#I have spent 3 hours Not Emailing them its so fun | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ppersonna · 3 years

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swipe right - jjk | m

“ i wanna ruin our friendship. we should be lovers instead. i don't know how to say this, cause you're really my dearest friend “ - jenny, studio killers

♡ summary- after a horrible breakup, you sign back up for tinder and ironically match with your best friend, jungkook. a date for fun is harmless, right?

♡ genre- best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, jk is a minecraft streamer, brother namjoon, brother-in-law jimin, namjoon is kind of a himbo stay at home dad ngl, ex-boyfriend seokjin (mentioned but doesnt show up)

♡ word count- 9k

♡ warnings- mentions of a bad breakup (smh seokjin wtf??), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (u know the business folx), oral sex (m receiving), teasing, SO MUCH BODY WORSHIP, jk is a simp, slight dirty talk, lots of just talking during sex yall it happens, creampie, cum play, praise praise body worship praise, did i mention body worship, tit-fucking, cum eating, i think thats all.

♡ a/n - helloooo and thank you for your wait for this fic! i’m so happy its done and i loved writing it! it’s a little bit different feel for my usual style of writing (smut-wise) so please tell me your thoughts! i didn’t use dom/sub themes OR a daddy kink LMAOOOO praise me please. i hope you enjoy!! pls feel free to comment, chat, message, carrier pigeon, email, mail, WHATEVER U WANT, me. i love u babies. thank you to @kimtaehyunq for the sexy banner. and for @xjoonchildx @ladyartemesia @untaemedqueen for the writing support and idea generation. i would be nothing without my council. and thank you to my beta editors @hobi-gif and @ughseoks and @hongism for the perusal and help in writing this!

Jungkook is the person you call when your world falls apart.

He answers, voice raspy from the late hour, and the second he asks you what’s wrong, the downpour of torrential tears you’ve been holding back finally escapes and you’re sobbing through the phone that you just lost the love of your life—that he left and with little effort on his part, and a lot on yours.

Jungkook listens to you—his heart aching deep in his chest at hearing the utter heartbreak that’s clear in your voice. You’ve never been hurt like this, and he’s desperate to hold you, to make it go away. He wants to drive over to Seokjin’s house and throw a left hook into his stupid, handsome face for making you feel you weren’t worth it.

Because if there’s anything in the world that Jungkook knows, it’s that you’re worth it. You’re worth everything. Add up all the money and all the gold in the entire world, and it still doesn’t meet a fraction of what you’re worth to him.

“Where are you?” He asks as he cradles the phone against one arm and pulls on his jeans.

You sniffle. “Jungkook, it’s 3 am.”

“So? I was up playing Minecraft,” He lies. “Where are you?”

You can’t help but laugh the tiniest bit, a sliver of warmth wrapping itself around your raw and exposed heart. Like a balm to a flesh wound. It doesn’t heal it, not yet.

“I’m at our park.”

Jungkook smiles as he grips the phone back in his hand. The park. The place you and Jungkook spent your childhood playing make-believe games, and formative teenage years loitering around smoking clove cigarettes to look cool.

“Give me five minutes, okay?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Okay.”

Jungkook arrives with two minutes to spare. His beat up Nissan that he insists is “vintage” and “priceless” idles next to you.

He can see you through the darkened glass of your car—your mascara is running down your face, tears streaked through your flawlessly applied makeup.

You still look so beautiful.

And it angers Jungkook that all that time you spent looking good for Seokjin meant nothing to him.

He motions for you to come over, pats the passenger seat next to him and smiles as he watches you open the door and slide into the security of his familiar car.

“You cleaned your car,” you murmur as you notice a severe lack of McDonald’s trash.

He sniffs haughtily.

“The trash added character.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to respond. Instead, he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling you as close to him as he can get you. The instant his arms wrap around your body, the floodgates open again and your once-quieted tears turn back into full-fledged sobs.

“I loved him,” you gasp through the pain in your throat.

He rubs your back, pats your hair gently, soothing you the way he has for years now. Through every breakup, through every family fight with your older brother Namjoon, through all the mean girls in high school. Jungkook is the north star—always consistent, always guiding you back to safety.

“I know, babe,” he sighs. “You deserve someone who’s going to treat you right, who’s not just going to give up when things get hard.”

You choke back a cry against his Patagonia hoodie and bury your face further into the crook of his neck. He smells like Old Spice and the shampoo he uses, along with the smell of laundry soap you buy for him—he uses dish soap when he runs out and nearly broke his washing machine last time.

“I thought he was the one. I’m so stupid.”

Jungkook swallows hard. Tonight is about comforting you, not about feeling sorry for himself that you’re his best friend and not his girlfriend. He can’t help but think of what kind of life he would give you. He knows it’s one that wouldn’t end with you crying in a parking lot at 3 AM.

“You’re not stupid, you just loved him. And there’s nothing stupid about loving someone, even if it doesn’t work out,” he sighs as he cradles your head against him. It feels right having you there, pressed up against him and seeking comfort from the solace of his arms.

“Let’s go get a milkshake, yeah?” He asks as you pull your head up and look at him with sad, glassy eyes.

“Yeah,” you nod after a moment of staring.

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle with love, with hope. It makes the desperate, alone feeling inside you—disappear. Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your forehead and then starts the shaky ignition of his car, that takes three cranks of the key before it turns over.

He sends you a look, a laugh evident on your face.

“Don’t even start,” he warns. “The engine is fine.”

“Whatever you say,” you snort as you wipe an errant tear from your face.

“It’s a certified classic car! I could get millions for this baby!”

As the weeks pass, the pain of losing Seokjin becomes further and further from your mind. You can get through the day without crying anytime you see something that reminds you of him and even start flirting with others without feeling like you’re cheating.

