#my next few art posts are scheduled but i sat there for an hour mulling over the formatting

[dispotatorulzz]

I don't post wips enough anymore here's something of Viv and Vex, deciding if I want to put thier pony clothes on them or not . I feel like the coats look wacky in this one and I mean. What's a little bit of unsafe practices in the office (not like they gaf /lh)

Also I love seeing the comparisons between my original first sketch to get the idea down and my second "ok time to try and make this make sense" I draw faces alot better quickly than I do bodies and thats interesting to see I think !

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: None

A/N: For the first time since I started this whole writing adventure, my posting schedule has caught up with my writing and I’m currently working on part 8, with a possible part 9.  The end is in sight, y’all.

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

[PART 1]  [PART 2]  [PART 3]  [PART 4]  [PART 5]  [PART 6]  [PART 7]

Part 8 

Beg for Forgiveness

The great thing about telling people you aren’t available for a whole week was that no one will come looking for you when you want to be alone.  That meant that Evie could stay home and let herself cry without having to pretend everything was okay around her co-workers or anyone else.  It also meant she could ignore her phone and keep it turned off.  As a person who wore her emotions on her sleeves, she just wanted time to work through this without interruption.

There was a part of her that hated that she, a woman in her late thirties, was crying over a man like a simpering college co-ed. That she was feeling so broken hearted over Maxwell Lord of all people, a man she wasn’t even dating!  At least not dating in the traditional sense.  And they had only known each other the better part of three months.

Her brain kept screaming at her that he called her a whore, a bitch in heat.  He had been unnecessarily vicious to her, even manhandled her to the point that she was bruised.  Her fingers brushed her upper arm and she could feel the tears forming again.  She ought to hate him with her whole being.

But she didn’t.

Yes, it had only be about three months, but she felt everything so deeply and rather quickly, too.  And she had thought he felt it as well based on how he acted most of the time.  She always found herself thinking that everything about what they did together felt right to her, like she was supposed to be laying next to him, talking about their day.  That when she had been at the zoo, she couldn’t help but think a gorgeous hand carved wooden lion would have made a perfect addition to his desk. Those little things people who care for one another do for each other.

She dated periodically over the years and had a few serious relationships. Her last one ended when she found him in bed with a woman she never met before.  That relationship had been almost four years and yet the sadness she felt now was miles beyond what she had felt then.  It’s why she let herself have these long moments in bed and let herself cry.  

She laid in bed for hours before she forced herself up and into the shower.  As she let the warm water cascade over her exhausted body, she forced the last words out of Maxwell’s mouth from her mind.  She’d allow herself another day to mull over this before she formed a game plan. Although, she couldn’t be sure what that game plan was quite yet.

---***---

You get a taste of the high life and then just go running around, throwing yourself at people like some common whore?!”

“I saw you throwing yourself at Eric!  Rubbing up against him like some bitch in heat!”

The stubble along Maxwell’s jaw and cheeks was itchy, but the whiskey he had been drinking continuously since Thursday numbed him to any sensation but his self-hatred as his words continued to echo in his brain.  It was Sunday morning and he had been trying for almost three days to get ahold of Evie, but her phone went directly to voicemail and she never answered her texts.

He had been out of his mind with worry but the folio on his desk told him she was safe at home and exactly where that home was.  He stared at it, almost as if he could, through some weird psychic connection, will Evie to call him.  He knew that wasn’t possible, of course and he had sat on the information since Friday.  

Maxwell debated with himself on whether he should go to see her or not, but every time he thought he should, he held back.  For the first time in a long time, he was scared.  Scared that she’d hate him, but a small part of him was scared that she would be willing to forgive him because he felt unworthy of her love no matter how badly he craved it.

He pulled himself out of the chair in his study and wandered into the kitchen.  Marnie had left him something to eat, but he had no appetite.  Instead, he stood there, staring aimless out the window while leaning against the counter.  Things felt off-kilter since she left and if he was being deeply honest with himself, it probably was before she entered his world.  Instead, she had been this force that seemed to just pull everything together and it had been so impactful over the last few months that if she never came back, he wasn’t sure what his life was going to look like without her.

Looking at the clock, he realized that if he was going to do something, he had to decide now.  Stop being a damn chicken shit and go see her, that voice inside his head screamed at him.  He pushed himself off the counter and went upstairs to shower.  If he was going to see Evie, he wasn’t going to smell like a bar or look like death.

She deserved better.

---***---

Evie sighed as she stood in her kitchen, the fridge wide open. Nothing stood out to her and she wasn’t very hungry anyway.  With a groan, she closed the door and wandered into the living room.  From the large windows, she could see her dog, George, running around the yard, chasing the birds and she smiled briefly.  

She debated getting him from the kennel early, not wanting to talk with the chatty lady who owns it, but she needed his puppy love right now.  He had been excited to see her, as always, and he snuggled against her as she laid in bed crying the last two days.  But the beautiful fall day was too much, and he bounced out of the doggie door to do his patrol around the yard, leaving Evie alone inside.

She still felt restless and she wandered through the house, not really looking at anything.  Her home was on the outskirts of the city, located on the Hudson River, and she called it her haven for nearly a decade now.  It was a small, two-bedroom clapboard home with large windows and all its original woodwork meticulously restored by Evie and her father.

But today, this cozy space felt less of a haven and more like a cage. As she continued to pace, she debated joining George outside and doing some raking, hoping the physical exhaustion would overwhelm the emotional.  But before she could do anything, she watched as George paused and began barking, running towards the side fence.

Just as the dog began his vocalizations, she heard a car door slam outside.  Knowing that no one knew she was home yet, she walked to the hall closet and dragged out her trusty baseball bat.  As she turned around, a knock sounded on the door and she stopped, confused.  What burglar knocks on the door?  When she heard the knock again, she walked over to look out the side window.  Her jaw dropped when she saw Maxwell standing on her porch.

He was here.

And she was relieved.

She yanked open the door and stood there gawking at him, the surprised look on her face hard to hide.  Prim and proper suit-wearing Maxwell Lord was standing on her porch wearing jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt.  She had never seen him so casual and she stayed with him for four days.  He was clean shaven, though, and later she would be a little sad not to see his beard once she learned of it.  She could see hints of exhaustion around his eyes, his laugh lines deeper than usual.

He stood there, looking sheepish and unsure of himself as Evie looked at him.  But he smartly kept his mouth shut and patiently waited for her to tell him to go or to stay. Despite everything, there was nothing particularly awkward about their silence and after a beat, Evie jump and opened the screen door, waving him in.  He saw the bat in her hands as he stepped inside and raised an eyebrow when he looked at her face.

“I’m a single woman living on my own.”  She shrugged before propping it against the wall to be put back later.

“I’m glad you have it.”  That deep voice she loved so much seemed to seep through her and Evie felt a little shiver skitter across her skin.  She closed the door behind him as he stood in her living room, looking around.  It was quaint, filled with books and photos of friends and family.  He noted she loved textile art as he continued to take it all in.  Everything about it felt warm and inviting, making Maxwell feel like he could sit in here, next to her, forever.  He then spotted George through the window and smiled.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”  He walked closer to the window.  George had gone back to his patrols after the weird man disappeared.  As they looked out, they watched him as he stood, staring through the fence as a boat lazily passed by on the river.  “Why didn’t you bring him with you?  I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Yeah, that’s my baby.”  She walked up beside him and tapped on the window.  The dog jerked his head up and looked towards the house, his curled tail wagging.  “I didn’t want to impose, not everyone likes dogs in their personal spaces.  Besides, he has a best friend at the kennel, and I felt they could use some time together.”

“What is he?”

“The shelter said he was a shar-pei mix.  But he’s pure-bred dumbass most days.”  They watched as he turned towards the house, running straight into a tree. They both started to laugh, and the dog backed up and walked around before bounding across the yard and in through the doggie door.  

George ran up immediately to Maxwell and began sniffing him, the tail still wagging.  He bent down to pet the dog and was rewarded with several licks to the face.  He laughed and kept petting George before the dog decided he needed a nap and ran to the bedroom.

“I’m assuming you’re here to talk.”  Evie’s voice was low, and Maxwell grew serious again as he stood up.  He towered over her and something about it sent little quivers to her belly.  He nodded and she nodded back before waving at him to follow her into the kitchen.

