!”

“Oh, trust me, baby, I fucking noticed,” he replied huskily and moved his hands to your ass pulling your body closer in his lap. You could feel his cock harden inside you again. “What can I say? I’m an insatiable motherfucker.”

“Now that is something I can attest to. Especially the ‘motherfucker’ part,” you snorted rolling your eyes at him.

Negan gave you a dark look, narrowing his eyes at you, making you blush and shift uncomfortably in his lap. You knew how little tolerance he had for any of his wives acting insubordinately towards him and how he enjoyed doling out punishment for such behaviour. Not that you minded being punished by him if it meant a sweet torture like the one you have just had to “endure”... The idea of testing the limits of his patience seemed temptingly alluring...but you were still sore from earlier and needed some time to recover. Negan never failed to keep his promises and you were certain that you would indeed remember the feeling of him inside you for the rest of the week. Another time then, perhaps.

You gulped hard and looked away to escape his piercing gaze. “I mean..from now on. What is going to happen on Saturdays?” you pushed further.

“Saturdays are yours and yours only,” Negan murmured against your lips, nuzzling your nose with his.

You smiled at him happily, content with his reply. You leaned into him and kissed him deeply.

“I love you, dear husband,” you whispered to him between kisses.

“And I love you, dear wife,” Negan replied claiming your lips again.

[hey-mando]

One Last Try (Gaston x Reader)

Part 2 of “Another Look Around”

Word Count: 2,123

Warnings: None

Tags: @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli @lovelylpevensie

A/N: Ok wow so the amount of love on my last post was incredible. Really. You got no idea. I never expected such a positive response to my first ever Tumblr fanfic, so THANK YOU TO ALL THE LOVELY SMOLS WHO LIKED/COMMENTED/REBLOGGED. YA’LL MADE MY DAY. Originally I had no plan to continue this story, buuuut...after several requests, I present to you, part 2 *dramatic overture*

  You waited with bated breath until the sound of Gaston’s boots on the stone stairs had receded into silence before allowing yourself to draw air. With a gasp, you wiped a hand across your forehead and pushed yourself off the door.

   Belle was still staring at you in befuddlement. She placed the loaf of bread in her hand on the table, then mounted her hand on her hip. “Honestly, (Y/N), what’s gotten into you? You’re face looks like a tomato.”

   “Does it?” you panted, raising your palms to feel the heat in your cheeks. You giggled breathlessly for no reason. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself from smiling.

   “Wait a minute...” Belle began suspiciously, moving towards you. “Was that Gaston that you were talking to?”

  You swallowed, dropping your arms to your sides. Belle gasped loudly. “It was, wasn’t it!” Looking completely aghast, she rushed forward, gripping your shoulders and looking you directly in the eyes. “Tell me what happened. Every bit of it.”

   With much difficulty, you were finally able to force your lips out of their grinning state, returning Belle’s gaze. Your heart was still relentlessly thudding against your chest, and you covered her hands with your own as you admitted rather timidly, “Oh, Belle you’re going to kill me.”

   Her eyes bugged. “Did he propose?”

   You raised an eyebrow and said, “When does he not?”

   “You didn’t say yes!”

   “No, of course not!”

   “Then what happened?”

   You bit your lip. “Well, he asked to have dinner.”

   “And you said yes?!”

   You frowned. “No.” Then you paused before adding, “But I didn’t necessarily say no either.”

   Belle threw her hands up and sighed. “Well if it wasn’t a yes or a no, then what was it?”

   “I don’t know! I guess it was a maybe, we’ll see.”

  Belle’s face said it all: she couldn’t believe the words that she was hearing. How could she? You and her had spent many days in the past mimicking some of Gaston’s most ridiculous lines and gestures. Belle would imitate his voice and stick an imaginary bouquet in your face while you clutched your stomach and nearly fell backwards laughing. You would make her choke on giggles by miming his smirk and wiggling your eyebrows. You had spent some of the merriest times in your friendship joking about Gaston and his infatuation with you. No wonder it was shocking for her to now hear you say that you had practically accepted a dinner date from him.  

   “Are you insane?” she finally squeaked. You wiped your sweaty hands on your skirt. “Probably,” you muttered back, stepping past her to the table and tearing off a chunk of bread from the large baguette. You popped it in your mouth as Belle began pacing across the room.

   “But - I don’t understand, (Y/N). You’ve always said that Gaston was wasting his breath with you. That he was utterly absurd and you would sooner court Madam Roux’s old tabby cat. Besides, you know what he’s like! He’s rude, and conceited and -”

   “Belle,” you interrupted. She froze where she was and looked at you. “Hold still before you wear a hole in the floor.”

  She exhaled exasperatedly and crossed her arms almost sulkily. “I just don’t understand what’s gotten into you,” she mumbled.

    You pursed your lips and raised your hands in a clueless gesture. “Neither do I.” The smile began to return as you continued, “I wouldn’t be able to explain it if I wanted to. There was just something different this time. For a moment, I was looking into his eyes and I actually think I saw..”

   “What?“

   “Well, something along the lines of sincerity.”

   Belle scoffed. “Oh, I don’t doubt that he’s sincere. Sincerely full of himself.”

  You tossed her a disapproving look and shot back, “No one’s without their good qualities, Belle. Besides...I think there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

   Belle faced you with a stern expression. “You honestly think that there’s a chance that Gaston is a decent man underneath all of his peacock feathers?”

   You grinned at her and answered, “Call me crazy if you like.”

  Your best friend shook her head. “You’re completely crazy,” she lamented before snatching the baguette, ripping off a large piece and stuffing it in her mouth.

   The rest of the day dragged by uneventfully.

  You’d left Belle’s after eating a large lunch, then headed straight to your own house. After running the rest of your errands and taking a long bath afterwards, the jitters in your stomach had begun to grow.

  Essentially, you were meeting Gaston tonight. You were walking straight into the thing that you’d been trying to avoid for the past four years, but instead of dread, you felt only nervous excitement.

    Your earlier encounter with Gaston had undeniably changed something in your mind. Thinking of him - his looks, his voice, or even just his name - gave you a new feeling that you weren’t familiar with. It made your stomach tighten, but in a good way. It made your breath catch in your throat and your thoughts go fuzzy. Right at the moment, you weren’t sure if you liked it. But there was no going back now.

   The sun had reduced to a formless lake of burning orange hanging on the horizon by the time you left home for the final time that day. The skies to the west were a deep, silky navy dusted with stars, and the full moon was proudly standing out against backdrop. Villeneuve’s streets were lit with flickering lamps, and the amount of people milling about them was dramatically reduced due to the impending night.

   The tavern was only a three minute walk from your neighborhood, and your heart thumped a little quicker with every step you took. Every stride carried you closer to a night that would either live in your memory as a nightmare...or a dream.

   Well, you thought as the bar came into view, here goes nothing. Inhaling shakily, swishing your skirt out behind you and blinking a few times to clear your mind, you finally pushed through the door.

  The smell of ale and smoke dropped over your senses in an intoxicating veil. The light inside the tavern was dim and golden, and though the noise was jarring, an odd sense of calm settled in your stomach upon entering, soothing the nerves.

   Without wasting a moment, you weaved your way around the boisterous crowd to the bar, where you spotted the familiar face of Louisa as she filled two heavy metal steins with beer. She happened to glance up as you made your way to her, and she gave a startled smile.

   “(Y/N)! What brings you to this neck of the woods?” She questioned, sliding the full mugs to the end of the bar. You returned her smile as you leaned against the counter. “Girl can’t get a drink in this town?” you joked. Louisa cocked an eyebrow, reaching for another mug as she replied, “Last I knew you weren’t exactly a frequent to our fine establishment, dearie.”

    You traced circles in the wooden tabletop with your fingernail, saying, “Well, you’re right, I’m not. Just needed a change in scenery for once.”

   Liar, liar, a little voice inside you sung. You shook it away as if it were a pesky insect.

  “Now that I can understand,” Louisa said before placing the mug in front of you. “Careful now. This stuff’s strong enough to make steam come outta your ears.” You laughed lightly and thanked her, wrapping a hand around the cup. You then turned and leaned your back against the bar, taking a sip of the alcohol and letting your eyes wander casually around the packed pub.