You just still haven’t reached the point where dating someone else even feels possible. You’re terrified of allowing someone close to you, letting them into a place where you’re inviting them to possibly hurt you. You’re not sure your heart is ready for it.

“I think you’re just scared,” your older brother Namjoon states as he warms up a bottle of milk in boiling water.

He cradles his new baby in one arm while the other works at the bottle of milk.

“I’m not scared,” you huff. “I just don’t think it’s the right time.”

Namjoon sighs and hands the gurgling newborn baby off to you and readies the bottle for you to feed your new niece, Jisoo.

“Look, Seokjin sucks, okay? I know you two were together for some time, but in the end, he wasn’t the right one for you. There’s someone out there who is the right one for you. You know how many shit frogs I had to kiss before I got my prince?”

You make a face as you feed Jisoo, who happily sucks and gazes at the lights above.

“You call Jimin a prince?”

Namjoon sighs dreamily as he watches the baby and thinks of his husband.

“The dreamiest prince,” he breathes, eyes closed in bliss. “But back to your problems. I think you should get back out there. Go on some dates, meet some people. No one is telling you to fall in love and get married tomorrow. Just go have some fun.”

You allow Namjoon’s words to mull through your mind. What could be the harm in joining a few dating sites, perhaps spending some time at the gym or grocery store flirting with someone cute?

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. I can’t be the only one giving our parents grand-babies. Soo needs a cousin.”

You smile down at the tiny bundle in your arms and imagine a future where you have a baby of your own.

“Okay, I’m not trying to get knocked up, Joon.”

“Whatever,” he sighs. “Help me choose a wall color for me and Jimin’s new master bathroom.”

Tinder’s changed since the last time you used it, years ago. It’s gone from any semblance of dating to strictly an app used to get laid.

It’s discouraging swiping through all the obvious fuckboys. Sure, a quick and easy lay sounds great, but you’re also trying to go out and enjoy real, traditional dates, and it seems none of these guys want to step foot outside of a bedroom.

The swiping left becomes almost monotonous. You’re sitting on your couch, watching some documentary about serial killers, when a startling profile pops up on your Tinder feed.

The picture that pops up is... Jungkook. You can’t stop the bubble of laughter that leaps from your chest. His profile is so authentically Jungkook that you’re swiping right before you even know it.

Your brain doesn’t even comprehend what a match with Jungkook means, really. You’re still laughing as you click on the bubble to message him and send him as many laugh emojis as you can.

“Hey guys, what’s up, Kookie here with another Let’s Play Minecraft video for ya. Be sure to like and subscribe if you enjoy this kind of content.”

Jungkook’s headset is firmly wrapped around his head, mic next to his mouth and hands at the ready on his mouse and keyboard. He’s set and in the zone.

The game is well into play when the familiar chime of his phone goes off. It’s a Tinder notification—he can tell by the sound. He can’t help but roll his eyes, wondering what sort of boring conversation he’s meant to have with a girl who will probably ghost him, anyway.

He lazily lifts his phone and glances at the notification, before dropping it back to the desk.

His hand freezes on his mouse as he finally comprehends what he just read.

He just matched with YOU.

His best friend.

His secret, lifelong crush.

He sputters something into the microphone and stops recording his game, wildly grasping for the phone and unlocking it.

YN: 😂😂😂😂 is your bio a Minecraft pickup line?!

He pauses, attempts to collect his thoughts, before desperately typing on his screen.

JUNGKOOK: Why? 😉😏 did it work?

You spend the rest of your night jokingly flirting with Jungkook, sending GIFs and emojis in between the silly lines you’re using on each other.

Right before you’re about to head to sleep, Jungkook sends one last message.

JUNGKOOK: What if we went on a date lolol. Haha jk. Unless?? 👀👀👀

Your thumbs hover over the keys to your phone.

A date with Jungkook? Even though you matched with him, you’ve never thought of a date with your childhood best friend.

YN: alright, it’s only fair since we matched 😝 show me how you treat these tinder ladies

“I have a date with Jungkook tonight,” you tell your brother, Namjoon, over the phone.

Over the crying of your newborn niece, you hear Namjoon splutter in confusion.

“You what!?” He nearly screams. “Jeon Jungkook? Like... the annoying kid you’ve been friends with since fourth grade?”

You huff.

“He’s not annoying! He’s my best friend. We ironically matched on Tinder and… Well, why the fuck not? Nothing serious is going to happen. We’ll go out and have a story to tell about how incompatible we are.”

Namjoon doesn’t reply. Instead, you hear him speak to his husband.

“She’s going on a date with Jungkook,” he says over the muffle of his hand on the receiver.

There’s a shuffle, and the dulcet voice of your brother-in-law, Jimin, comes over the line.

“Girl,” he starts. “What the fuck?”

You chuckle as you move about your closet, trying to decide what’s appropriate to wear on a date with your best friend.

“It’s nothing!”

“Mm-hmm,” Jimin tuts. “You know the boy is in love with you.”

“Okay, Chim, you’ve been spending too much time cooped up with my brother. It’s affecting your grip on reality.”

“Sure, honey. I just tell it like it is. Don’t break his heart.”

You roll your eyes.

“I won’t break his heart because there’s nothing there, Jimin.”

“I’ll be expecting your call later.”

“Yes, dad. Love you guys.”

“We love you too, sweetheart. But really, don’t break that poor boy’s heart.”

You open your mouth to retort yet another reassurance that there’s nothing to break, but the line goes dead.

“Fucking Jimin,” you mutter as you throw your phone to the bed.

You can’t allow yourself to think that Jungkook might have feelings for you. It’s totally out of the questions. He’s your best friend. The guy who shoves Cheetos up his nose to make you laugh and falls asleep during every movie night with his face in the popcorn bowl. He’s just Jungkook. This date is just a funny way to hang out.

So, why do you care so much about what you wear?