He sat at the table and watched as she moved comfortably through the space, putting together drinks and food before setting them down.  She sat across from him and he could see how worn she was, and it cut through his heart, compounding his guilt and sadness even more.  She didn’t deserve that, and he didn’t deserve her.  They sat there for a moment; hands wrapped around steaming mugs of tea. She spoked first.

“Why would you even think that let alone say it?”  Evie sat back as she crossed her arms and looked at him.  She saw him wince and his head dropped lower as his shoulders curled in.  She was surprised to see him so. . . beaten down.  This man, who exuded power and confidence, sat across from her looking and sounding worn out.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You got that right.”  She sipped her tea as he nodded.  He looked up and she could see how haunted his eyes were, her heart clenching because she knew that same look was in her eyes, too.  His body language told her that he was sorry, but she needed to hear it from his mouth.  He sighed deeply.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me for hurting you.”  His eyes flickered down to the bruise on her arm, exposed thanks to her short-sleeved shirt.  “I acted like a jackass and treated you terribly.  You didn’t deserve it.  And I’m sorry.  I’m so fucking sorry, Evie.  I’m so fucking sorry.”

The rawness of his voice carried the wetness of tears and she could see him looking up at the ceiling, trying to will them away.  She could feel a lump growing in her own throat at the scene. Before she could say anything else, he kept going.

“I don’t know why I did it, why I felt so jealous.  But the idea of you being with someone else when I want you all to myself gets me twisted inside. I’m pretty sure I love you, Evie.”  Her jaw dropped and she nearly did the same thing with her mug had it not been for the table.  He rushed on.  “I know that’s no excuse for the way I behaved!  I’m not excusing that!  But I had to tell you.  I needed you to hear it.  I don’t expect you to love me back, which would probably kill me, but I really need for you to know that I’m sorry, that I love you, and that I want you in my life.”

Maxwell looked down at his hands and noticed they were shaking, although he wasn’t sure which of the eight hundred emotions running through him was causing it.  He clasped them together, hoping to still them as the silence from Evie dragged on. It was so quiet; he could hear George snoring in the bedroom and the clock in the living room ticking away. He so desperately wanted to look up at Evie, but something told him to keep looking down until she said something.

Evie stared at the blond hairs on the top of Maxwell’s head, almost glimmering in the afternoon sun.  She was sure he could hear her heart hammering in her chest.  He loved her.  He loved her.  He loved her.  It was like her brain stopped processing everything after he said those words and her heart clenched painfully in her chest.  He fucking loved her.

She slowly got up from the table and walked around to him, getting on her knees.  His head was still bowed, and his eyes closed, as if bracing himself for bad news. When she placed her hands on his, he still didn’t open them.  She had never seen him so emotional and it crept into her heart.

“Max.  I love you, too.”

[icecubelotr44]

To Every Thing a Season (6/16)

Summary:   After witnessing the tragic murder of his brother Liam, Killian Jones is more determined than ever to discover the secrets of time travel. Fast-tracking his education at Storybrooke University, Killian is assigned a lab assistant, one Emma Swan. Together, they find a way to break through the veil of time so Killian can set things right. But what will be the price for changing the past, and is it one they’re willing to pay?

Rated:  T, for violence, some dark themes, angst, and whump

Art credit/link: The totally awesome @optomisticgirl made imagesets for all the chapters and @ab-normality made a video and a gifset for this fic.  You can find the imageset for this chapter above and here on her blog.  The video is linked here and on her blog here and the gifset will be posted later in the story!

Beta readers: The as-always wonderful @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, thanks so much for all of your help and cajoling and reassuring!  And a huge thank you to the spectacular @spartanguard who stepped in to help beta read as well!

A/N:  Written as part of the 2017 Captain Swan Big Bang Challenge.  You can catch up with all the other fics that are complete by following @captainswanbigbang and/or subscribing to the Group Collection on AO3 and/or the C2 on FFN. This is complete in 16 parts and will be posted every Thursday from now until its completion. And yes, there is a happy ending after all this… just so you know.

Word count:  ~ 5,500 (80K+ Total in 16 chapters)

From the beginning: ao3 | ffn  

Current Chapter: AO3 | FFN

Chapter 6: To Mourn and to Dance

“Mr. Jones, could I speak with you a moment after class?” Dr. Hopper queried as Killian slunk into the back of the lecture hall just moments before the class was scheduled to start.

He sighed and pinched his nose against the headache that ramped up at the thought of speaking with his advisor.  When Hopper called his name again, Killian nodded and took his seat.  He knew what the conversation would be about, and he had no patience for it - or anything else - at the moment.

Was it too much to pray that one of the other students would have questions about their final lab session or the upcoming final?

Apparently the answer to that was yes, as the lecture ended and the upperclassmen around Killian filed dutifully out of the hall.  A few of them threw sympathetic looks over their shoulders at Killian as they left, but no one came to his rescue.

Dragging his feet literally as well as figuratively, Killian weaved his way through the chairs until he reached the front of the room.  “You wanted to see me, Professor?” he asked in such a resigned tone that Dr. Hopper laughed jovially.

“Oh, Killian, don’t sound so petulant.  I know you’re upset about the funding that I promised you.  But I might have an idea about that.”

Killian looked up abruptly, his eyes wide with anticipation.

But Hopper shook his head.  “That’s not what I wanted to speak with you about.  I’m still greasing some wheels on that end.  No, I wanted to ask about Miss Swan.  She hasn’t submitted hours in the past two weeks, and with the end of the semester approaching, I wanted to make sure she gets her last paycheck.”

And with that, Killian deflated.  Of course she hadn’t turned in an hours sheet to the Physics department - she hadn’t seen the inside of the lab in more than two weeks.  Because of him.

“Oh,” he deflected.  “Emma had some rather time-consuming papers that she had to complete before the end of the semester, so I told her that she didn’t need to keep working in the lab.”

His advisor looked at him skeptically.  “You told her she could work on her own projects, or you let her go because you weren’t going to get your way with my promise?  Because if you got rid of her just because you weren’t getting your way, I’ll be very disappointed.”

Hot anger flashed through Killian.  How dare Hopper think that he would shun Emma because of his own disappointment?  He knew Emma needed the money that being his lab assistant gave her.  But if she was too stubborn to apologize for shouting at him and storming off, then obviously she didn’t need the money that badly.

“No, sir,” he responded as curtly as he was able without being disrespectful.  “That’s not what happened.”

The professor kept his gaze locked on Killian for what seemed an eternity.  Whatever he was looking for, Dr. Hopper seemed to believe him.  “Very well.  Tell Miss Swan that if she intends to work with you over the summer, she’ll need to check in with me before exams begin.”

Killian nodded once, just barely managing to keep his temper in check as he turned to go.

“Oh, and Killian?”  Dr. Hopper called out before Killian could make his escape.

“Yes, sir?”  The tone of his voice was still cold.

Hopper either ignored it or didn’t notice.  “Do remind Miss Swan that she needs to actually attend my class if she wants to get class participation credit for the final.  I heard from her friend that she’s been ill, but she’ll need to make up some of her work if she intends to pass this semester.”

A tendril of concern wrapped around Killian’s heart and squeezed.  He wondered if Emma was blatantly skipping the physics class in her anger, or if she’d actually come down with some kind of illness.  He honestly didn’t know, and that tore at Killian in a way he had hoped it wouldn’t.

He was supposed to be angry at her.  He wasn’t supposed to care anymore.  She had walked out on him.

But Killian couldn’t ignore the simple truth of the matter - he missed her.

The equation still danced for him, but Killian couldn’t find the drive to manipulate it.  The computer model still spit out results from his photon experiments, but inputting the new variables seemed to be that much more arduous.  The hours in the lab still produced more complex motherboards that he’d cobbled together in order to make an eventual prototype, but the time just seemed to drag on.

Things were different now, and it was all Emma’s fault.

Killian slumped down on a bench halfway down the hall from Hopper’s lecture room.  No, that wasn’t fair, he knew. It wasn’t all Emma’s fault.

It was his, too.