   You nearly choked on the beer as your gaze snagged on one man in particular who was sitting near the roaring fire with his friend, LeFou at his side.

   Gaston reclined in his chair with his legs spread and his arms draped lazily over the armrests. His position caused his shirt to strain over his muscled chest, and his head was tilted to the side, a bored expression on his face.

   Until his eyes caught yours.

   You swallowed not-so-subtly.

   He blinked, a surprised smile flitting onto his face as he smacked LeFou on the arm, who nearly tumbled off his own chair before he too noticed you. “(Y/N)!” he welcomed loudly over the noise, beaming happily. The momentary lull of anxiety vanished, and your pulse shot back to a dangerous pace.

    Since there was no way to escape him now that he’d caught sight of you - and since you didn’t feeling like leaving either - you knocked back one more gulp of beer, thinking that you’d need it, then placed it on the counter.

   Your palms were sweaty as you stepped away from the bar and slowly worked your way around the many tables and bodies. You could feel Gaston’s gaze on you the whole time. When you finally navigated your way to him, you watched as his chest rose with what could either be an inhale, or pride. He shifted his shoulders.

   “(Y/N),” he greeted, almost savoring the sound of you name on his tongue. “You came.”

    “I’m a woman of my word, Gaston.”

  His smile deepened to a smirk, and he straightened up as he said, “Well, it’s a great pleasure to see you again.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “I’m sure it is,” you returned sarcastically. By this point Gaston had risen from his seat and advanced towards you until you stood separated by two feet at the most. Your heart flipped as his eyes briefly scanned your form before returning to your face. He then extended his hand and offered smoothly, “Drinks are on LeFou.”

   Despite your insides being a mess of butterflies, you couldn’t help but laugh. You took Gaston’s hand and asked, “Does he know that?” Gaston made a face that said who knows? and replied, “He won’t mind.” He flashed you a winning smile and then, his fingers laced through yours, led you to one of the only empty tables on the opposite side of the place. He politely gestured for you to sit first, then called towards the bar, “Louisa! Another round for the most beautiful girl in town!”

   You suppressed a blush as Gaston sat down backwards on the bench next to you so that his back and elbows rested against the table, enabling him to face you. “You weren’t kidding about saving the flattery for this evening, were you?” you teased.

   Gaston gave a short, low laugh and answered, “I’m a man of my word, dear (Y/N).”

  You continued the small talk until Louisa arrived with two more beers for each of you. She gave you a sly smile before returning to the bar, which you tried to ignore by quickly averting your eyes to the first stein.

   After several more minutes of chatting with Gaston, the rigidness started to melt off your body, and you relaxed, switching positions to straddle the bench and face him. Perhaps it was the alcohol, or maybe it was simply the ease of his company, but as the minutes wore on, a warm, electric feeling began to bloom in your stomach, working its way through your chest and into your head.

  You were unable to look away from his burning whisky eyes. You began to appreciate just how deeply attractive he was, and when you realized it, you didn’t try to banish the notion from your brain as usual. You let it linger, let it take over. You relished the sound of his rough voice and laugh, memorized every facial expression, every smug little grin, and even the slightest shift in his body language. Your body subconsciously drifted closer to his, feeling a strange need to be in some sort of physical contact. The most noticeable difference was that for once, he wasn’t trying to impress you or pepper you with compliments. For once, he was actually talking to you. Asking you about your family, your ambitions, and your daily activities. He remained flirtatious as always, but in a subdued and intimate way that was a hundred times more attractive than flowers and chocolates.

  If you’d been paying attention, you would’ve heard those little alarms in your head that warned you against falling for anything stupid. But it was too late. You were in too deep, and though it was something you’d never dreamed of admitting to yourself, all you wanted to do was stay trapped in this moment with Gaston, legs brushing, his arm extended behind you on the table, his fingers casually twisting a strand of your hair, and his eyes looking so deep into yours that you imagined he must be able to read your every thought.

   This was it. This was his second chance. One last try at winning your affections. One last try at achieving the ultimate goal. One try at earning your love slowly and purposefully the way it deserved to be earned. And as the hours dwindled away, Gaston could somehow sense that it was working.

[rayalez]

How to Write a Book?

Now that’s a brilliant question to ask; and for a moment, I would mock the innocence with which people ask this question. They think wikihow can help them. Or maybe another video tutorial. Or a well prepared module on coursera or some other learning website?

And if I had to be honest, I would say that no one in the world can tell you how to write a book.

When I say a book, I mean the book, which is in your head and which you mean to write. In my experience as an author, consultant and ghostwriter — I have met a myriad of people with diverse objectives of writing a book. They have their own personal, professional or commercial goals which they fulfil with the help of getting the tag of an author. When I got this tag, back when I was 19, I didn’t even know it’s weight and significance. A lot of people ask me why are you just ghost writing or consulting now? Why don’t you write any more? Sadly, I don’t have a ground breaking idea which I would want myself to dedicate to. Not yet at least. And hence, while I am not writing for my own self, it will be good to help others or write for others; there is always something to learn in the end and do better.

Now, coming back to the question of ‘How to write a book’ and my blunt answer about no one can tell you to how to do it — let me explain.

There is no fixed method to write a book. There is no formula or LHS = RHS, which will miraculously yield a book. Every author has his or her own approach.

There are some accidental authors who just start writing randomly and become famous. Also, there are authors who believe in technique, strategy and every step they take is a meaning. None of the two is wrong. In fact, there is no wrong or right. You can pour in your heart or you can try to understand your reader and play with the minds. So before we go on to know how to write a book, let us understand, why it is understand to know how to write a book. Why can’t we just go with the flow and do it?

Why do you need a strategy to write a book?

Because it’s a road full of terrors. It’s a never ending maze which you can never escape and if you are one of those ambitious types, it will drive you more crazy.

Book Writing demands discipline and more. Getting on this journey means to summon the ghost of chaos to haunt you forever, and if you don’t have a plan or you don’t know how you are going to do it, it won’t just take undetermined amount of time, but will also drain you emotionally and intellectually.

So, I am going to share my own approach. Has kept this a secret for long but I think it is time that I should share it. I divide this entire process of book writing in 7 stages. Yes, 7. I like the number 7. Simple.

I. Idea stage

This is the first stage of book writing. Whenever there is a new project or a new client, this is my first question

Explain your book in one single sentence.

Or

Tell me your plot in not more than 2 lines.

If they can answer this with confidence, they know what they want. Same is for you. If you can answer this, you know what your heart wants. If you are not sure, think more before you take a step ahead. Find more clarity on what you want it to be. The idea is the soul of what you are going to be create. A sense of this soul should be reflected in whatever you do next. It’s where you started and you should always try to be reach back to it because this is the basic reason you started this whole journey at first place.

For example, when I wrote my third book Nazaqat, the idea was:

A girl who chooses prostitution on her own will, retires to become an entrepreneur and fights to legalize prostitution completely in India.

The same idea, is also the pitch which you will give it to the publishers eventually. It has to be powerful, unique and promising. However, there are exceptions. At times, despite having a very mediocre idea, people do wonders with the writing style and the art of storytelling, captivating you while you are off-guard. I always give the idea of ‘God of Small Things’ by Arundhati Roy. If you analyze the plot, it is not really something unique and at times, I find it absurd. At times you feel that she doesn’t even care about it. But that book is a heart-stealer. It’s a poem disguised in prose to pleasure you like you have never imagined.

So even if you feel that your idea is not something Nolan would want to buy, don’t worry. Have confidence in your charm of storytelling. You can still steal their hearts away.

II. Research Stage

Now while you are sure about the whole idea that was in your head and you have sorted it out for your own good, the real work now begins. Don’t get scared with the word ‘Research’. I don’t mean anything scientific here (Except that you have some elements of science in your book). Research means to gather knowledge and facts around the idea. Reading more and more about it and making notes which will be later referred to. For example, if you plan to set your story in the southern part of the country, you must know the landscape, the terrain, the traditions, culture, everyday stories and so much more. You have to be one with the place and feel it to translate it into words later.