You’re still standing in front of your closet, attempting to find something respectable to wear. It doesn’t matter that the last time Jungkook saw you; it was with mascara streaming down your face and a hoodie from Namjoon’s college swimming days and ripped leggings. Jungkook has seen you in nearly everything you wear, so your indecisiveness gives you pause.

Do you want Jungkook to be attracted to you? Do you want to do your best to look as presentable as you would for a normal date?

The thudding of your heart tells you that maybe you’re more interested in this being a date than you’re allowing yourself to believe.

You shake all thoughts off.

No, you won’t allow yourself to overthink a night that should just be fun.

You settle for a fitted and simple summer dress, tights and heels. Simple, easy, respectable but also showing enough cleavage and sculpt of your ass to ensure you look more dressed up than not.

Perfect.

With one last look in the mirror, you’re ready.

JUNGKOOK: I’m outside!

ME: See you soon!

Jungkook taps his foot anxiously as he sits on the bench outside your apartment. His tight black jeans feel like a second skin on his legs, and the black button-down shirt he’s tucked in makes him rethink his choice of outfit.

Is he too casual?

He’s never really worn something like this around you. This is what Jungkook wears when he wants to seduce. This is what every girl he’s desperately wished was you got to see. The girls who swooned over his messy hair, the way his jeans display his toned thighs, the peek of skin at his throat.

Maybe it’s too much.

Maybe he’s afraid he’ll scare you away.

Maybe he’s afraid you won’t like it.

He’s given no chance to ruminate anymore because you’re exiting the building and walking straight towards him.

He doesn’t think he remembers how to breathe.

It’s as if you walk towards him in slow motion. Angels chorus around him and the setting sun sparkles on your face like a spotlight. There’s nothing in the world anymore, nothing but you.

You’re the most beautiful human he’s ever seen in his life.

“Hi,” you smile as you approach him.

He continues to stare, eyes traveling over the soft curves of your cheeks and jaw, trailing down to the way your dress clings just right to each dip of your body. His throat goes dry.

You are without a doubt the girl of his dreams.

“Jungkook?”

It pushes him out of his reverie, eyes widening as he realizes he’s been staring at you for maybe a few minutes too long to play off as normal.

“Hey!” He coughs, attempting to right himself.

“You okay?” You ask, eyebrow lifted in concern.

“Yeah! Yup! Totally! I’m okay—a-okay, absolutely great.” He internally slaps himself.

“You clean up nice,” you smile as your eyes elevate up and down the lean form of his body.

“Oh?” He asks, taken aback.

In his daze, he never even realized what you’re thinking about him, rather only how intensely he was thinking about you.

“This must be the Jungkook that all the girls in college couldn’t stop begging me to hook them up with.”

His cheeks flame with sudden embarrassment, hand moving to the back of his neck to rub it awkwardly.

“Ha, yeah,” he swallows. “You look r-really nice too. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress since your brother’s wedding.”

The smile that he’s rewarded with nearly knocks him on his ass. “Thanks! It’s fun to dress up cute again. Jin hated this dress.”

A stab of pain eeks its way into Jungkook’s heart. Seokjin. God, how he hates that man.

“Well, uh, you can wear whatever you want with me!” He assures.

You loop your arm around Jungkook’s, saddling up to his side as you look at him expectantly.

“Well, are we going?”

Jungkook can’t help but smile at the sparkle in your eye, the way you peer up at him with those soft, cherry lips. He wants to capture them with his own, kiss you until you don’t remember Seokjin’s name ever again.

But he resists.

“Let’s go!”

You never thought you’d admit it to yourself. You never even thought it could happen.

But the date is everything you’ve ever wanted, and more.

Jungkook is still Jungkook, still just as silly and easy to talk to as he always is.

But he’s also charming. Flirtatious, even. He holds doors open for you; he rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you towards your table at dinner. He feeds you bites of his dessert and lets his eyes linger on the way your lips look wrapped around his fork.

Jungkook treats you the way you’ve always wanted to be treated. Like someone he wants to cherish for the rest of your combined lives. Someone he wants to take care of, build a future with, enjoy life with.

And as much as it thrills you, it absolutely frightens you.

It’s when you’re walking down the small river trail together that Jungkook slips his hand into yours and laces your fingers together. The once-steady beat of your heart becomes erratic. He continues chatting—as if holding your hand was a subconscious act for him. He’s knee deep in a story of his Minecraft server when you stop walking, causing him to pause.

“What’s up?” He asks curiously.

Your eyes glitter with anticipation, with fear, as you stare at the gorgeous man before you. He looks like a full course meal in his tight jeans and he makes you feel like a princess. You can suddenly see doing life by his side—no longer his platonic best friend, but as his lover and lifelong partner.

You say nothing. Instead, you simply close the space between you two by grabbing the buttons of his shirt and tugging his lips onto yours.

“Wha—oh, mmmmmm.”

Jungkook is still for a second as he battles the surprise, but jumps into action and cups your face with his hands, deepening the kiss by pushing his tongue past your lips and swirling it around your own.

Your bodies press close together. He can feel your breasts against his chest and he desperately wants to rip the dress off your body and worship you like he’s always wanted to.

As soon as the kiss started, it’s over. You’re pulling away with eyes wide with fear.

“I’m sorry, I—I need to go,” you stammer awkwardly.

Jungkook’s heart drops to his stomach.

“What? We were going to get ice cream?”

You can feel tears building in the corners of your eyes. You’re so confused, so unsure of what you’re feeling. You want to stay and kiss Jungkook until you’re clawing at the clothing on his body, pressing kisses to the firm column of his neck. You want to run far away, too scared to admit it to him you’re sure you could love him for the rest of his life.

You can’t lose that friendship. You can’t risk everything you love about Jungkook. He’ll only hurt you the way every boyfriend ever has.