But it didn’t change the matter.  She’d left him behind and he’d just have to figure out how to go back to how it used to be.

He sat forward on the hard, wooden seat and dropped his head into his hands.  Suddenly, it felt too heavy to hold up on its own, too much on his shoulders.  Killian gripped his hair hard, pulling until the sharp pains at the roots was brighter than the anger, the frustration, the helplessness.

“Now what’s that going to solve?” a familiar sounding voice asked.

Killian looked up in surprise - both at the accent that he would swear came from his hometown, only diluted somewhat, and at how quickly the old man had snuck up on him.  He must be a professor at the school, his clothes just a little bit askew as if he’d spent the last few hours lecturing animatedly.  The man’s face was familiar as well, though Killian knew he had never taken a class with him at the smartboard.

“I’m sorry, sir, did you need something?” Killian asked irritatedly, his brother’s voice in his ear admonishing him for the tone.

I’m being as much of a gentleman as I can, Liam, he snarked at the internal monologue, so sod off.

“It looks like you need my help more than I need yours, son,” the old man answered him.  “What’s vexing you so?”

Killian didn’t know what it was, why he was so comfortable sitting next to this man when he usually shied away from any kind of human contact.  Their knees knocked together as he shifted, tossing himself carelessly back against the bench and sliding down just a little bit further.  “There’s this girl…” he began with no real intention to finish his thought.

The old man laughed.  “There always is, m’boy.  There always is.  You want to tell me about it?”

To his surprise, Killian did.

They sat in silence for awhile, Killian mulling over his thoughts and the old man content to rest next to him.  “She’s insufferable,” he finally settled on.

A bark of laughter was his answer.  “Is she truly?” the man asked with a smirk - as if he already knew the answer.

“Yes!” Killian exclaimed.  “She’s stubborn.  And opinionated.  And bloody infuriating!”

“Sounds like an awful specimen, then,” the professor observed.

Killian scoffed.  “She most certainly is not!  You don’t know Emma at all!  She’s had a hard life, and she’s made something of it, too!  At any moment she could have rolled over and given up, with all she’s been through.  But she didn’t!  And to top it all off, for some bloody insane reason, she cares about me!”

He stood up angrily and started to pace back and forth in front of the old man.  “She makes sure I’ve eaten, and she can read my chicken scratch.  Her smile brightens the room and the color of her eyes, it's just... it's right, you know?  She knows about Liam, and what I’m trying to do, and she believes me.”

Killian turned to face the old man, seething now.  “You don’t know a bloody thing about her, and I’ll thank you not to disparage her so!”

The man bowed his head in acknowledgement.  “Sounds like you don’t really find her insufferable then?” he asked.

“N-no.  No, she’s brilliant.  Amazing.  And for whatever reason, she seems to like me, too.  Or at least, she did.  Until I mucked it all up.”  Killian deflated quickly, sinking back down next to the professor and dropping his head to his hands again.  The pads of his glasses cut into his nose, but he ignored it.  This time, when he pulled at his hair, it was in self-flagellation.  “She won’t come back, not after the way I treated her.  My Emma’s too strong for that.  She’s too bloody stubborn.  It’s the only way she could handle me, I’m sure.  But now, I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t you?” the old man asked quietly.  “I would think that a young man as smart as you would know that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants…”

“... deserves what he gets,” Killian finished quietly, an astonished look on his face as he turned to meet the professor’s gaze.  A fist gripped his heart, one that tightened its grip any time he thought of Liam.  “My brother used to say that.”

The professor nodded.  “Sounds like your brother’s as smart as you are, then,” he said with a wistful smile that Killian didn’t quite understand.

“He was,” Killian admitted quietly.  “I miss him so much.”

“And I’m sure you’ll see him again, young man.  But you don’t want to be old and decrepit like me by the time you do, do you?”  He waved a hand over himself as if he were indicating everything.

Killian stared for a moment longer before he shook his head reluctantly.  No, he couldn’t imagine waiting that long to see Liam again.  He had to get back to the numbers, he had to find a way to make his equation work.

He needed Emma to keep him on task.

“I’ve… I’ve got to go, sir,” Killian claimed excitedly, stumbling back to his feet, already planning on how to apologize to Emma.   He had made it three steps down the hall when Liam’s voice in his head admonished him again about being a gentleman.  “Did you need something before I go, sir?”

The old man shook his head ‘no’ with a laugh.  “Go get the girl, Jones.  Counting on you to do it right,” he replied enigmatically before levering himself to his feet.  Killian reached out a hand to steady him, taking the man’s hand in his own.

It was only then that Killian noticed.

The old man’s left hand was a cleverly designed prosthetic.

Killian tore his eyes away from the synthetic materials, focusing on the man’s dimpled, knowing smile instead.  The prosthetic rose until it was in his line of sight again.  “Don’t you worry on this too much, Jones.  If things go as planned, it may be no more than a memory.  But it was worth it.  Things like this are worth the risk.  Don’t forget that.”

Killian continued to stare, speechless, as he tried to process the mysterious words.  When the old man’s eyebrow rose, he stumbled through an affirmation that he wouldn’t forget it.  How could he?  The chance meeting with this man was taking an odd turn that quieted even the ever-persistent equation.

The old man nodded succinctly before heading down the hall away from the classrooms.  Killian caught the man’s last mutterings before he disappeared from view.  “My time here’s come to an end.  I think I’ve done all I meant to.”

Killian had a sneaking suspicion that this was the most important meeting he’d ever had, and he didn’t even know the professor’s name.

An hour later, and he was starting to get frustrated.  Emma wasn’t at her dorm room - and her roommate was scarily threatening as she filed her nails and told him he if he needed her help to find Emma then he didn’t deserve her.  She wasn’t at the library.  She wasn’t in class - he knew her schedule better than his own.  She definitely wasn’t in their physics lab - though he checked just to make sure.  She wasn’t in the cafeteria or on the quad or with her advisor.

Killian was almost certain that she wasn’t anywhere on campus.

And then a kernel of hope blossomed in his chest when he really thought about Ruby’s threat.

Killian was a bundle of nerves by the time the shuttle into town meandered back to the stop on campus.  He threw himself impatiently into the first open seat and tried to bat away the numbers without looking too crazy.  His knee bounced wildly as he waited for the other students to get on and then off at various stops.

He sprinted down the stairs and away from the shuttle the second the doors opened, the admonishment from the driver lost in the jumbled thoughts in his head.  A quick stop at Granny’s just to make sure Emma wasn’t there, either, and Killian’s hopes began to soar.

He knew exactly where Emma was.

The tide was higher than Killian had ever seen it, the waves rolling against the sand with a soothing rhythm that called to him.  The sky was overcast, the reflection of the clouds making the ocean seem darker, more at odds with the shore.  There was a bite to the wind, the temperature not quite warm enough for a leisurely walk in the surf.

But that wasn’t why Killian was here, anyway.

He was here for the huddled form curled up on the boulder just beyond the surf line.  Killian’s fingers tightened in the blanket he’d brought along just in case, itching to wrap it around her shoulders and make sure she wasn’t going to catch a chill.  He had seen the rubbish bin in her room, overflowing with wadded up tissues.  His Emma was still ill; she should be somewhere warm and comfortable.  Not someplace as cold and unforgiving as their boulder was.

But it didn’t surprise him in the least that she was here.

His heart in his throat, Killian ambled up the beach, coming to a stop at the base of their spot, nervous now more than excited.  He’d found her, yes, but that didn’t mean she wanted him here.

“Hi,” he whispered, his stare locked on the way her arms wrapped tightly around her shins.  Killian was terrified to meet her gaze, terrified of what he’d see reflected there.

Emma’s fingers tightened at his salutation, so he knew she’d heard him.

“I… I thought you might be cold.”  Killian offered up the blanket, toeing a line in the sand.

It seemed like an eternity before he felt her chilled fingers brush his own.  “Thank you,” she whispered back.

Killian smiled tremulously, unsure of where to go from here.

“How did you find me?” she asked, a hint of ice in her words.  Killian flinched involuntarily before she continued, mostly to herself.  “I bet Ruby told you, the traitor.”

He shook his head.  “I’ve been all over campus looking for you, lu… Swan.  Then I just knew you’d be here.”