At times, I prefer to research side by side while planning (which is the third stage). In some cases, I even do it after the planning stage. But it all depends on the project. By default, try to do research, if not detailed than basic, before you proceed.

In case it is more like a biography and you think no research is required, you can’t be more wrong. You still need to recall the experiences, the people, the reactions and have random scribbling sessions.

How to research?

Read books, magazines, newspapers.

Watch documentaries and movies on the subject

Visit places

Meet and talk to people who can provide insights

Be shameless and take your time. It can take from a month to a year to research. Depends on how intense you wanna go. For my third book, I took 8 months and did stuff shameful enough that I don’t even want to admit to get information.

Note: While you research, you are bound to go through the work already done on the subject or idea. This helps you realize how your idea has to be different. Or if you are doing something which has already been done. Research helps you make sure that your work is unique.

In short, brace yourself in a way that you don’t have to go back to find a piece of information that you need.

III. Planning Stage

This is one of the most crucial stage as you are going to make a blueprint for the building you want to erect. This is going to be your holy text that you must follow till the end. A solid plan will give you direction and keep you hooked to your project. This will always tell what to do next.

Heard of Writer’s Block? I think it’s just an excuse. People have it because they never planned properly and now they are panicking as they are lost. It is more like cooking a new recipe. It is important to know if you have all the ingridients before you start cooking and you know how to cook. If you don’t have any of two, you of course can’t cook it and will have to abandon it in between. And if you think you will refer to internet or go to the market to buy the ingredients, you know you have spoiled it already.

Book writing needs both passion and motivation along with dedication.

What are the elements of planning?

While planning you should try to answer the following questions:

What is the expected word count of the book?

How many chapters will be there?

What is the word-count of each chapter?

How many prime characters are there?

How many side characters are there?

Now this is all basic information. While you have decided how many chapters and their average word-count, you have created moulds. It’s time to fill in these moulds with information now. This information is retrieved from research you did before.

Moreover, you decide the sequence in which all this information has to be conveyed to the reader and you make bullet points or small paragraphs about it which will act as your clue in the next stage.

Character Sketches:

Another crucial part of planning is the character sketch.

Your characters must become your best friends and you have to live and breath with them and know them like real people. Knowing each and every detail about them will help you be more fluid with writing. All the characteristics, habits and traits of your characters must resonate in your mind.

To do that, you can start putting your characters in a situation and think how will he or she respond and act. While you continue practicing it, you will start learning and exploring more and more about them. At a point of time, you can answer questions about your characters with lightening speed. It will start coming naturally to you.

Apart from this, also work on the physical appearances, backstories and their likings and dislikings. I usually give a huge list of questions to answer about the characters. While they answer the question, they develop the characters.

Another critical point which a lot of novices miss — they make characters black and white. They are either evil or good. Sadly, it is not true in real life and this drifts the entire concept away from reality.

You have to think about the negative habits too. Everyone has inner demons and so does your characters. Even if it is a hero, he has a dark side which you should know. Even if you are not telling the reader about many of the answers that you just explored, it is important for you to know them.

So, while you have your characters ready, your blueprint for chapters ready and you know exactly what you want to write and how you want to write and have the necessary ingredients which are sufficient to fill the moulds — you can hop on to the next stage.

IV. Writing Stage

Welcome to the fourth stage. You have already spent months working on the project but haven’t written anything. I know you are hating me for this. But well, you will thank me later. Now just before you are going to write, here are few more things you need to decide:

Is it a first person narrative or third person narrative?

If it’s first person, which character is going to narrate? Or there are multiple characters narrating it?

Which tense are you narrating it in?

Another aspect that you have to be sure about — that is your voice. Now this whole concept of voice is very vague and mysterious. It took me years myself to figure out what we mean when we say voice of a writer. To be put in simple terms, it is more like the way you narrate things. Is it lucid and fluid? Or is it blunt and sharp? Is it sarcastic? Or is it poetic? Do you write short sentences or it’s the long sentences which is your forte? You like to describe everything in detail or you leave stuff for reader to imagine?

It is highly critical to find your voice before you start writing. If you are not sure about your voice yet, start writing more apart from this book writing project. Write blogs, diary entries, articles and analyze your own self more and more. Eventually, you will find it.

So if you have your voice, nothing can stop you from writing a book in record time. Asking about my voice? Well, after working on such a wide range of projects, I have been very versatile with it. I absorb the voices of people I am working with and then replicate them.

Note: Write your first draft like a marathon. There is no stopping or looking back even if you are making a mistake. Just remember one thing — don’t stop writing!

V. Editing Stage

Congratulations. You have completed the first draft. Now the intensity of editing is decided by how much you are satisfied and confident with what you have done. Always hire an external editor because you can’t see or judge your own mistakes. An editor can play the following roles:

Comment on the plot and characters

Comment where to improve or do it own his/her own

Proofread for grammar

Motivate and criticize

Who can be your editor? Someone who has read a lot. I don’t believe that a writer can be an editor. I stopped editing for the same reason because I felt I was not able to do justice with it.

Also, you can have your beta readers who can provide casual feedback. However, don’t have too many beta readers or editors. In the end, do what you feel is right. It’s your hard work and it’s your dream.

VI. Publishing Stage

So if you thought that getting a manuscript ready was the worst you could go through, I have an unfortunate news. The horror has just begin.

Publishing a book is harder than writing it; ask anyone! To publish a book, you should make a proposal which you will be sending to editors of various publishing houses. This proposal should contain:

A detailed Synopsis

A blurb

Three sample chapters

Author Bio

It will take another long post on How to publish, which I might write in future. Also note one thing, do talk about marketing and slyly convey that you will market it good. Publishing is a business in the end. You see your book as a piece of art, but they see it like just another product that they must sell to make money. Clear?

Now there are two ways with which you can publish:

Traditional Publishing

Takes a lot of time (maybe years)

You don’t have to pay

High Royalty percentage

Good Brand Value

Better distribution in offline stores

Number of rejections will make you suicidal

Self Publishing

Quick and less frustrating

You have to pay

Lower royalty percentage

No Brand value

Distribution is subjective to the money you are spending

You will survive with no rejection at all

There are many more differences and again, I must write another post on this to explain it in detail. Let’s see if that happens.

How to approach publisher?

If you are new to the industry, I will tell you a secret trick. Go to a big bookstore, find the books which are on similar genre of your own book. Check which publishers are doing such books. Make a list. Come back home, google them. Their websites will have the publishing guidelines that you must follow religiously to get their attention. Pleasing them can be harder than pleasing gods at times. Be ready.

VII. Marketing Stage

If you survived all this and think this is the end, I have more unfortunate news. Hate me as much as you want. Remember I told how publishing is harder than writing. Now, marketing is even harder than that.

Book is a complicated product and most of the time, I have seen it defying all kind of marketing mantras. What can work for someone might not work for others. Also, the ROI on the marketing budgets that you will put will frustrate you to death. A book is a slow product and yield results very slowly. Be very patient with this.

You must make an active marketing strategy and promote it on various platforms at the same time so that each platform can compliment each other. These are the four primary things you can do:

Digital marketing

Have a website and start writing blogs. Have a solid social media strategy to reach out to potential readers.

PR

Get coverages and reviews in newspapers for better presence. Give bytes to the stories that are being done and are relevant to your subject.

Events

Do book launches, reading sessions and creative writing workshops.

Reviews at blogs

Send it to reviewers who have good following and request them to write one for you.

There is so much more that can be done depending on what kind of book it is. Also make sure that while you are marketing, the book is available online and offline otherwise everything is in vain. If you create a demand and there is no supply, you know you are wasting your money (Except that you are someone like Rowling whose book could be sold in black if there is not enough supply).

Have a year long marketing strategy and don’t fret over results. They will take time.

Conclusion:

If you have survived reading this post and you are still determined to do it, you can write a book. I hope the question of How to write a book has been answered by me. I will pick up subtopics from this and write those in more detail.

Want me to help?

I would love to if I like the idea! Let’s talk!