“I don’t really feel well,” you swallow hard as you lie. Jungkook always knows when you’re lying.

His body stiffens.

“Okay, let me walk you home.”

You shake your head, already moving away from the man.

“It’s fine. We’re nearby. I’ll just run or something.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you’ve already turned face and started running the direction away from him.

Jungkook watches, misty-eyed, as the girl of his dreams runs further and further away from him.

You’re sobbing as you finally reach home, out of breath and confused. The phone call to Namjoon is quick.

“Yo,” he says cooly as he answers the phone. His tone changes when he hears your whimpering sobs on the other end.

“Joonie,” you whisper. “I fucked up.”

“Oh god,” Namjoon quickly shuffles and calls his husband over, before putting the phone on speaker.

“What’s happened, baby?” Jimin’s sweet voice asks.

“I—I kissed him,” you sob, holding yourself close in the comfort of the elevator.

Namjoon and Jimin look at each other with knowing looks.

“We’re on our way over.”

Jimin knows the first order of business is to stop the crying. He places sleeping baby Jisoo in your arms, which quiets your whimpers enough as you cling to the tiny baby. He knows your weakness is sleeping babies.

Namjoon looks on anxiously, hates seeing his little sister upset and with no way to make it better.

Jimin’s been asked to take the lead on this, because he knows his husband's response is to cry as well—he gets emotional anytime he sees her cry. Namjoon agreed, knowing Jimin was better suited for the conversation.

“Tell us what happened,” Jimin asks quietly. You’re rocking the baby gently, sobs turned to sniffles. “Did something go wrong on the date?”

Your eyes peer up at your brother-in-law’s, a wounded look that makes Jimin feel sad. Namjoon clenches beside him, and Jimin lays a hand on his lap to soothe the protective brother.

“No,” you whisper. “That’s the thing. It was an amazing date.”

Jimin watches you curiously, but remains silent to let you continue.

“We had dinner, and we played arcade games and we walked around. And he was so… fuck, he was perfect. It was like dating the guy of my dreams.”

Jimin nods knowingly.

“And it surprised you how much you liked him.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “At the end, he was holding my hand and just talking about normal, stupid Jungkook shit, but this time it felt like more. Like, I felt in my heart that I wanted to be the one he always talked to about it. I wanted to be the one he came home to at night.”

Jimin pats your cheek lovingly, the care for his sister-in-law clear in his gaze.

“You don’t just like him, honey. I think you might even love him.”

You pull baby Jisoo tighter into your grasp and nod, pathetic tears slipping down your face.

“I just left him. Like, I ran away from him like an asshole.”

Namjoon grunts and takes a spot next to Jimin. “If he loves you, which I’m sure he does, he’ll still be waiting for you.”

Jimin nods and rests a hand on his husband's back. “But you better have one hell of an apology.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer your phone calls. He doesn’t respond to your texts, snapchats or Instagram DM’s. He doesn’t even look at the TikToks you sent him! It’s becoming infuriating to get in touch with him.

You take matters into your own hands and storm to his apartment after work, the rising tension in your shoulders and stomach full of rocks an indicator of your anxiety about the future of this relationship.

Jungkook opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats. All the carefully crafted words exit your mind at light

speed and you’re left gasping, wide-eyed at the chiseled body of your best friend.

“Can I help you?” He asks, tone flat.

Ouch.

You push past him into the apartment you know so well. “Yeah, you could start by answering your phone.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and closes the door, then heads back towards the large gaming setup in the living room.

“My apologies for not responding to the girl who literally ran away from me on a date.”

Your cheeks heat uncomfortably as you stand in the center of his living room, arms crossed over your chest.

“Jungkook, listen. I’m—”

“Please,” he shakes his head as he sits down at the impressive gaming chair. “Save the apologies. I get it.”

“You don’t get it!” You say, exasperated. “You don’t get any of it! That’s why I’m here.”

Jungkook narrows a look at you then stands from his chair. Slowly, he makes his way towards you and stands inches from your face. The proximity of his bare, toned chest to your body makes your throat dry.

“No, you don’t get it.” His voice is threateningly quiet, completely different from his usual chipper tone.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He quirks his head sarcastically, and you’re struck by the sharp lines of his jaw. “Sorry for running away from the date? Sorry for going on a date? Sorry for making me feel like I had a fucking chance when you kissed me?”

You swallow hard and open your mouth to reply, but he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry too. For giving myself way too much hope that this could ever be something. I’m sorry for myself for thinking you’d at least respect me enough to reject me politely.”

“You always had a chance!” You can feel tears building in your eyes and Jungkook feels his heart pound in his chest like a drum.

He scoffs, a harsh and mirthless laugh. “Clearly not.”

“I just—,” you start. “I never saw you like that before and suddenly you became everything I’ve ever dreamed of. It was like getting hit by a train, Kook! Suddenly my best friend turned into the man of my dreams.”

He shakes his head, stepping back away from you.

“I really find it hard to believe you,” he whispers. “I can’t let myself hope.”

“Jungkook, please,” you beg as tears start slipping down your face. “Please believe me.”

“Just leave,” he sighs. “I hate making you cry.”

You want so badly to wrap yourself in his arms, cry into his chest like you always do when you’re hurt. But you stand still, frozen in your shame and embarrassment of hurting your best friend so badly.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, before you spin around as quickly as you can and leave Jungkook’s apartment in a flurry.

He watches as the door slams behind you, eyes full of sadness and regret. As much as he wants to believe you, have faith in every word you said, he can’t allow himself to get his hopes up again.

He can’t watch you run away from him again.

“Welcome back to Kookie’s Wild Weekly Walkthrough!” Jungkook cheers as enthusiastically as he can through his microphone. “The weekly segment where I react to your Minecraft worlds!”