“Why’d you bother?” The ice was gone, replaced by defeat.

It cut through Killian like a knife.  He gulped and chanced a look upwards.

Emma’s head was bent so far forward that her chin rested on her chest.  If possible, Killian felt worse than he had when she’d been angry with him.  She didn’t deserve to have felt like this.  Not because of him, and not because of all those people before him who had let her down.

“Because I needed to find you.  I missed you.”

Emma’s head shot up at that, her green eyes laser-sharp as they read into his words.

Killian stood stock-still, letting her search his gaze and find what she needed to see - that he’d spoken the simple truth.

It took her a few moments, time crawling by as Killian counted his heartbeats and held his breath.  This would make or break them - make or break him - and his every sense was trained on her.  On what she would say next.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said quietly, finally.

The breath left his lungs in an audible whoosh, the relief leaving him shaky.  “I’m sorry, too, luv.  I didn’t mean any of it.”

The smile didn’t quite reach Emma’s eyes, but it was a start.  She shook out the blanket and draped it over her shoulders.  “Get up here, Jones, before you freeze.”

Killian didn’t need any further prompting, scrambling up the rock until he was tucked under the warm fleece, pressed shoulder to knee against Emma.  She dropped her head to his shoulder and once he took the corner of the blanket from her, Emma wrapped her arm around his back, tucking her cold fingers under the hem of his sweatshirt to latch onto his belt.  His own hand dropped to her knee, his thumb tracing nonsense over her knee cap.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there before Emma started shivering again.  Killian sat up, away from the scant warmth that they’d created between them, and wrapped the blanket fully around her.  She watched him warily as he slid back down to the sand, stumbling a little on the uneven ground.

Killian turned to face her and tugged at her ankle until she had no choice but to follow him off the rock.  When Emma stood in front of him, her chin raised defiantly, he wrapped his arms around her and tugged her into his chest.  Killian’s hands rubbed up and down her back, trying to give her just a little bit more warmth.

“Let’s go get you warmed up, luv,” he murmured into the crown of her head.  “I’m sure Granny’s got a mug of hot cocoa with your name on it.  Maybe some onion rings too, aye?”

The smile he got in payment twinkled in the depths of Emma’s eyes, and it settled the unrest that had plagued him for weeks.

“Your treat, Jones,” she called before racing to the boardwalk.

Emma was sitting at her desk, staring at the numbers on the paper in front of her with dismay.  She simply didn’t think she could afford to stay on campus and take classes through the entire summer semester, and she definitely couldn’t afford to find an apartment off campus and work full-time.  Not for the first time, Emma Swan wished futilely that someone had taken the chance on a lost, broken little girl who didn’t matter and never would.  If someone had, even if they weren’t perfect, even if they were neglectful or worse, then maybe she wouldn’t be damned if she did and damned if she didn’t now.  Surely a foster parent or two out there in it for the paycheck would have agreed to rent her bedroom back to her for less than what it would cost for an entire apartment.

But no one had.  And now Emma, lost girl extraordinaire, had to figure out a plan that didn’t involve begging for Granny’s charity or setting herself up to fail down the road.

She threw the pen she’d been fiddling with across the room.

Dropping her head in her hands, Emma focused on her breathing and not the sting of frustration that was making her eyes suspiciously watery.  She’d figure this out; she’d always managed on her own before, and she could do it now.  If she had to take out larger student loans, then she’d just have to hope that the job she got after college would-

-a knock on the door startled her badly.

Emma was tempted to ignore it, tempted to climb up into her lofted bed and forget the world existed.

“Swan?  Are you in there?” Killian’s voice was muffled through the door, but the accent rolled over her frustration and brought a smile to her face instead.

The screech of her chair sliding back against the scuffed tile stopped Killian’s second call through the door, and Emma leaned over to yank the door open.

He was standing just to the side of the doorjamb, shifting from foot to foot nervously.  Emma knew that if his hands weren’t full, he’d be scratching behind his ear.

But his hands were full, a plastic bag with takeout containers in one and a tray of drinks and highlighters in the other.

“I thought you could use some study materials,” he answered her unspoken question.  “Can I come in?”

Emma nodded, smiling, as she shoved the door open further to let him enter.  The slam of the heavy door echoed through the room as she moved towards the creaky futon and took the bag of food from him.  She could smell the grease through the styrofoam and her stomach growled.  “I thought this was my job?” she asked wryly.

“Aye, luv, it was.  But it’s mine… or at least, I hope it’s mine now, too,” he responded, grabbing a stack of books from her desk.  “I thought a grilled cheese from Granny’s might motivate you to study harder.”

“Fries?” she asked.

Killian laughed under his breath, and Emma thought she detected a hint of nerves.  “Onion rings.”

“Good,” she grinned at him as he moved towards her.  “I was just testing you.”

Killian’s smile was definitely tinged with relief, and it reminded her that he still felt guilty over their fight.  Emma opened the boxes on the mismatched ottoman in front of the futon, then reached out a hand to him.  He tucked her books under one arm and then tangled their fingers together.  There was a spark there that traveled up her arm and caused her to tighten her grip reflexively.  The smile that he graced her with was boyish and innocent, but free of the guilt she’d caused.

Emma tugged him towards her, her free hand coming up to brush along his jaw.  “Thank you,” she whispered with a nod.

Killian dropped his head down so that their foreheads touched and Emma could feel his breath wafting across her cheeks.  They stood like that for awhile, the silence around them comfortable rather than charged.  It was almost enough to make Emma forget about her money troubles.

Almost.

“The food’s going to get cold, luv,” Killian jutted his chin towards the greasy lunch he’d brought.

Emma sighed and stepped out of his embrace, watching him drop down on the futon and toss her books on the floor.  She had just turned to take her seat when Killian’s arm snuck around her waist and dragged her down to sit between his legs.  She tensed for a moment at the change in position, but then melted into his chest, finally relaxing.  Killian let her get comfortable - poking and prodding and fidgeting until she was content - while holding back a laugh.  When Emma finally settled, he reached for their food, balancing it on one knee while he wrapped his arm back around her waist.

“Do you have any plans for the summer yet?” he asked when their meal was long gone and she’d been ignoring her textbooks in favor of snuggling.  The relaxed atmosphere fled from the room like it was a vacuum and Emma tensed up immediately.  

Killian noticed the change right away.  “Have I said something wrong?” he asked hesitantly, playing with the ends of her hair.

Emma let him drag her back to the safety of his embrace and tucked her head under his chin.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she began.  Once she started, it all came tumbling out.  “I planned on taking classes and staying on campus, but I didn’t realize just how expensive it would be.  Then I thought about looking for a full-time job instead, but apartments are so expensive this close to the water and I need to stay close enough to walk to my job.”

“Does your work-study job not run over the summer?” he tried.

Emma nodded.  “It does, but it’s not enough to pay for everything.”

Killian’s arms tightened around her.  “Would you… would you consider coming back to work with me?”

Emma’s head shot up and clipped his chin.  They both cried out.  Emma clenched her eyes shut against the pain, but the next thing she felt was his lips on her forehead.  She sighed at the contact, soothed by his closeness and his care.

“I didn’t think you’d get violent over the suggestion, luv,” he commented wryly, his fingers running over where he’d kissed.

Emma tilted her head back more carefully this time.  “You’re staying, too?” she asked hesitantly.

She saw the way his eyes darkened, could see the barely contained anger in his depths.  “Aye.  I’ll not go home again unless they make me.”

“That bad?” she asked, reaching up to run her finger over the scar on his cheek.  “You never talk about it.”

Killian nodded, turning his head so he could kiss her knuckles.  “My father and I don’t exactly have the same… outlook on my future.  It’s better if we’ve got an ocean between us.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma said softly, laying her head back on his chest.

“Let’s not let him ruin our evening, Swan.  The job’s still there if you want it.  I wouldn’t have anyone else but you there to help me.”

Emma smiled.  The extra pay from being his assistant would make it possible for her to stay.  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Killian practically melted into the corner of the futon, relief making him relax.  “Good.  Now, let’s take a look at your physics notes, shall we?”

She nodded, trying to focus on the way Killian made physics truly come alive.  Her eyelids drooped as he spoke, the easy timbre of his voice soothing.