How to Write a Book? was originally published in Fiction Hub on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Discover more awesome fiction at https://medium.com/fictionhub

[thetotalfootball]

Putting Paul Pogba Into Perspective

Author: Declan Harte

The fee of 100 million euro, supposedly including agent's fees, for a 23 year old who has proven to be a great player at Juventus going to a club that can easily afford it doesn't look too bad when you consider the following:

The other money that's been thrown around for example(s): Higuaín is only 16 million euro cheaper and it could be argued that he just had the best season he will ever have in his career as 28 would be considered the "prime" of a player in his position, John Stones for 50 million pounds to Manchester City which, even without thinking about how poor a season he had last year, is ridiculous and will make him the most expensive defender of all time (well, he'd be level with David Luiz but that also helps my argument because on what planet is David Luiz worth 50 million pounds?) and every player that's been signed to China in the last 12 months or so have all been for asinine amounts of money which includes making Pellé the 5th most paid footballer in the world and we've all seen what he's capable of while playing for Southampton.

United are obviously going to have to pay a lot of money for players as everyone knows they're able to afford anyone and it won't affect United in any way really because this is still part of the budget that they could spend this summer, as assigned by the board, and no more signings will be made this Summer.

Every club has a budget but it would appear a lot of clubs so far this summer, in the Premier League at least, are not spending any of it, just look at Everton who have only signed a Sporting Director and a new manager or Hull who have spent 0£ and lost their manager (and we can't forget that Hull won what is known as "The Richest Game in Football" just 2 months ago and so have no excuse for not spending).

United are also not the only club to be over spending in the league, in fact every club of a certain status has over spent this Summer or in previous Summers. Good deals have happened too, obviously, but they're getting rarer and rarer. I don't like the amount of money being thrown around but for most people to just be singling out United, in the Premier League anyway, I'm finding more and more perplexing. City are always my go-to example but let's face it it's true, 50 million pounds each for 3 different players in 12 months as well as the money spent on Mangala and Otamendi is ridiculous. Hard to believe they only spent 38 million on Aguero really.

Let's not forget that Real Madrid started this with their signings of Zidane, Figo, Kaká, Ronaldo, Bale and Rodriguez and they've just won 2 Champions Leagues in 3 years so this will obviously just click with top clubs that the over spending has led to success.

On top of this, even the supposed "smaller" clubs are throwing around money here and there, or at least they're trying to. West Ham are on a mission to sign someone for 50 odd million and Palace are in for Benteke for a fee of 30 million. In what world is Benteke worth 32.5 million pounds only to be sold the following year for 30 million pounds after a terrible season? Lukaku has a 75 million pound price tag say Everton. He’s had an awful last six months of the season. Even watching him at the Euros, there was no sign of improvement, and he's just not as good as people say he is. "But he's young, he's got potential!" people will retort. Surely that just makes it even riskier to spend over the odds for him. Sure, he could prove to be amazing and help bring success, but he could just as easily waste that potential. As a recent example I point you in the direction of Balotelli to Man City and again to Liverpool. Yes, United were at fault for this with Martial last summer and they've gotten lucky with his success because if he failed it would've been a disaster, but he had an excellent season when you consider the pressure, the fact no one knew who he was until he came off the bench and sealed United's win over Liverpool, the fact that it was a poor United team with a crazy manager who played terrible football and never looked like scoring, but he got 17 goals last season (as well as a number of assists), and he was 19 when he signed, so thus far he is showing himself to have been worth the price tag that seemed obscene at the time.

As supporters of football clubs it also seems strange to even concern ourselves with how much money a club spends. I understand why and I do it myself but having thought about it: would and Arsenal fan care if they went and spent a record amount on bringing in not only a player your team needs but also is one of the top players in the world in that position? Sanchez was a good deal, but Ozil was 42.5 million pounds and while he's played well at Arsenal and had played well for Real Madrid before he was sold, he would not be considered a 42.5 million pound player. Arsenal, last Summer, only signed Cech for 10 million pounds but I wouldn't think they're transfer budget was 10 million pounds. Arsenal would end up in second place in the league, knocked out in the Last 16 of the Champions League and with no silverware to show for the season. Would you not have preferred they went out and bought a top class player who could help the squad by contributing 20 goals or someone at the back who could ensure more clean sheets, or at least sign someone with those intentions, and win a trophy or be more competitive in Europe?

For United fans, if they didn't sign anyone this season and they finished in 5th again they would complain as to why they didn't strengthen the squad with the money they so obviously have. Fans would much rather they spend 100 million euro for a player than the money not being spent at all. I understand that the 100 million could be used to sign multiple players who are cheaper, but in this case, if you look at the United team, they have signed players in all the key positions that they needed to fill this Summer so why not sign Pogba if they can? They need a player in his position and he is the best player in that position.

I'd also like to point you in the direction of the above graph. It's the distribution of the TV rights money between all 20 Premier League clubs for last season, and likely this season too, and we can see that Aston Villa would've received 97 million pounds for coming last and contributing nothing to the league. The ultimate "medal for participation". This shows us the amount of money that every club will be earning and thus the money that's in the game today. More money held by clubs means the more money clubs will be asked to pay for players and so the more money that will be spent by clubs. This obviously means that the market will see absurd prices for players, as I've mentioned, and I'm not saying it's right and this is how it should be but this is how football is now and it's just as part of the game as diving and incorrect offside calls are in games. Just like them, we'll have to accept this. How long it lasts is yet to be seen but for now it's how the game is.

Looking at the table, Man United would've earned 132 million pounds for coming in fifth place. United also won the FA Cup so would've earned money for that, as well as having televised games from the 3rd round all the way to the final. Also they earned money for qualifying for the Champions League group stage last season. To go with this they would also have been earning money through sponsorship deals like the ones with Adidas and Chevrolet as well as the money earned through ticket and shirt sales and the money the club have from the owners as well as retained from the previous year. You can point at United for over spending and they are, don't get me wrong, but I think you should look to the likes of Sky and BT who are giving all of these clubs this money and the clubs are just using it in their best interest. Look at it as if you got paid an extra ten grand a year to do your job, would you just sit on the extra money? You could, but when you need to strengthen in areas of your life that require spending money you would absolutely spend the extra money that can help you now do this.

Finally, I think Pogba should not be judged on his price right now but on how he performs in the coming months following this price. If he ends up being an influential player in a league winning season and in following seasons bring further silverware then everyone will forget the price tag, just like with Ronaldo and Bale. However, if he gets injured in the opening match against Bournemouth and is out for 6 months and he doesn't achieve anything over the course of his, what is to be believed, six year contract then you can look at the price tag and laugh. For now though, we must wait.

[welllpthisishappening]

You Play Ball Like a Girl (34/?)

“You’re a very good journalist, Swan.”

“I’m not interviewing you,” she argued. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“I know you are, love,” he said softly.

“And also a bit worried,” Emma added. “About you.”

Updating on the reg on Ao3 and living happily on the Tumblr tag as well. 

She was absurdly happy.

Like. Absurdly.

It was perfect. Emma was certain she hadn’t stopped smiling once. She felt like Mary Margaret. Sounded like her too, all hopped up on hope and love – although she hadn’t actually said anything about the latter – and the way Killian Jones’ hand felt in hers when he’d walk with her to the subway every afternoon.

That was another benefit of living five blocks away from each other.

He picked her up for work. Daily. She’d walk out the door, to find him leaning on the railing along the sidewalk, hot chocolate cup in hand and that stupid smirk on his face.

Emma regularly kissed it off.

He didn’t complain once.

It was perfect.

Killian had folded himself back into Emma’s life with ease, charming Mary Margaret during roommate dinners and bringing David with him to the cages so they could practice with Henry.

They were still waiting on word of the repercussions of Henry’s feature story – holding their collective breath for word that the DOE had decided to see sense. Emma had written another story – this one with the approval of Isaac and, for good measure, Sidney – detailing the department’s post-story reaction and how wrong they were regarding Henry’s eligibility.

They hadn't gotten any letters demanding a retraction yet, but they also hadn’t gotten any positive news.