Jungkook needed to dive back into streaming to take his mind off of you. He hasn’t left his apartment in days, only subsisting on takeout and coffee. At least he was making more money and his subscribers didn’t seem to mind the up-tick in content.

“Tonight I’ll be walking through a creation sent by,” he squints at the username. “‘Kookiesgal95’ Aww that’s cute.”

He readies the content and starts his camera as he watches the YouTube link. His subscribers love his reaction videos—it’s a highly requested segment.

The video starts off easily, a generic Minecraft world that looks like a park.

“Hi Kook.”

The voice that reverberates through his headphones makes him pause the video quickly, wide-eyed with recognition.

It’s you. He’d know that voice from a million others.

Shit. He’s going to have to edit so much of this clip. He’s staring at the screen as if he’s just seen a ghost.

Unsteadily, he clicks play again and watches as you lead him through your Minecraft creation.

“I wanted to recreate something for someone very special in my life.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother to react to this anymore. This entire video is going to be worthless—there’s nothing he can say.

The video pans around the Minecraft setup and he can see what looks like handmade swings and merry go rounds.

“It took me a really long time to do this and an embarrassing amount of help from some twelve-year-olds on the internet.”

He laughs and is stunned by the wet tears rolling down his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he was crying.

“I re-created a park that is really special to my best friend and I.”

He feels his chest tighten and relax. The park.

“This is the spot where he held me when my dog died when I was nine. I still miss that dog.”

The view is on a spot next to a blocky oak tree. Jungkook remembers that day, remembers your heartbroken sobs as he whispered words of comfort to you. He misses that dog, too.

“This is where he and my brother got in a fight when we were eleven, because my brother called me a stupid-head. My best friend has always been protective of me, even from my own big brother.”

He can still remember pushing Namjoon around after hearing him call you names. He pushed Namjoon over and threatened to use his “big muscles” if he did it again.

The camera pans to an enormous structure, rather sloppily made, of a slide and monkey bars.

“This is where we first shared a joint in high school. I coughed a lung up and he ran down the street to a gas station at ten pm to get me a bottle of water even though I told him I was okay,”

The memory of the bewildered 7-11 employee plays through his mind. The man watched as a very stoned, very out of breath, Jungkook paid for a bottle of water in coins.

The video continues playing, moves towards what appears to be a parking lot made of cobblestone blocks.

“This is where he held me when my world fell apart.”

The break-up. The way you cried and cried and cried in his arms and he held you as if you were the only thing left on Earth.

“This is where he reminded me I’m worthy of love, that I’m not broken. This is where he held me like I was delicate, but treated me like I was unbreakable.”

His tears don’t stop. Jungkook feels his heart thundering in his chest like a summer storm.

He can hear your sniffles through the recording of the video—you were crying too. It pans around to the swing set.

“And this is where I’ll tell him everything, tonight. Where I’ll tell him how deeply I love him and how I want to make him the happiest guy in the world. In all of Minecraft and beyond. I hope he comes.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother turning his camera off.

Instead, he’s running to change out of his three-day-old clothes and bolt out the door.

The creaky, rusty metal of the swing set is deafeningly loud in the silence of your park.

It’s dark, just a few street lights around to illuminate the perimeter, but it’s otherwise only lit by the moon.

It’s getting cold. You shiver in your hoodie and kick at the dirt under your swing.

Maybe he didn’t see the video. Maybe he wasn’t going to show.

Maybe it was too late.

You spent hours working on the Minecraft world, staying up at all hours of the night to build and craft a poor re-creation of this park. The twelve-year-olds on Reddit had been invaluable and Namjoon definitely made fun of you for your creative assistants. But it had all been worth it.

“Fuck,” you speak out loud to no one, as you try to warm your hands in the pockets of your sweater. “It’s cold.”

“You should have brought a jacket.”

The sudden voice from behind startles you. You hop off the swing and whip around to face down the intruder.

Jungkook.

He looks so good. He’s wearing a thick coat and tight jeans. Your eyes take a delicious journey from head to toe.

He can’t help but preen at your blatant appreciation. He enjoys knowing you’re attracted to him, at least physically.

“You came.”

He nods and takes a nervous step towards you. He’s still far away, more than an arm's-reach away. You’re desperate to bring him closer, to pull him tight against your body and wrap yourself around him. You never want to be without his gentle touch again.

“I felt pretty compelled to come after you made all this in Minecraft for me.” He cracks a wry smile, a boy-ish grin that makes your heart flutter.

“It took me twenty-five hours and some teenagers to help.”

He laughs, a beautiful sound that warms you. “I’m sure they were ecstatic to help.”

You chew at the inside of your cheek, nervous at what he thinks about your in-game confession.

“Did you mean it?” He asks. He steps closer—one more step.

“Every word.”

His eyes are searching yours for the truth, desperately diving into the depths for validity.

“Why did you run away?” Another step.

You swallow hard, heavy tears brimming in your eyes.

“You went from being the silly best friend to being the person I could spend the rest of my life with. It all hit me. It’s always been you.”

One more step and now he’s just within your reach. If you stuck your hand out, your fingers would graze the soft puff of his coat, the delicate skin of his neck.

“I’ve always felt that way about you. I never thought you’d feel the same.”

You smile softly, timidly. “It just took me a little while longer to realize it.”

All at once, Jungkook closes the gap and holds you gently by your cheeks. His thumbs wipe at the moisture under your eyes.

“I promise to never make you cry again,” he whispers reverently.

“And I promise to never run away from you again.”

Jungkook smiles at that, cradling your face like you’re the most expensive and precious jewel.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, somewhat unsure of himself.

“I would like it if you would.”

As Jungkook presses his cold, plush lips to your own, you make a promise to yourself to never go a day without kissing him again.

“I can’t believe you’re in my bedroom,” Jungkook murmurs as he kisses at your face. After the park, Jungkook loaded you into his priceless Nissan and scurried home. You could hardly keep your hands off him as he drove you back to his place—reaching and caressing the spots on his body you’re dying to become familiar with.