Emma woke with a start, her roommate’s grinning face inches from her own.  

“Go back to sleep, lovebugs.  Just wanted to make sure you didn’t freeze to death,” Ruby whispered, tucking the heavy blanket from Emma’s bed over the two of them.

Emma tangled her fingers in the material and rolled, squashing her face back into Killian’s chest and ignoring the deep chuckle that she felt more than heard.  She groaned as he started to shift around.

“I should go, luv,” he mumbled quietly.  “It’s getting late.”

Emma growled a little, tangling her legs in his and snagging the material of his shirt in her fingers.  “No,” she whined.

“Emma,” he tried again.  “It’s nearly midnight.”

“Don’t care,” she grumbled into his shirt.

Killian sighed under her ear and ran his hands up and down her back.  “Sw-”

“Stay,” she demanded.

Emma could hear Ruby chuckling in the background.  “I’m going back to Victor’s.  Enjoy your night, kids.”

“See,” Emma waved a hand towards where she thought Ruby was standing, “you can stay.”

She was entirely too awake for how exhausted she felt, and Emma was starting to get annoyed with the human pillow beneath her head.

“I’m not a mattress, Swan.  You need to sleep in a bed.”

Emma huffed, then stood abruptly.  

“Fine,” she pouted, grabbing the blanket in one hand and Killian’s forearm with the other.  “Let’s go, Jones.”

He stumbled to his feet, swaying with the swift change in position, then reached for his jacket.

“Nope, don’t need that,” Emma directed, tugging him towards her ladder.  “Up.  You get the wall.”

“Emma,” he squeaked.

“Sleeping, Jones.  Now go,” she demanded, piling the blanket into his arms.

She hadn’t opened her eyes the entire time.

Emma grinned when she heard Killian’s shoes hit the tile and then his socked feet padding up the rungs of the ladder.

His shirt landed on her head and she squawked despite herself.

Two could play at that game, she thought.  When she clambered over the side of her bed a moment later, the sharp intake of breath was well worth the step outside of her comfort zone.

Emma was wearing Killian’s shirt - and only Killian’s shirt - as she pulled the sheets that she’d kicked off that morning over both their shoulders.  She settled in against his chest again, her head tucked against his collarbone and her hand over his heart.

“Relax, Jones,” Emma admonished when the muscles in his arms tensed at the contact.  “We’re just sleeping.”

Killian made some kind of aborted noise again when she trapped his knee with her legs.

“You’re… you’re wearing my shirt,” he whispered, and she could hear the awe coloring every word.

“Yep,” she acknowledged, ignoring the way her heart raced.  “And you’re not getting it back, either.”

Killian was shaking a little, and Emma picked her head up to look at him.  “Killian, if you’re really not comfortable here, I’m not-”

“No, luv, it’s not that.  I just… never really saw myself here.”  He shrugged as well as he was able and looked away.  “I’ve never… you’re the first gir-woman who’s given me a second glance.”

Emma smiled and settled back down.  “Well then they’re fools, Killian.  But just so you know, you’re the first guy I’ve allowed to sleep the night away in my bed, too.”

He seemed to relax at that.

“Okay?” she asked, sleep dragging her under once more.

Killian clasped her hand in his and wrapped his other arm around her back, tugging her more fully into his side.  “Aye, okay.”

Killian woke slowly, surprised at the sunlight assaulting his eyelids.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night without a nightmare or six interrupting him.  He was musing on the change that led to his restful sleep when the weight at his side started to move and grumbled unintelligibly.

He startled for a moment before the events of the night before began to filter into his consciousness.

Emma.

He was sleeping in… they were sleeping in her bed.

“Too early, Jones,” she mumbled, dragging the covers further up and over her head.  “Go back to sleep.  No numbers yet.”

He smirked.  “As you wish, luv,” he whispered back.  

Killian ran his fingers through her hair until her breathing evened out again.  She fell back to sleep easily, but he wasn’t quite so lucky.  The collar of her… his shirt had slipped over her shoulder and the skin there had him transfixed.  He wanted to reach out and touch it, let the pads of his fingers learn how soft her skin was, but he was afraid to wake her back up.

He contented himself with the feeling of her chest rising and falling evenly, the silky strands of her hair tangled in his fingers, the warmth of her legs still trapping his knee.

Eventually, he dozed off, sinking into the stage of half-sleep where he had no control over the dance of numbers.  With nothing more pressing to deal with, he let them run rampant as Emma’s breathing kept him hypnotized.

She’s good for you, little brother, Liam’s voice echoed through his thoughts, startling him back to wakefulness.  I’m glad to see you’re starting to move on.

A tear tracked down the side of Killian’s face, unbidden, at his brother’s words.  He wasn’t moving on.  He’d never abandon his brother like that.  Not like their father had abandoned him, taking solace in his work and his whiskey instead of remembering that he still had a boy at home counting on him.

No, he admonished the voice in his head, not moving on.  Just… multitasking.

Killian tried to stop thinking about Liam, about how broken their family was without his big brother to run interference.  He concentrated on matching his breathing to Emma’s soft snores and the warmth of her tucked into his side.

He sighed audibly when the numbers began to shift around on the ceiling for him.  He snagged his glasses from the top of Emma’s wardrobe, not really needing them save for habit.

Killian’s eyes were half-closed when the color started to shift.  His breath caught in his throat, and he tried valiantly to let the numbers continue to transpose themselves, refusing to manipulate them himself and chance losing the progress.

It seemed an eternity passed as he waited, drifting with the ebb and flow of the equation like a boat caught on the tide.  The numbers slowly darkened, the cautious yellow giving way to green as everything began to fall into place.

He sat up with a shout a few moments later, tears checked in the corner of his eyes as the entirety of the equation turned a startling shade of emerald.

“Swan!  Emma!” he cried, shaking her despite the glare she was gracing him with clearly showing that she was awake.  “I’ve got it!  I know how to save Liam!”

Emma’s body snapped around so that she was facing him fully.  Her piercing stare caught his attention and held it completely.

His numbers had turned the exact shade of emerald that was looking so hopefully, so happily, at him.

Tagging: @gusenitsaa, @katie-dub, @kiwistreetswan, @lenfazreads, @xhookswenchx, @killian-whump, @eala-captian, @kmomof4, @onceuponaprincessworld, @couldnthandleit

[viviendoenvelvet-madrid17]

The City of Love

The entire travel process to Paris could be summed up in one word - struggle. I went straight from school to the airport on the Cercanias train, which is about the equivalent of the MARC train in DC/MD and finding my way to the airport wasn't too bad. The struggle was finding the correct terminal. Because unlike in the US where they do two very distinct parts of an airport - one for international flights and the rest for domestic, Spain is part of this thing called the EU and other international agreements (looking at you Schengen Agreement) where it just makes figuring out where your plane will be all the more complicated. After one long shuttle ride down a highway (thank god I didn't decide to try and "just walk there") I was where I needed to be for my flight to Paris. As I was sitting by my gate enjoying the sandwiches my señora packed me for dinner, the nerves hit me. I was going to be going to a country where I didn't speak a lick of the language for the first time, alone. I boarded the plane apprehensively and finally settled into my seat ready to take a power nap and just enjoy the flight - and lo and behold the captain came on over the speaker informing us that there's a strike in France's airport so we would have to wait and unknown amount of time for the okay to even take off. So there we were for, I kid you not, over an hour before we started taking off. Which, of course, ruined the shuttle reservation I had made to get me from the airport to the AirBnB once I got there. And yes, with my luck, my reservation was made for the last shuttle of the night (because my flight got in right before 11pm) so after a frantic call once I got to the airport to the shuttle service where a man kindly told me there were no more shuttles, I had to take a cab… I asked awkwardly if he spoke Spanish or English, and made my way to Rue Durantin, in the 18th arrondissement (a fancy word which here -in French- means "neighborhood").

Lucky for me I was greeted in this cozy little (and I stress, little) AirBnb by a loving boyfriend, some snacks, and a cold glass of red wine. Needless to say I was content and slept like a baby.

It was such a cute little apartment building, couldn’t have looked more European if it tried

It had a cute little courtyard too!