So Killian kept bringing Henry to the cages, fine-tuning his swing and practicing baserunning. They had even started shagging fly balls on the small spot of turf at Chelsea Piers before it got too cold and they had to find a new venue for their regiment.

Emma couldn’t stop smiling. And then, one day, she walked into The New York Record office and everything changed.

Aurora was standing in front of her desk, scrolling through her phone, an air of general disapproval wafting off her. Her head snapped up when she heard Emma’s shoes on the floor and the smile she gave didn’t even come close to reaching her eyes.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, suddenly nervous. “How’s the baby?” “The baby is fine, good, actually, really, really good. Thanks.”

“I assume there are pictures,” Emma continued, nodding towards the phone still in Aurora’s hands.

She nodded, but didn’t move her phone at all, glancing back down at the screen when it buzzed again. “Everything ok?” Emma asked. “You’re not usually down here.”

Aurora didn’t answer immediately, fingers flying over the screen as she hummed some sort of distracted noise at Emma.

Emma took a step back towards her desk, roller her bag off her shoulder and setting it down next to her chair before sliding out of her jacket. “Aurora?” she repeated.

“Have you talked to Killian today?”

Emma shook her head slowly. He hadn’t been outside before. No hot chocolate or smirk. Emma had spent her entire train ride uptown trying not to worry.

She had failed.

“I think you probably should,” Aurora continued cryptically.

“Why?”

“Why what? He is your boyfriend isn’t he?” “My boyfriend, Killian?” Emma asked, eyes wide. They had never actually talked about it. There never seemed to be time – between the paper and the stories and the columns and the almost absurd amount of making out.

It had been perfect, it never needed a name. Until now, apparently.

Aurora made a face, staring at Emma like she was a crazy person. “Yeah, your boyfriend .”

“Right,” Emma said quickly.

“You should probably talk about that at some point.” “You are talking in circles,” Emma pointed out. “You never come down here Aurora, what is going on?”

“He was right,” Aurora said – as cryptic as ever.

Emma stared at her for a beat before glancing down at her phone, lighting up and vibrating against her desk. It was Killian.

Aurora nodded at the phone, silently telling Emma to answer it . Emma sighed, rolled her eyes and grabbed the phone anyway.

“Hey,” she said.

“Swan.”

“You ok?”

He didn’t answer for what felt like hours. “Killian,” Emma prompted, feeling Aurora stare at her. “What’s going on?” “They really are back. Here in New York.”

Gold. And Milah.

Killian laughed darkly into the phone and Emma shut her eyes, biting down tightly on her lip. Aurora was still staring at her.

“That’s how Walsh knew. He...he figured it all out, then went and confirmed it.”

“How did you find out?”

He paused again and Emma heard him take a deep breath. She wished he was there. She wished she wasn’t sitting at her desk in the middle of The New York Record sports department. She wished Aurora would stop staring at her with some sort of knowing look on her face.

“Killian,” she prompted again and he sighed.

“Milah showed up at my apartment this morning.”

This time it was Emma who didn’t say anything. She sank back into her chair, pushing her back up against it so she was perfectly straight. Aurora raised her eyebrows at her and Emma just shook her head slowly.

“Swan?” Killian asked softly. Emma could hear the small, nervous smile in her voice. That was enough to snap her attention back.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” she muttered. “Are you ok?”

“What?”

“Ok – are you ok?”

He answered quickly – quicker than Emma expected – and she knew he was tugging on the back of his hair. “I’m fine, love,” he answered. “I just wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there before.”

“That’s ok,” Emma smiled.

“I’m like three blocks away now.”

“Ok.” “Swan,” he said evenly, but there was a threat of laughter in his voice. “That wasn’t a timetable. That was a suggested instruction.” “That so?”

“I’d be very interested in kissing you. Currently.” Emma felt her lips tick up quickly. “I’ll see what I can do about that.” He didn’t say anything else, but Emma heard him laugh before he clicked off the phone.

“What’d he say?” Aurora asked.

“What you were cryptically implying.” “It wasn’t cryptic! You knew what I was saying. Did he tell you what Milah said?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “What do you know that I don’t?”

“You tell me.”

“A lot apparently.”

“Milah told him quite a lot,” Aurora sighed.

“You’re being cryptic again. Why do you know, anyway? This happened like two hours ago.”

“Who do you think he called to find out how to tell you?”

Emma pulled her lips over her teeth, considering her answer and crossed her arms. “To be fair, he didn’t really tell me anything.” “Yeah, well, Killian’s never been too good at actually taking the advice he asks for.”

“Can you tell me something?” Emma asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Shoot.”

“How did you and Killian get to be friends? He uh…” “Doesn’t seem like he has a lot of them?” Aurora suggested. Emma shrugged. “He doesn’t, really,” she continued. “That’s why you’re so important, you know. You’re his friend. And I’ll tell you right now, having Killian as a friend is a good deal. He’s fairly protective, you know?” “I know,” Emma nodded. “That didn’t exactly answer my question though.” “I was in a not-so-great place awhile ago. When I first started at The Record . Killian had been here for, I don’t know, not even a year. But he was already writing a column and he had some pull down here and he made sure I’d get credentialed for games.

And, slowly but surely, things got better. I calmed down , for one, and started to get jobs without Killian’s help and that made the rest of my life a little bit better too. I was driving Philip insane because I was so worried about work. I was, well, let’s just say I was not the best person to deal with at the time. But Killian helped. He got me to relax and that helped with Philip. Neither one of them will admit it, but I’m ninety-nine percent positive Killian helped pick out my ring.”

Aurora held up her left hand as proof, showcasing a bright sapphire ring that was practically the same color of Killian’s eyes. Emma wanted to crawl under her desk with the level of cliche she had encountered.

“He loves you, you know,” Aurora said suddenly. Emma’s eyes widened and she felt her breath rush out of her in one gush of air. “Like an almost ridiculous amount.”

Emma didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She just bit her lip – tightly.

Aurora just shook her head. “And you love him. Like an almost ridiculous amount. It’s painfully obvious. Even if lifestyles wasn’t talking about it.”

“Lifestyles is talking about it?” Emma groaned.

“That’s what you took out of this conversation?”

“We haven’t exactly been trying to broadcast this,” Emma admitted.

“Exactly. He needs to tell you what Milah told him.”

“Is it bad?” Emma knew her voice betrayed every single emotion she was feeling, but mostly she was just upset with how nervous she sounded. That wasn’t like Emma at all. She didn’t do nervous. She did confident.

Aurora looked at her knowingly, one eyebrow raised. Someday someone was going to have to teach Emma how to do that.

“It’s not good,” Aurora said. Cryptic again. Emma sighed. “I’m not going to tell you,” she continued. “He needs to do it. And he wants to. Honestly. He wouldn’t have called me if he didn’t. You know I think you terrify him a little bit.” “Why?”

“Did you miss the part where I said how in love he is with you? That wasn’t conjecture. That was just a fact.” “And that’s terrifying.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. Because Emma was just as vaguely terrified. And just as ridiculously in love with him.

“He’s told you things,” Aurora said. “Things I don’t even know, so I know you understand why he’d be nervous. He wants to this to work. Scratch that, he needs this to work.”

“And whatever Milah told him could make this not work?”

“You’re quick on the uptake.” “Journalist,” Emma shrugged.

“He’s not just going to walk away,” Aurora promised. “But this is going to make things...difficult. 'Ish. Difficult'ish. So I’ve got a question for you.” “Yeah?”

“Are you in on this? With him, I mean. Because Killian has dealt with some shit – some of it from you – and he doesn’t deserve it. So if you’re going to run when this gets tough, then you need to tell him now.”

Emma stared at Aurora, stunned silent. She hadn’t ever been on the receiving end of the don’t hurt him speech. In fact, she hadn’t even been aware that anything like that actually happened in the real world.

“Well?” Aurora said sharply.

“Look who’s being the overprotective friend now.”

“You love him?” Aurora asked – straight to the point, finally.

“Yeah, I do,” Emma said softly. That was the first time she admitted it out loud. Mary Margaret and Elsa would be disappointed.