“I’ve been in your bedroom before,” you remind him as he tugs up the hoodie you’re wearing.

“God, don’t be so semantic when I’m trying to fuck you,” he says before throwing the hoodie to a corner of the room. “You know what I mean.”

Jungkook kisses you again, all lips and teeth and tongue. He kisses you like you’re the last breath of air, and he’s greedy for every bit. He grips your hips, not too tight, and brings your body against his. You can feel him grow in hardness in his too tight, and it feels like bliss.

Teasingly, you grind your hips against his, making him shudder with desire.

“I want you,” he whines as he nibbles at your lip.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

He opens his eyes to level a look at you, pulling his mouth away from yours.

“You’re such a little smartass.”

His hands become feverish on your jeans, tugging apart the button and flicking down the fly. He pushes them down quickly, and you kick them off carelessly.

He can’t stop looking at you in your bra and panties, standing at the foot of his bed.

“Holy shit, okay, this is happening, right? Like, this is real?”

You smirk, pleased with Jungkook’s obvious excitement.

“Let me prove it’s not just a dream.”

Softly, you spin Jungkook around and push him down to sit on his bed. He complies easily, eyes wide and excited.

“If this is a dream, would you be able to feel this?” You ask as you unbuckle his belt and open his jeans. He doesn’t reply, simply watches you as you tug his jeans down to his thighs.

His cock strains hard against his tight boxers, and you run a teasing finger over the obvious bulge.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes.

“Feels pretty real, huh?”

“Y-yeah.”

Your delicate hands gently tug at the waistband of his boxers and easily work them down enough to free the length of his cock. It springs out easily and your eyes widen at the impressive size. You assumed he would be at least average, but you’re looking at something definitely more.

“Oh wow,” you whisper. “You’re fucking huge.”

Jungkook grins. “All for you, baby.” The cockiness is palpable.

One solid grip around him wipes the presumptuous smile off his face, replaced with a gasping, shuddering moan.

“How about this? Not a dream?”

He struggles to find his voice, instead he’s gulping for air like a fish out of water.

“That’s what I thought,” you whisper before settling into a position on your knees. “I’ll admit, I’ve dreamt about this too. I always felt so ashamed for dreaming about sucking my best friend's cock.”

You press soft kisses to the head of his length, teasing the sensitive areas at the tip before kissing up and down the length.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

His evident desire for you encourages you, and your tongue swipes at the crown of his tip and swirls around it gently.

“Oh my god.” His eyes shutter closed and you trace the veins in his dick with your tongue.

“This h-has to be a dreeeaaaaam,” he whines as you make an exceptionally long stripe with the flat of your tongue.

You pull off for a moment, humming. He springs his eyes open and watches as you reach behind your back and unsnap your bra. Your breasts escape with a bounce and his eyes widen, nearly bulging out of their sockets.

“What the fuck,” he whines. “You have the most amazing tits.”

He reaches out to grasp them and you slap them away playfully.

“Not yet,” you smirk. “Still trying to convince you you’re not asleep.”

He sucks in his breath and puts his hands back to the bed to steady himself, eyes never leaving yours (except to stare at the luscious curves of your body).

Grasping your breasts in both hands, you smash them together lightly in an elaborate show of what Jungkook wants most. You lean over his body and place the throbbing thickness of his cock in between your tits, allowing him to feel just how soft and warm they are.

“Shit!” He yelps, grabbing his sheets in a tight fist. “Are you really tit-fucking me right now?!”

Slowly, you lift your body up and down, allowing his cock to feel each stroke of your breasts. You nod at his question and continue to pump up and down.

“Still dreaming?”

He whines and shakes his head, already feeling so close to the edge. His cock is slick from your teasing licks and the pressure of your tits surrounding him had his mind spinning with desire.

“Ahhh, I’m so fucking close,” he warns.

You continue, speeding up the friction and pressure of your strokes.

“I want you to cum on me, Kook,” you whisper encouragingly. “Cum on my tits, please?”

Jungkook feels like he’s a wire about to snap, and your thick, sultry voice and incredibly perfect breasts are the snips that breaks him apart.

“Oh, shit,” he grunts. “Gonna paint your titties white, baby.”

His moans echo around the walls of his bedroom, small gasps of pleasure and your name escaping his perfectly plump pout.

His hot load splatters on your chest, and you stroke him through each pulse of his cock. You’re slippery with his seed now, and when you pull away from his spent length, you make a show of rubbing in his cum over your chest.

“Okay, definitely not dreaming,” he says in a daze as he watches you lift a wet finger to your mouth, popping it in to clean it off. “Who knew you were so fucking kinky?”

His confidence grows as he catches his breath. He can’t believe he’s sitting on his bed with you on your knees, breasts covered in his load. You’re suckling the cum off your finger like it’s his cock, and he’s desperate for more.

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me,” you shrug.

Swiftly, he grabs you gently by your bicep and pulls you close, sucking at your lips until you’re both standing.

“I plan to find out everything.”

Suddenly, you’re switching positions and Jungkook is pushing you down into the bed. You lay flat in the center, body relaxed and eager for your best friend.

“What are you doing?” You ask. He’s still standing at the end of the bed, watching you get comfortable. Once he’s satisfied that you’re lying exactly how you want, he settles himself by your feet.

“Worshipping you,” he says as he lifts an ankle and presses gentle kisses to your calf. “Showing you how much I adore you.” More kisses, soft and sweet. “Showing you how I plan on treating you for the rest of your life.”

He takes his time, lavishing your legs with his mouth. He kisses and sucks at any spot, sexual or not. He mouths at the roundness of your knees, your firm hamstrings. He presses his love into the skin of your thighs, mouthing his praises with each kiss.