I really loved the old-fashioned key to get into the apartment (there was a more modern lock, too...) 

The weather was gloomy all weekend. 

Up and early and on our way to The Louvre. I was relieved to see that the metro system ran the same way the DC and Madrid metro does - on colored/numbered lines that use the end of the line stations as the point of direction, none of the NYC Subway nonsense that I've yet to understand. The museum was even more massive and impressive than I had thought. So much art, so much history, so many people! It was really fun to see the Mona Lisa (and honestly, not THAT underwhelming. Yeah, she's small, but still so cool to see with my own eyes!), really neat to feel like I was in a Dan Brown book, and incredible to see the works of all of the people I had only ever talked about in classes or read about in my "The Lives of Artists" book from elementary school. But Ryan and I aren't the biggest art museum fans (the only art related place I can spend much time in is my aunt's art studio…), so we had our fill and were on our way to our next adventure.

There was so much to see, so many hallways, so much artwork! 

Always look to see what the line your waiting in is for.

We headed over to Notre Dame to check out the cathedral and somehow ended up in the line to go up on the towers tour. Not what we had intended to do… so many stairs… so many people… but the views were pretty spectacular so in retrospect I guess it was pretty cool. By then we were starving so we got a really yummy panini and sat on the opposite side of the church, where lo and behold, we found the general entrance to the cathedral. It was very large, very dark, very gothic, very neat. I never thought I would find myself in so many churches in my life, but I am no where near being tired of visiting them yet.

The stairs were killer, but it was well worth it

Very interesting looking exterior, I really love all of the symmetry

Absolutely love the gothic arches

We rested our feet for a bit while enjoying a delicious banana and nutella crepe and mulled wine (which oh my god, is so good) and saw a pigeon get murdered. Yep, you read that right. For the sake of continuing on with this post and all of our adventures, I'll write a separate post about that pigeon affair because it certainly was… a moment… 

Always listen to your teachers.

Paco had told my class that if we were to ever visit Paris, the one thing we had to be sure to do, if nothing else, is go to Sainte-Chappelle Cathedral. I had never heard of it (I don't think most people have) which is a shame because it's the most beautiful cathedral I've ever been to. I wish I could describe how lovely it was to stand inside it and be surrounded by all the stained glass windows and see the light coming through all the different colors and shine in so many different tints. Absolutely stunning.

Just stunning. The heart eye emoji perfectly captures my feelings about this place

Sometimes what you really want is McDonalds.

The following day we visited the Palace of Versailles, which was a very interesting experience for me because earlier that week I had visited the Escorial, which was an old, very humble palace outside of Madrid where a lot of the kings lived/were buried. The vast contrast between what I had just seen and the over the top luxury and decorations of Versailles was certainly... interesting. Of course, I loved the Hall of Mirrors, and if it had been just a bit warmer, would have really loved the gardens. It was definitely worth the trek out of the city. But before we headed into town, we spotted those welcoming Golden Arches and decided that of course this would be our lunch spot. In our defense, the McDonalds' in Europe are a lot nicer than the ones back home - their McCafés actually have espresso drinks and pastries, it's a whole lot fancier! 

Loved the gold details throughout the palace

I wish it hadn’t been so crowded, I can only imagine how beautiful the Hall would have been back in its heyday 

We visited the Eiffel Tower and walked around the area and the area around our Air Bnb, Montmartre, which was super cute. I was so stunned at the size of the Tower, I guess I had just never thought about how enormous it truly was. Happy to cross that off my bucket list.

It’s MASSIVE

We were literally walking distance away! I had Elephant Love Medley stuck in my head all weekend... 

Before flying to Madrid, we had a lovely last breakfast out in a little bakery/café a few streets away from where we were staying where no one spoke English so we tried our best with our Google Translate phrases and learned the power of hand motions.

Probably should have taken the pic BEFORE I started eating...

Madrid feels like home now.

I immediately felt like I was back in my element when we set foot in Barajas. I was so excited to be able to show it to Ryan, to share what had become of my life these past few months here. The AirBnb we stayed at (I swear they're not sponsoring me or anything, I just really like them) was cute and in a great area, the only downside was that it had a tiny water heater - so we quickly learned showers were going to be super short. We hit all of the touristy places through the course of the week - Retiro, Sol, Plaza Mayor, the museum area, and all the food! Ryan got to try all of the things I had been telling him about, which was great, but the one downside was that I had classes, so we had to work around that schedule. I think we made the best of it, though.

Okay so I mainly took pictures of food, but oh well...

The calamari sandwich is one of the most typical eats from Madrid, and it’s so so good. 

El Mercado de San Miguel, such a neat market that reminds me a lot of a mini Pike Place or Reading Market. 

I won't write about how sad I was that the week came to an end, but I will say that I was so happy to have this mini vacation in the middle of the semester with him. It was nice to share my new home (he even met my host family and got the overwhelming seal of approval from my host sister, Rocio), it was nice to just be with him again. 

Only 1 month, 1 week, 2 days till I get to see him again, but hey, who's counting?

[irish-nlessing]

Making the Grade - Ch. 1

The only sound Poppy Miller could hear was the pounding of her heart in her ears.  The words were swimming in front of her eyes.  “Clerical error...unable to complete graduation application...missing credits.”  Reaching up with a trembling hand, she pulled her laptop closed with a quiet click.  “No no no no no.  This is not how this is supposed to go.  This is not how this is supposed to happen.”   Her voice was thick, the words tinged with panic.  She rolled away from the small desk in her cramped office and dropped her head between her knees and started counting.  “100...99...98...97…”  The numbers had always soothed Poppy, even when she was a small girl.  They never changed, there was always order, and they never faltered.  Saying them out loud made her feel like she was in control and centered, even when things in her world were spinning into chaos.

“25...24...23...22...21...20.”  Poppy took a deep breath, feeling her heart rate slowly return to normal.  Her ears were no longer ringing and making her feel as though she was listening to the sounds of the bustling newspaper office from under water.  Sitting up, she smoothed her hair and opened her laptop back up with a purposeful flick of her wrist.  She grabbed the phone from it’s cradle on her desk and punched in the direct extension to her academic advisor’s office.  For the past three years Poppy had spent countless hours in Professor Williams’ office, pouring over class schedules and timelines.  He’d always been supportive, if not a little bemused, by Poppy’s fervent need to graduate early.  Early on he’d tried to figure out why she was so focused on it, but he’d given up quickly after realizing that once Poppy had made a decision, it was done - never to be altered.  Her drive and stubbornness had helped propel her to the top of the Dean’s List and had made her the youngest Editor in Chief of The Monitor, the weekly newspaper of her small liberal arts college.  On the third ring, Professor Williams finally picked up.  “Ms. Miller.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”  Poppy scowled - she forgot about the caller ID function.  She hated not getting to lead conversations.  “Professor Williams.  I’m currently looking at very disturbing email which seems to indicate that my application for graduation confirmation has been denied due to an unfulfilled credit requirement.”  She heard a sigh through the receiver and then Professor Williams’ deep timbred voice speak soothingly into the phone.  “Poppy, this is not a crisis.  I promise.  There is time to fix it.”  

“This semester?”  Poppy demanded.  She could hear her advisor carefully mulling over his words.  Her belly filled with dread as she waited for him to respond.

“Poppy, I’m so sorry.  But, barring some extraordinary solution, I just don’t see how we can fix it this semester.”

“No.”  Poppy said, simply.

“Poppy, I’m not sur-” Professor Williams was mid sentence before he was cut off, unceremoniously.

“No.  There has to be a way.  The email said I was short four credit hours in a political science elective.  There has to be a class you can get me into.”  Her voice had lost some of it’s authoritative edge.  Fear and desperation were starting to creep in, softening her plea into a whimper.

After an agonizing silence, Professor Williams finally spoke.  “We’re two weeks into the semester.  But, let me see what I can come up with.  I’ll call you as soon as I have some answers.  Ok?”

Poppy let out the breath she’d been holding.  Her lungs burned with relief as she blew the air out across her lips.  “Thank you.  I’ll speak with you soon.”