“Then you need to go meet him three blocks from here. And talk to him.” “How did you know he was three blocks from here?” “Mom,” Aurora shrugged. “I’m pre-programmed to hear any noise that comes across any speaker now. It’s just second nature.”

Emma laughed and shook her head, grabbing her jacket and shrugging back into the coat, pulling her wallet and her ID out of her bag. “He deserves a friend like you,” Emma said, reaching forward to squeeze Aurora’s arm.

“He’s an absurdly good guy. I just want him to be happy.”

“That makes two of us,” Emma agreed, smiling and squeezing Aurora’s arm again before turning towards the sports floor doors.

He was standing outside of Josie’s, one hand in his pocket, the other firmly entrenched in his hair like it had been there for hours – like he had been there for hours.

Emma tapped her foot on the street, impatiently waiting for the light – or a lack of cars – and ran her tongue over her teeth in impatience. She got a five-second window and sprinted across the street, holding her phone tightly in her hand.

Killian glanced up at her when she skidded to a stop in front of him and the smile he threw Emma’s way – almost  – made it seem like everything was alright.

“Hey,” she said, stuffing her phone back in her jacket pocket.

“Swan.”

He didn’t say anything else, didn’t move his hands – either of them – didn’t even move an inch away from the building he was leaning against. Emma tilted her head questioningly and tugged on the bottom of his shirt sleeve.

That got him to really smile.

“What’s going on?” Emma pressed.

“A lot actually,” he said, evasively and Emma sighed.

“Don’t do that. I can only do so much cryptic in one day.” Killian raised his eyebrows and Emma made a face. “Aurora likes to kind of lord information doesn’t she? It lasted a lot longer than it probably should have.”

“She does,” Killian laughed. “I’m sorry, love.”

“Don’t be. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I did tell you – she showed up at my apartment.”

Emma realized he didn’t say Milah again, like he had on the phone, and wondered what had changed in the ten minutes it took her to get ten blocks.

He was thinking too much.

“And?” “And…”

“Killian! Talk.”

He looked a bit ashamed, eyes ducking down and staring at the sidewalk. He – finally – pulled his hand out of his pocket, only to run that through his hair as well and Emma sighed again. She yanked on his wrist, pulling his hand down and lacing her fingers with hers, moving to stand next to him with her back against the building.

“I’m sorry, love,” he repeated.

“Don’t be. Talk.” “From what I remember, the suggestion to come here wasn’t centered around talking.” “Talk,” Emma groaned, trying not to smile despite her nerves and vague sense of annoyance. “Then we’ll consider the rest of the suggestion.”

Killian laughed quietly and Emma pulled his hand up again, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Alright,” he started. “So, she showed up at my apartment. Scared the crap out of me. Seven years, Swan. Seven years of nothing and running away and then even more nothing and I fucking walked out of my apartment this morning to find her standing right there. She said she had something important to tell me.”

“Now?” Emma asked, unable to stop herself. Journalist. “After all of that? What could she possibly have to say?” “He’s trying to buy the paper.” “What?”

Killian’s arm squeezed tightly over her shoulders again and Emma bit her lip nervously. “They’re in New York,” he continued. “Indefinitely.”

“And what? Gold wants to buy The Record ? I thought you said he was just some small-town publisher?” “He was when I knew him. He was a scared, little man who didn’t want to leave his own backyard let alone consider buying a major metropolitan newspaper. That’s all changed now, apparently.” “And Milah told you that?” Emma’s chest contracted slightly at mentioning the name, but it wasn’t jealousy. If Killian couldn’t bring himself to say it, it didn’t seem fair to throw that pain back in his face.

She felt him nod – head resting slightly against his cheek – and heard him sigh softly. “She did.”

“But why? Did she say anything else? Why she left or how long they’ve been here or anything like that?” “You’re a very good journalist, Swan.”

“I’m not interviewing you,” she argued. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“I know you are, love,” he said softly.

“And also a bit worried,” Emma added. “About you.”

Killian squeezed her shoulder again, kissing the top of her head and Emma felt her lips tick up slightly. “I know that too,” he mumbled against her hair. “For what it’s worth, she didn’t answer any of those questions. The whole thing was over in less than five minutes. She didn’t say anything about before, just told me that they’re back in New York and Gold is trying to buy The Record . Wanted to give me some kind of warning or something.” “A warning?” Emma moved slightly, turning so she was standing in front of Killian, eyes locked with his.

“If Gold buys this paper, I’m out,” Killian said easily, but Emma heard the tightness in his voice and the tension in his shoulder. “It would take two seconds. He’d sign the paperwork and I’d be done.”

“You don’t know that.”

“That’s why Milah showed up love,” he continued, finally saying her name and Emma did her best to smile encouragingly. “To warn me. Or something.”

“Or something?”

Killian sighed and shook his head slowly, hair falling across his forehead. He still hadn’t gotten a haircut. “Something,” he said slowly. “It’d be over, Swan. Gold wouldn’t have to consider it. He wouldn’t feel bad. He’d just do it.”

“Seven years is a long time though,” Emma said quickly. “He might not...you know..care or something?” “That’s oddly optimistic of you.”

Emma shrugged. That was an entirely different conversation – one filled with hope and acting like Mary Margaret and, maybe, even a few thoughts of happy endings. That wasn’t the kind of conversation to have three blocks away from The New York Record office.

“I appreciate the positivity, Swan, but it’s a bit misplaced. He’d do it and he’d enjoy it. I’d be done.”

She bit her lip tightly, hard enough to hurt and did her best to hold Killian’s gaze. “So what else did she say?”

“Honestly Swan, it all felt like a blur. She was there one minute, telling me about this deal and how Gold had spent the last seven years buying up papers across the country so he could build enough capital to make a run at a big-time paper and that he wanted The Record. Then she told me that he knew I was there and that if he bought the paper, I’d be out. And then she was gone.”

“Just like that?” “Just like that.”

Lie. Emma raised her eyebrows and made a face, twisting her mouth slightly. “Nuh uh, we’re not doing that. Talk to me.”

Killian’s shoulders sagged slightly and Emma widened her eyes. “It wasn’t all that good, love. Or enjoyable.” “I get that. I do, honestly, but you don’t have to lie.”

“An omission, really.”

“A lie.”

Killian tugged on Emma’s hands, pulling her back towards his side and wrapping a hand around her waist. “Not the entire truth,” he countered and Emma huffed slightly. “I wasn’t quite prepared for this.” “That’s understandable.” Emma felt him move next to her and glanced up to find Killian staring at her questioningly. “What?” “That it?” “That it, what?”

“You’re not usually quite so quick to stop arguing.” He was smiling now – smirking – and Emma did her best to resist the urge to smack his arm.

“I’m not arguing!” Killian rolled his eyes and Emma groaned, her whole body slumping forward with the effort. “Ok, not really. I’m just worried. You saw Neal just show up on the sidewalk before, so I’m well acquainted with the feeling of major love interests just reappearing in your life when you think you’re finally over them.”

Emma swore she saw something pass over Killian’s face and there was something close to a glint in his eyes. “What?” she asked.

“Neal showed up months ago.” “Yuh huh.” “You weren’t over Neal until then?”

Journalist . Taking her words and twisting them and finding some sort of unspoken, emotional truth there. Emma took a deep breath, trying to steady it through her nose and straightened her spine, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“We’re talking about you,” she pointed out, stabbing one finger into his shoulder for good measure.

“You brought it up.” The smirk was a full-blown smile now and Emma couldn’t think straight.

“Fine,” she said quickly, every emotion coming to a head all at once. “Fine. You want me to come right out and say it? Ok. I wasn’t over Neal. Not for a very long time and I didn’t believe I could be for a very long time. And then I ran you over and you messed up my interview and let me pick out flowers for Aurora and started texting David and, well, that was that.” “That was that?”

“Exactly.”

He squeezed his hand – still very much wrapped around her waist – tightly and Emma had about half a second to gasp before he kissed her.

They had done this innumerable times now – the making out was a definite perk of their still as-yet-to-be-defined relationship status – but this was softer and so absurdly sweet that if Emma wasn’t on the receiving end of it she probably would have mocked it. His hand never left her waist.