He reaches the dip of your hips and he gently kisses your exposed skin as he tugs your cotton panties off you.

“I have loved every inch of you since before I can remember,” he praises as his lips skim over the mound of your cunt. “And I don’t plan on stopping soon.”

Your body feels like it’s on fire, as if Jungkook lights a match at every spot his lips press against. Your eyes close, and you allow Jungkook to continue his pious worship of your body.

He teases around your folds, kissing your labia ever so gently—making you gasp. He doesn’t linger long, only kisses you enough to stir the licking flames of heat in your belly.

He kisses at your stomach, gently nibbling and laving at the softness there. You try to hide from him, try to hide your insecurities of your body in his thorough exploration, but he moves your hands.

“I know you don’t like this part of your body,” he murmurs. His voice is so soft, so pure and sincere. “But I do. I love everything about you.”

His tongue swirls around your belly button, making you gasp at the ticklish sensation.

“You’re so pretty. So perfect.”

He continues upwards, lips now trailing to your full breasts. He takes his time there, licking and kissing and flicking at your nipples with his tongue. It feels exhilarating—Jungkook’s mouth feels like everything you want it to feel like. His tongue is warm, and he bites with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the bed into his embrace.

His hands explore, taking stock of every millimeter of skin he can find. He wants to memorize every freckle, every bump, every scar and line. Your body is his paradise, and all he can think of is you, you, you.

One hand travels down your body as he moves his lips up your neck. It snakes down your stomach and deftly slides over your soaked core. You whine as you feel his fingers part your folds and dip into the wetness.

“So wet,” he says out loud, verbalizing every tantalizing detail of your body. “So perfect.”

His lips are finally at your own and you kiss him passionately, tongue swirling around his as he slides his two fingers past your clit and into your drenched hole. You gasp against his mouth, eyes widening as he slowly scissors his fingers into you and pumps slowly. It’s almost teasing, the way he fucks his fingers in you. Slow, firm movements with his powerful hands.

“Jungkook!” You gasp. He doesn’t reply, instead he bites at your lip and tugs, then trails his hot mouth back down to your nipples. He can’t get enough of your breasts and the slightly salty taste of him still lingering.

“You feel so good,” he says as he speeds his fingers up minutely. “So tight and wet for me.”

Your hips writhe in need. He’s giving you what you need, but not enough. You need more, more. You want to feel him, all of him, spearing you open.

“Please, Kook,” you groan. “I need you.”

He laughs softly against your nipple and sucks extra hard, letting it pop out of his mouth audibly.

“And I need you, my love.”

“Fuck me, please.” You’re desperate, thighs quaking from the slow teasing. “I want you to fuck me, Jungkook.”

Chills shudder down Jungkook’s spine and he’s powerless to say no, not when you demand it so well.

“With pleasure,” he agrees. He pulls his fingers from within you and copies your move, sliding them into his mouth to suck your essence off.

He’s never looked sexier. His eyes are dark chocolate pools of burning intensity, and you feel your breath become shaky as you watch him clean his fingers with precision.

After he’s deemed his fingers sufficiently clean, he settles himself between your legs. Easily, he lifts your hips and shoves a pillow underneath, elevating you to a more comfortable position. He grabs your legs and tosses each over his shoulders so they’re higher in the air.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, baby,” he promises as he rubs the tip of his cock on your soppy slit. “Condom?”

You shake your head, appreciative of his question but desperate to feel him completely.

“Birth control. Regularly tested. Haven’t had sex in a while,” you blurt out. “You good?”

He nods in agreement. “Same. Well, except the birth control. But, I’d take it if they made it for men.”

“Jungkook!” You whine. Your best friend is so easily sidetracked. “Please, can you fuck me?”

He grins. “Tsk, someone is impatient.”

A low moan is rumbling in your chest as he continues to rub his thick cock at your entrance.

“I swear to god, you’re the biggest tease.”

“Oh, I’m definitely the biggest.”

Before you can react, he’s pushing past your entrance and sliding deep in your walls. Your position makes his cock feel deep, and he bottoms out and stills there, eyes closed in bliss.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “This is absolutely the best pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You wiggle your hips as you get used to the sensation of the delicious stretch.

“Please don’t tell me how many pussies you’ve felt when you’re balls deep inside of me.”

Jungkook turns his head and kisses at your legs resting on his shoulders, lavishing them with his praise once more as he keeps his cock buried inside your tight heat.

“Yours is the only one that matters. The only pussy I’ll ever be in for the rest of my life.”

“That’s a good answer,” you smile. “Now, fuck me, lover boy.”

Jungkook winks and grips your hips with his hands. He swiftly pulls out, enamored with the way his cock is already covered in your creamy essence, then eagerly pushes back in. He sets a pace and soon the sound of skin clapping on skin echoes around the room.

“Oh god!” You’re moaning loudly, unabashedly. You’re thankful that Jungkook’s old roommate, Yoongi, moved out to live with his boyfriend Hoseok months ago. He’d definitely complain about the noise for months. “Fuck, Jungkook, you feel so good.”

Jungkook fucks into you with ferocity, speed and power gradually rising as he feels his core tighten with the coming anticipation of release.

“Mmm, you look so fucking sexy like this,” he murmurs. “Getting fucked by your best friend’s fat cock.”

He moves a hand from your hip, trails it up your body to squeeze at your breast, before he’s cupping your face once again. His hips snap against yours and he loves the way your mouth utters little squeaks and gasps with each deep thrust into you.

“God, my beautiful girl,” he groans. “Can’t wait to cum in this pussy, shit, you got me so fucking close.”

You open your mouth desperately and Jungkook easily slips his thumb in. You latch on quickly and suck, tongue swirling around the tip like you’re sucking another cock. It nearly sends him over the edge and the speed of his hips matches his desperate need for more.