Across campus, Niall Horan sat in the tiny graduate student office he shared with two other graduate student assistants.  It was little more than a glorified closet with harsh overhead lighting, a tiny desk and two old tattered chairs.  The walls were littered with schedules, post it notes, and memos from the university.  Niall knew each crack in the wall, every pin hole and knick in the heavy wooden door.  This tiny place had become his home, almost more familiar than the narrow streets that wound through the tiny hamlet in Ireland where he grew up.

Niall sighed and slumped back in his desk chair, rubbing his huge hands across the two day stubble on his jaw.   The past two years of his Ph.D. program had been a whirlwind and he had jumped in head first to his studies, almost to the complete detriment of his personal life.  Only his flatmate, Harry, had managed to pull him from the brink of complete social suicide by insisting Niall join him once a week for pints at the dodgy bar just off campus. But even Harry, with all his charm and joie de vivre, couldn’t help Niall land a date.  In fact, in the two years Niall had been working on his Ph.D. he'd been on exactly one date.  It was such an epic disaster that it had almost become Niall’s claim to fame among the other doctoral candidates, who had gone so far as to affectionately refer to it as “the negative date”.  Every time Niall brought it up, Harry couldn't stop himself from cringing at the secondhand embarrassment.  Looking back, Niall realized that maybe taking a girl he met in a bar to a student documentary screening wasn’t the best idea.  It also may have been a bad move since the documentary was an expose about the recent plight of a newly-discovered South American tribe and their disastrous exposure to twentieth century technology.  Turns out, watching a native healer try to treat a snake bite with a makeshift surgical kit wasn't really a turn on for most people.  The girl had fled ten minutes in, muttering “you’re hot, but you’re not that hot”, leaving Niall perplexed.  All in all, it wasn’t a total loss.  Niall thought the film was a fascinating anthropological look at indigenous politics.

Niall shook his head at the memory and pushed back the fringe of his bleached blond hair.  It was starting to grow out a bit and he'd been toying with the idea of just letting it go.  His older brother, Greg, had insisted it would help him with girls back home.  It didn’t work when he was fifteen and it was not helping now almost a decade later.  Now it’s mostly out of habit.  He tugged on the ends and wondered if anyone would notice if he showed up to class one day a brunette.  He was startled out of his day dreaming by a sharp rap on the door.  “Oi! Professor Horan, hard at work I see!”  Niall snorted and rolled his chair back further into the office so Harry could come in and sit.  Harry always seemed to take up as much available space as possible - and not because he was a few inches taller than Niall.  Niall envied the way he seems to effortlessly occupy any space he’s in, spreading his calming aura to everyone around him.  Niall had never been able to command space like that, always preferring to stay at the peripheral and ease his way into situations.  Niall motioned for Harry to sit and leaned back with his long fingers laced behind his head.  “Mr. Styles, slummin’ it in the political science wing today?”

Harry picked up a stack of papers and plopped them on his lap as he made himself comfortable.  “Well, there’s only so many freshman papers on Phoenician pottery I can read before my eyes start bleeding.  Thought I’d pop over and see what you’re up to.”  Niall shrugged and sucked a breath in over his teeth.  “Not much, I’m afraid.  I’ve only got the two sections of senior political theory and my dissertation meetings.  M’actually not sure what I’m gonna do with all the spare time.”  Harry was only half listening, he was flipping through the stack of papers on his lap.  They were quizzes from Niall’s classes and he was perplexed at what he saw.

“Niall?”

Niall hummed in response, but didn't look up from where he was absentmindedly scrolling through emails on his laptop.

“Why are there phone numbers on these quizzes?”  Harry’s shuffled through most of the pages to make sure he was seeing correctly.  Sure enough, on more than a handful of pages there were phone numbers inked neatly underneath names.  Some had a smiley face doodled next to them, some had tiny hearts.  “Looks like they’re all next to girls...wait, nope here’s a couple guys too.”

Niall spun in his chair and glanced at what Harry had in his hands.  “What d’ya mean?  I always get phone numbers on papers.  Have since I started teachin’.  Do ya not get those as well?”

Harry huffed out a laugh and raised his eyebrows.  “Only from the students I end up shagging.”

Niall missed the last part of Harry’s response when his office phone rang.   “Niall Horan here.  Professor Williams, how are ya sir?” He tucked the receiver into the crook of his shoulder and motioned to Harry that he needed to take the call.  Harry nodded and dropped the stack of quizzes back on the seat.  Before turning to leave he tapped at his watch and stage whispered, “Eight o’clock, Griffin’s Lair, don’t forget!”  Niall nodded and shooed him off, a silent promise to meet up at their usual spot.

Poppy’s phone blared from her desk, drowning out the chatter in the small office.  She and her assistant editor, Sabrina were in the middle of a layout meeting for next week’s issue.  There were mock ups and articles strewn everywhere, with clippings and glue sticks littering every surface.  Poppy groaned and shuffled papers around finally grabbing it panting out a greeting.  “Poppy.  Glad I caught you!  I have good news.”  Professor Williams filled her in on how he’d been able to pull some strings for her.  He’d managed to get her into a senior seminar political theory class.  Poppy collapsed into her desk chair with relief as he told her.  But before she could launch into thanking him a hundred times, he gently stopped her. “Poppy, listen.  This isn’t going to be a walk in the park.  This is a senior seminar.  Technically it’s for political theory majors only, but I happen to know one of the graduate assistants that’s teaching it this semester.  He’s agreed to override your enrollment status and let you in.  It’s the only way you can earn the credits you need this semester.  It’s going to be tough.  I’m just warning you.”  Poppy waved off his cautious tone and tried to reassure him.  “I’m sure I’m up to the challenge.  I’ll just have to put in some extra work at first to get caught up.  I’m just so relieved, honestly.  Thank you so much!”  Poppy scribbled down the class information on a scrap of paper, silently cursing that she was going to have to cut the layout meeting short if she was going to make it to this new class on time.  Sabrina stood and peeked over her shoulder, plucking the paper off the desk to read it.  Poppy dropped the phone back in its cradle and spun to face Sabrina.  “It’s a goddamn miracle!  I’m going to graduate this semester if it kills me Sabrina.”  Poppy started shoving notebooks, pencils, and her laptop in her messenger bag, while Sabrina’s eyes darted back and forth from the scrap of paper to her phone.  “What?  Why’re you staring at your phone?  Did you hear me?  Williams got me into another class - I’m going to get my credits!”

A smirk spread across Sabrina’s face and she turned the phone to face Poppy.  “Poppy Miller, you lucky son of a bitch.”  Poppy was wrestling with her jacket and threw a glance at Sabrina’s phone.  “What am I looking at?”  She was struggling to get the zipper to catch and was only halfway listening.  

Sabrina groaned and pushed the phone closer to Poppy’s face.  “How dense are you?  Niall Horan.  You ended up in Niall Horan’s class, Poppy!  Look at him!  Every undergrad who’s even thought of taking a poli sci class has tried to get him as their teacher.  He’s fucking gorgeous, and he has an accent.  AN IRISH ACCENT!”  Poppy was staring at her friend in sheer bewilderment.  Sabrina’s face was flushed and her chest is heaving with each breath she took.

Poppy took the scrap of paper out of Sabrina’s clutches and squinted at her carefully.  “Are you gonna be ok?”  Sabrina growled and threw her hands up.  “You’re hopeless, Miller!  You’re graduating this semester, you need to live a little!  And here’s the perfect chance!  Dazzle him with your wit and intellect!”  Poppy laughed and shook her head at her friend’s desperate pleas.  “He’s hot, I’ll give you that. But I hate to break it to you, I’m not using this class as some sort of twisted speed date.  I just need the A.”  Sabrina dropped back down to the floor to finish the layout, waving Poppy off without another glance.  Before the door clicked shut, Poppy heard her friend sigh heavily and mutter, “She’s a lost cause.”