“Hey,” he muttered, lips still practically brushing hers. “You know you don’t have anything to worry about, right?”

Emma scoffed. Killian’s eyebrows lowered and he pulled away slightly, finally, moving his hand and trailing his thumb along her jaw. “Well,” he admitted slowly, the smile inching across his face. “At least not about Milah. I was a mess when she left and for a long time after, but we’re on the same page now. Same graph and everything.”

“Have we moved on from sports to writing puns? I may be out if we’re doing that from now on.”

“Not entertained, love?” Killian laughed, making a face.

“The puns have got to stop.”

“That’s fair. And you don’t have to worry about me. At least when it comes to me and you. Everything else, though, is well within your right to worry about. I’m worried about that.”

Emma chewed on the inside of her cheek, her face – she was sure  – filled with the worry that was threatening to overtake her right there on the sidewalk. She needed Killian to kiss her again. He was right, that was a better way to spend their time.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered.

And it wasn’t. Not after everything he’d been through, not after everything he’d lost and everyone he’d seen walk away. He couldn’t lose writing too.

It wasn’t fair.

“In my experience,” he said slowly and so softly that Emma had to strain to hear him. “Not many things ever are.”

“Maybe he won’t buy the paper,” Emma suggested, hoping her voice didn’t sound nearly as unconvinced as she actually was. If Milah was showing up on sidewalks and giving prophetic warnings, The New York Record seemed as good as Gold’s.

“More optimism, Swan. But we both know that’s all it is. Optimism. This is the crowning jewel for him. If what Milah said is true, and he’s been building up papers to get back to New York, then this would be a coup. He’d be at the top.”

“And you’d be?” “Not at the top.”

“I can’t believe that’ll happen. I won’t . Not after everything you’ve done. Not after how hard you’ve worked. He may hate you, but you’re the best there is. If he’s got even half a brain in his head, he’d keep you just to keep your sources.”

Killian was shaking his head before Emma had even finished talking. “I thought that,” he admitted. “But I think this is the beginning of the end, love. Remember what Isaac said? That the paper couldn’t afford letters from the DOE or less-than-ideal receptions to stories?” Emma nodded. “I think it’s because of this. Gold isn’t just buying, they’re selling. It’s a partnership.” “Isaac likes you though! They all do, all of the top floor. They wouldn’t let Gold throw you to the curb. Aurora told me they were grooming you for EIC.” “A thinks far too highly of me. I never would have taken that.”

“You’d be good that though,” Emma muttered, mostly into his shoulder. She felt him move, laughing slightly.

“You think far too highly of me,” he said quietly.

“Not possible.”

He kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer to him and Emma shut her eyes for a moment, trying to come up with a way that this entire mess didn’t end with another disappointment for Killian Jones.

It wasn’t fair.

“So, what now?” Emma asked.

“Now,” Killian sighed. “I still have a job. And we have a section to put out every day. So until somebody takes my ID card and tells me to get the hell out of there, then I’m going to continue to do all of that.” “Plus,” he added. “We’ve got a professional baseball career to ensure. I’m not leaving until Henry’s back on the field. Officially.”

“Yeah?” she asked – a wholly insufficient response when she was positive anyone on the other side of the block would have been able to hear her heart thud in her chest.

“Yeah,” Killian answered.

It sounded like a promise.

Emma nearly jumped out of her chair when he put the cup down on her desk.

“Jeez, Killian,” she mumbled. “That was terrifying.”

She glanced up to find him beaming at her. That was something she hadn’t seen in several days.

He had gone back to work after that conversation – and abbreviated make-out session – three blocks away from The New York Record office as if Milah hadn’t just shown on his doorstep and told him that the one man who could ruin his entire life was planning on doing just that.

Emma would have been impressed if she wasn’t worried.

He even wrote a column.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, still smiling as he leaned against the desk, sitting on the edge of the fake wood. “I figured you could use some mid-afternoon caffeine.”

She could.

Emma had been on the phone for the better part of the afternoon, alternating between Anna’s office, the DOE and texting minute-by-minute updates to Henry. The first story had run nearly a month ago and there was still no word about getting him back onto the field.

She was going to fix this and she’d spend the entire week on the phone if she had to. She also could use the caffeine.

“Thank you,” Emma replied gratefully, grabbing the cup and taking a sip before turning back to her cell phone, glancing down as her screen lit up.

“What is it?” Killian asked, nodding towards the now beeping phone.

“Anna,” she muttered, grabbing it and swiping her thumb across the screen.

“Emma!” Ana’s voice hadn’t lost any of its excitement or enthusiasm during any of their half a dozen conversations that afternoon. “I have news. Good news. The best news!”

“What’s going on?”

Killian’s gaze snapped towards Emma and the phone as she moved it onto her shoulder. “I’ve been talking to my boss,” Anna said, her words coming across the phone line at a metaphorical mile a minute. “And I think I’ve figured out a way to get Henry back on the field.”

“What? How? Anna, that’s incredible!” Emma ignored Killian’s wide-eyed stare and slightly bemused smile and focused on the other conversation she was having – the one with actual words and not just pointed stares across a few feet of space.

“Like I said, talking to my boss, and you’re never going to believe this, but his wife is Henry’s guidance counselor.” “For real?” “Absolutely for real. So Eric and I were talking this afternoon and I guess Ariel has been telling him about what’s going on with Henry and how much he wants to play again and he thinks he can talk to the DOE. Get them to change their minds. Or one mind. I don’t know who we have to convince exactly, but Eric thinks he can do it.” “How? Henry doesn’t have the money to hire someone. He’s 17 and I can’t do anything. That’s like the worst conflict of interest ever.” “No one’s hiring anyone,” Anna continued. “Eric said he’d do it on his own. He’s not actually going to sue the DOE. He’s just going to maybe suggest that they get their act straight. And he might bring up that case we talked about before.” “Precedent,” Emma muttered, half under her breath. Killian coughed meaningfully and Emma continued to ignore him, waving her hand slightly in the very small amount of space between them.

“Exactly! Exactly that! No one has to go to court or anything dramatic like that. No one even has to pay for anything. This is about a kid who didn’t get a fair shot at doing what he loves. That’s why this office exists, to try and fix things like that.”

“And you think that’ll work?” Emma asked.

She promised. She had promised Henry. She needed to make this work.

She also wasn’t good at trusting other people.

“I really think it will,” Anna answered and the honesty in her voice was practically overwhelming. “Eric won’t sue, but he can and that should be enough to scare them. You’re right Emma. Everything you wrote – in both of those articles – was right. They’re wrong, dead wrong and they’re trying to cover their tracks. But you figured it out and now they’ve got to let Henry play. They just have to.” Anna’s voice caught on the final sentence of her mini-speech and Emma smiled slightly, sitting up a little straighter so she wouldn’t start to do anything ridiculous like feel something as well. Killian was still sitting on her desk.

“Can I tell Henry?” Emma asked.

“Absolutely! Eric is determined and, trust me on this, when Eric is determined there aren’t many things that can stop him. I’m pretty positive he dueled for Ariel’s hand in marriage or something like that.”

“That so?” Emma laughed. Killian sighed dramatically, trying to win back some of her attention. She just rolled her eyes at him.

He winked.

Cocky asshole.

Ridiculously attractive cocky asshole.

“Well, I don’t know the specifics,” Anna said, entirely unaware of the side conversation happening at Emma’s desk. “But Eric likes to make it sound like a painfully romantic battle for his one true love’s heart. Or something like that.” “Something like that, I’m sure,” Emma answered, still laughing slightly. “Listen, Anna. I can’t thank you enough for this. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty here, seriously.” “Oh, don’t even worry about it. This is, well, this is what I want to be doing. Helping. And if I can help Henry by helping you, then it’s kind of like a two for one of helpiness. Is that even a word? I don’t care. Helpiness.”

“Well, you’re incredibly good at it. Thank you. I’m going to text Henry.” “Eric said he’d call the DOE tomorrow if you want. He just wanted to have me run it by you first.”