Sweat prickled the back of Poppy’s neck as she trudged across campus.  It was only the second week of the term and the weather hadn’t yet cooled down from the summer doldrums.  Despite Poppy’s tendency to be pulled together and in control with almost every aspect of her life, her appearance was usually the first thing to go to pot.  It wasn’t as if she was slovenly by any means, and she cleaned up when the occasion called for it.  She actually had a whole closet filled with beautiful suits, flowing summer dresses, and piles of expensive shoes her mother insisted she needed, and refused to stop sending to her.  But for days filled with classes, and nights filled with her duties at the paper and studying, Poppy was most often found in flip flops, old chuck taylors, running shorts and whatever college t-shirt or hoodie that happened to be clean.  She kept her long, wavy hair meticulously washed, deep conditioned, and trimmed, but you’d never know it since she almost always had it thrown up into a messy knot on her head.  Sabrina often referred to Poppy’s outfits as “athletic hobo chic”, which Poppy insisted was a compliment since it contained the word “chic”.  

Weaving through the late afternoon throngs of students, Poppy passed through the center of campus.  There were groups of students huddled on the steps of the library, talking and sipping on coffee.  A few guys that looked a little younger were tossing a frisbee back and forth across a grassy lawn while a few girls sprawled out on a blanket to watch.  Dodging a couple walking hand in hand, Poppy stopped to hoist her bag back onto her shoulder.  She tucked a few loose pieces of hair back into her hair tie and sighed.  For all of her success, Poppy had never quite mastered the art of “college life”.  She’d gone to one or two parties freshman year (waste of time really), had a few sour dates and hookups (not all it’s cracked up to be, if she’s honest), and a few close friends (better than a lot of fair weather acquaintances, she’d told herself).  It wasn’t exactly that she harbored any regrets really, but on sunny afternoons surrounded by carefree laughter and people actually living in the moment, she couldn’t help but feel like she’d missed out.  She shook her head and glanced at her watch, silently cursing herself for getting distracted.  “Nice, now you’re gonna be late because of a stupid frisbee.  Way to go, Poppy.”  She muttered to herself tersely while she jogged down the path to the small brick building tucked behind the graduate library wing.  Taking the stairs two at a time, she slid into the classroom with the last few stragglers.  Since this was technically a senior seminar, there were only about twenty students milling about.  Poppy spied an empty desk in the front row, but off to the side of the room.  She hoped it would give her a good view of the board, without drawing too much attention to herself.  

Busying herself with pulling out her laptop and getting ready to take notes, Poppy noticed about four or five girls huddled around a desk at the front of the room.  Each girl had a reverent sort of look on their faces, and Poppy snorted and rolled her eyes.  Looking more closely, Poppy could just make out a pair of long, lanky legs poking out from the desk clad in skinny jeans and trendy hipster chukka boots.  One of the girls turned to head back to her her desk and Poppy was suddenly staring into the clearest blue eyes she’d ever seen.  Poppy felt the air sucked from her lungs and every cell of her body burned as if they were on fire.  His bleached blonde fringe fell flat against his brow, with his thin pink lips parted just enough for Poppy to get a peek at a row of perfectly straight, immaculately white teeth.  The moment was shattered seconds late when another student cleared her throat loudly, finally prompting Niall to look away.  “Sorry, wha?” Poppy could hear the timbre of his accent carry over the chatter of the the other students.  He pulled the pair of round framed glasses from the collar of his shirt and slid them on, trying to see what the other student was showing him in her textbook.  Poppy let out the breath she’d been holding and tried to get a hold of herself.  She wasn’t here to ogle at the TA, she was here to pass this class and graduate early.  Silently chastising herself for letting her hormones get the best of her, she refocused and pulled up a fresh word doc to start taking notes.  

Niall cleared his throat and shuffled some papers around on his desk.  His throat felt dry and constricted, like he was starving for a full breath of oxygen.  He tried swilling water from his green Nalgene bottle and focused on the peeling sticker of the Irish flag plastered to the side.  This girl had completely captivated him and he had absolutely no idea why.  He assumed she was the last minute addition Professor Williams had phoned him about, but she hadn’t said a word to him yet.  For all he knew, she could just be in the wrong room.  He became conscious of the room falling silent, signaling the actual start of class.  Running his long fingers through his hair he passed out the sign in sheet and went up to the board to start his lesson.  “Ok, so last week we talked a bit about how politics interacts with economics.  Today we’re going to start our discussion on how that interaction affects relations between industrialized nations in the West.”  Niall continued through his bullet points, citing examples from the assigned readings and asking for the students to contribute their own thoughts.  For the first time since he started teaching, he found himself drawn to one student.  And, as luck would have it, he was drawn to the one student who hadn’t said a word the entire hour.  He desperately wanted to hear her voice, but she could hardly be expected to contribute on her first day after the rest of the students had over a week’s worth of lectures.  Every few minutes he would allow himself a quick glance to her desk, watching her delicate hands fly across the keyboard of her laptop.  She seemed completely focused on the task at hand, looking back and forth from the board to her screen.  Niall realized that she seemed hell bent on not making eye contact with him.

With ten minutes left in the class, Niall announced a pop quiz.  He was met with a few scattered groans, which made him laugh.  He saw the girl’s head pop up over her screen at the sound of his throaty chuckle flowing into the room.  She looked a little dazed, like she couldn’t reconcile the sound he was making with his physical appearance.  Harry had once told him something similar, that his laugh “sounds like a bunch of angels havin’ a group orgy”.  Niall had curled his lip at his friend’s crass description, hoping the mental image it gave him would fade quickly after a few more pints.  Niall passed out the quizzes, going over last minute instructions.  “Ya got ten minutes to finish this up, you’re free to head out when you’re done.”  As he passed Poppy’s desk he placed the paper in front of her carefully, holding his breath so he could hear her whisper a tiny “thank you”.  He sat back down and chewed on his nail thoughtfully, watching the her hem and haw over the questions.  He silently cursed at himself for giving it to her, it covered material they had discussed last week and he should’ve made an exception for her.  “Stupid Niall.” His eyes widened as he looked over and saw her tip her head to the side at him.  He thought he’d muttered that under his breath, but apparently he was a little louder than he wanted.  He felt his cheeks go hot in embarrassment and stared back down at his hands.

Students started filing out of the class, dropping their quiz on Niall’s desk.  Poppy was feeling hot and her palms were damp.  She knew exactly three of the questions on this quiz.  For the first time she was unprepared for something and she hated the feeling.  She closed her eyes and quietly started to count.  “10...9...8...7…”  When she got down to “1” she took a breath and filled in the rest of her answers.  She stood up and gathered her things, suddenly noticing she was the only student left in the room.  “Oh.  Oh, um, sorry….I’m probably over the time, but I um, didn’t know some of the - well anyway.  Here.”  She slung her bag over her shoulder and thrust the paper towards Niall.  His mouth was open, and he was searching her face, seemingly struck speechless.  She tipped the paper a little closer to him and that seemed to shake him out of his silence.  

“Oh, right, sorry.  Yeah, don’t worry about this one, I’ll give you the points for it.  Shoulda told ya that earlier ‘cause ya know, you’re new and I’m sure ya haven’t gotten the text yet.”  He swallowed heavily, his eyes never leaving hers.  Poppy picked at her cuticle, not sure what to do.  The silence was awkward but she didn’t want to look away.  He seemed genuinely kind and sweet and a little naïve.  He smiled at her and nodded, and she ducked her head and turned to walk out.

“Oh! Poppy, wait!”  Poppy spun and walked the few steps back over to Niall.  He pushed her quiz back towards her and handed her a pen.  “You forgot to leave your phone number at the top.”  Poppy’s smile faded and her stomach suddenly turned sour.  Of course.  He’s trying to hit on her.  She glared at him, her eyes trailing from his clear blue eyes down to his thick fingers gingerly offering her the pen.  She leaned back and jutted out her hip, crossing her arms in defiance.  The placid expression on Niall’s face started to falter and he limply dropped his hand away from her.  Confusion was written across his features, and his brows began to pull in slightly.  “What’s the mat-.”

“You know, everyone said you were hot.  But nobody said you’d be sleazy.  If you wanted to ask me out, you could’ve been a gentleman about it.”  Without another word, she spun on her heel and stalked out of the room, leaving Niall a little red in the face and a lot confused.

He slunk down into his seat and stared after her.  Running his hand through his hair he breathed out, “What the fuck just happened?”

A/N: This would not be possible without the help, support, and encouragement of my dear friends and betas, @dibsonthat1d / @lucyvanpelt78 / @squirrely83. Massive thanks to you!