“That’s incredibly efficient.” “That’s Eric,” Anna answered. “He saw your story and he knew I was your source. He wasn’t even mad, told me I should have directed you to him from the get-go and he would have gone on record. He loved your story.”

That caught Emma up short. Compliments were – still – not her forte.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and Killian smiled knowingly at her, like he could hear the entire conversation. “Tell Eric he can call the DOE whenever he wants. Just let me know how it goes as soon as you know, ok?” “Absolutely!” Emma pulled the phone away from her ear and hit the ‘end’ button, tossing it in front of her. Killian stared at her expectantly, arms crossed, that same slightly bemused smile on his face.

“What’s going on Swan?” he asked, pushing the hot chocolate back towards her. Emma widened her eyes at him, but took the cup anyway. “It’ll get cold,” he added. “Drink. And then tell me what that was about.”

“Demanding,” Emma muttered.

“Suggesting.”

“Yuh huh,” she laughed, taking a sip of her, somehow, still-hot hot chocolate. “That was Anna. Apparently her boss is Ariel’s husband.” “Henry’s guidance counselor?” “One in the same. And he wants to talk to the DOE.”

“Just like that?” He was as skeptical as she was – somehow that made Emma more confident, like they were on even footing.

“Well it was a long phone call and an even more convoluted story, but, yes, for all intents and purposes, just like that. She said he liked my story.” “Of course he did.” “Your confidence is in me is misplaced and slightly overwhelming.”

Emma ducked her eyes and took another drink of hot chocolate. She heard Killian sigh. “That’s ridiculous you know,” he said softly.

“Sure.”

“Swan,” he said sharply and Emma looked up at him to find her staring at her. “I have an appropriate amount of faith in both you and your writing. That, generally, equates to believing you’re capable of doing anything you set your mind to. That’s not misplaced. That’s just honest.”

There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice, no smirk, or even the faintest feeling that he was lying. He was one hundred percent honest and just as serious and Emma was completely overwhelmed.

She couldn’t say I love you in the middle of The Record sports floor, but God, if she didn’t want to.

“You can’t say things like that,” she said.

“Why not?” “Because I’m going to try and kiss you in the middle of this office and that’s just not going to end well for anyone.” “I’ll repeat myself – why not?”

The sarcasm was back. So was the smirk. And for a moment Emma couldn't come up with a reason not to lean across the desk and kiss him. For possibly several sunlit days.

“Killian,” she said slowly, doing her best to not sound like she was whining. “You know that’s not an option. We’re not trying to parade here.” “No one is parading, Swan. I’m just not particularly pleased with the idea of not being able to kiss my girlfriend whenever I want.”

Emma felt like her lungs had collapsed.

She hadn’t been lying when she told Aurora they hadn’t talked about it. They hadn’t. They hadn’t even mentioned it in passing. Even Mary Margaret and David had avoided the “labels” discussion like it was the plague.

And he had just said it like it wasn’t anything, like it wasn’t some kind of absolutely enormous step that meant a ridiculous amount.

It took Killian several moments to realize that Emma was sitting still, stunned silent. He stood up when he saw her face – probably stunned as well and just as frozen as the rest of Emma’s body – and, suddenly, he looked as nervous as she felt.

That wasn’t right.

Emma took a deep breath. It was weird – she didn’t run. She didn’t react perfectly , but one step at a time. She was still there. And he was still there.

And maybe that was the only thing that mattered.

“You ok, Swan?” he asked, softly.

“Yeah,” she answered honestly. “You just surprised me?” His eyebrows lowered and Emma could practically see him replaying the last few seconds back in his head. Killian made a face when it hit him and he crossed his arms again.

Defensive stance.

Emma reached out quickly and tugged his arms apart, squeezing one hand for good measure. “I guess I just didn’t realize you were...well thinking that .” “Should I be thinking something else?”

“No,” Emma answered, shaking her head. “I just haven’t been someone’s girlfriend in a very long time.” “To be fair, I don’t know that I’ve been anyone’s boyfriend ever.”

“I think you’re doing a pretty good job so far.”

Killian smiled and rocked back on his heels and trailed his fingers over Emma’s. “Thank you, love,” he said softly. Emma smiled in return. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’d very much like to kiss you.” “Will would be scandalized.” “I couldn’t care less.” He leaned forward slightly and for one insane moment Emma actually thought he was going to kiss her in the middle of The New York Record office, but he came up just short of her, still smiling.

“I have an idea about how to remedy that,” he said softly and Emma bit her lip tightly.

“Make out in the elevator?”

“They have cameras in there,” Killian laughed. “Leroy would be all over that.” “Well, you’ve taken all my suggestions and tossed them out of the metaphorical window. So, go ahead, what’s your idea?”

“The Giants game.”

Emma waited for the next part of the idea, but he didn’t say anything else, just threw a self-satisfied smirk her direction. “Ok,” she said slowly.

“We’re going to go.” “To the Giants game?” “On Sunday. I know a guy.” “You know every guy.”

“That’s true, Swan, but in this case I know one guy and he can make it so we can go to the Giants game on Sunday.” “You don’t have to work?” Killian sighed and rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked if I did, Swan. Obviously. We can bring David and Mary Margaret too if you.” “You want to double date with my friends?”

“Again, I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t actually suggesting it.”

Emma narrowed her eyes and wondered how no one had noticed that they hadn’t moved in nearly 20 minutes. They weren’t trying to flaunt their relationship to the entire New York Record – that conversation with Isaac about their out-of-office activities seemed to have created an ever-present knot in Emma’s stomach.

But even Emma had to admit they were, undoubtedly, the talk of the entire building.

Her boyfriend Killian Jones.

“How many tickets does your guy think he can get?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked yet.”

“No?” “I wanted to make sure you wanted to go,” he muttered and Emma almost missed the nervous edge in his voice.

“Of course I want to go,” she said honestly, brushing her hand over his hand. “You think we’d be able to make out during the Giants game?” “In front of David and Mary Margaret? Won’t they be scandalized?” “I’m fairly certain I don’t care,” Emma shrugged. “Plus, they owe me. They’ve spent the last 13 years of our lives making out in front of me and being painfully adorable. Trust me, I deserve this.”

“Are you saying we’re painfully adorable?”

“Not yet, but I’m confident in our ability to get there sooner rather than later.” Killian opened his mouth to answer her, but spun around before he could – turning towards Victor’s voice from the other side of the office.

“Basketball crisis, Cap!” he screamed and Killian groaned. “They’re expanding media day! Giving us an extra credential.” “That isn’t a crisis,” Killian mumbled and Emma tried not to laugh. “We have reporters, Victor. We can send them. Relax.”

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Emma. “You should go, Swan. Make Victor pay for the cab.” “The paper comps that.” “Doesn’t change the fact that you should go.” He turned away from her desk again and shouted back towards Victor. “Swan’s going to go with you, yeah?” “Yeah, that’s great! Good job Cap, crisis averted.”

Killian shook his head again and all but collapsed back on Emma’s desk, knocking over her nameplate in the process. “Hey,” she said sharply. “Watch it.”

He looked back over his shoulder again. “Sorry, love.”

Emma smiled and moved the nameplate out of the way. “What time am I going to this?” “Tomorrow. Morning, sorry about that by the way, but media day for the Knicks is pretty legit.”

“Absolutely. I can do morning.”

“As previously discussed, I think you can do anything.”

“Charmer.” “Boyfriend.”

Emma’s stomach flipped and she smiled, letting the feeling of that one single, vaguely ridiculous and teenage label, sink into every aspect of her being. She liked the way it felt. A lot.

A lot more than she expected to.

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Emma promised. “And I’ll tell M’s and David about the game. They’ll be thrilled.” He smiled at her again, standing up and running one hand through his hair. “Good,” he said softly, leaning forward so quickly Emma was certain he was actually a blur and kissing her on the cheek.

Emma widened her eyes. “Living dangerously,” she said.

“I’m going to kiss my girlfriend whenever I want, stupid office be damned. I’ll see you later, Swan.”

He walked away, eyes pointed forward and Emma tried not to actually melt into the floor. The lifestyles department was going into collective cardiac arrest.