“Fucking hell,” he bites back. He can feel his belly tighten, driven further and further to the edge by the constricting wetness of your cunt.

He pulls his thumb out and moves it down to where his cock spears into you, allowing your spit to swirl with his thumb around your clit. Your core tightens around him at the added stimulation and your back arches up in ecstasy.

“I’m so c-close, Kook,” you plead, as if begging for mercy. “Please, I want to cum so bad.”

The speed of his thumb increases, and he watches as your face twists in pleasure and desperation.

“Cum on my cock, baby, let me see you fall apart. Show me what I’ve dreamt of for so long.”

A high and wanton cry ripples out of your body as he savagely increases his speed, both his cock and thumb working overtime to drive you towards your end. The butterflies that erupt in your lower stomach make your moans louder, higher. You’re so close, closer than ever. It’s building to an incredible crescendo.

He can tell you’re close—he sees it on your face as your back arches and your fists grip his sheets.

“You look like a fucking angel, baby,” he whines as he soaks in the vision of you writhing underneath him. “I bet you cum like an angel, too. Let me see it, let me see.”

With just a few more swirls of his thumb and his deep, hard strokes, you’re soaring over the edge into a pool of nothingness. Your cunt pulsates wildly around his length, milking and stroking it with your tight walls. You throw your head back, moaning out his name at the top of his lungs, letting his neighbors know just who fucks you so well.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, hips stuttering as he fucks into your juicy hole. “That was so fucking sexy.”

You grip his forearms, holding onto him tight and encourage him to go harder. “Cum inside me, Kookie, please. I’m all yours, make me yours.”

His heart feels like it might burst in his chest. He’s always wanted you to say it to him, to hand over your love to him like he does so easily to you. It’s all so much, so overwhelming, and the feeling of your hot cunt still fluttering around him sends him reeling into his own completion.

He spills into you, warm seed coating your walls and pooling inside your womb. He fucks himself through each throb of his cock until he’s sure he’s drained every ounce of himself into you.

Your legs slip off his shoulders easily, and he gently pulls himself out of you. He falls beside you, panting with exertion, and wraps an arm around you.

After a few silent moments of catching your breath, Jungkook pulls you in close to him until he can koala-cling to you, arms and legs both wrapped around your body.

“Mine,” he whispers as he kisses your head. “All mine.”

You return the favor, clinging to your best friend—boyfriend—like he’s your only lifeline.

“All yours.”

“So, you’re telling me, you got together because of Minecraft?” Jimin asks, pointing a fork in your direction. It’s been months now since your grand virtual declaration of love for Jungkook. Months of bliss and romance, laughter and companionship.

You were right all along. Jungkook is everything you’ve wanted in a man and more.

You’re sitting at your brother’s expensive dinner table, enjoying a meal with his family with your boyfriend at your side.

“Yeah, Jimin, I guess that’s what I’m saying,” you retort as you roll your eyes. “Minecraft and Tinder.”

Baby Jisoo is awake and in your brother’s arms, but she’s whining and wiggling to leave him.

“What’s wrong, Soo?” Namjoon asks with a pout on his lips. “Why don’t you want daddy anymore?”

Jimin snorts at his husband and you hold out your arms for your baby niece. “Come here, baby, I know you want auntie.”

Namjoon dutifully hands over his daughter, sulking that he’s been picked over for his sister.

You cradle the baby in your arms, expecting her to calm once she’s there, but she continues to fuss. She’s thrusting her arms out and nearly crying, reaching towards Jungkook who’s busy chowing down on Jimin’s homemade ramen.

“I think she wants you, Kook,” you murmur. He looks at you, then to the baby, then back to you, before he wipes his hands and face clean with a napkin.

“Oh, okay,” he whispers, slowly taking the baby from your arms with your help. “Hello, ma’am.”

Namjoon and Jimin laugh. “She’s a baby, Jungkook, not an elderly woman,” your brother teases.

Jungkook doesn’t listen. He’s too busy cooing at the baby in his arms and playing with her tiny hands. Namjoon turns his attention away and looks at you.

“Guess I won’t be the only provider of grandchildren for much longer.”

You playfully glare at him and turn away to watch your boyfriend. Watching Jungkook interact with your niece makes your heart swell, your soul sing. He’d be a perfect father.

“I swear, if he teaches her how to play Minecraft, he’s banned from the household,” Jimin grumbles. “This is a No-Nerd-Zone.”

Jungkook cradles the child and rocks back and forth, singing her a soft, made-up song, before he looks over at you.

“Hey, I want one of these,” he smiles. “Can we have one?”

You lay a hand on your stomach, a soft bump not quite visible yet. It’s only been one test, the lines faintly indicating ‘positive’ on the stick. You wanted to make sure, get confirmation before you spill the beans.

“Sure, Kookie.”

He grins and leans over to kiss you, before turning his attention back to the baby. “Okay, Jisoo, now let me tell you all about the Endermen.”

Jimin groans. “Oh my god, do not give Minecraft facts to my infant!”

tag list - @giadalin @nohayarcoirissintormenta @pjmislovely @xhazmania @marcoazam2 @eggbutnotyolk @feel-the-sunset @unicornbabylover @aretha170 @jeonmisha @hordanhearsawhooo

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fic #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #ficswithluv #jjk smut #bts fics #jjk fic #jungkook fic

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writingdotcoffee · 3 years

Text

#216: Take Back the Time to Write

Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp all went down this week. The outage lasted six hours. A simple configuration error took down Facebook's entire network. These things happen all the time, but because the network was unavailable, they couldn't revert the change before anyone noticed. They needed physical access to the device that is likely locked up deep inside their data centre. The annoying thing was the cards that give their engineers access to the servers stopped working, too, so they couldn't get in.

The incident sucked for Facebook, but it gave us a rare glimpse into a world where the social network ceases to exist. Facebook is a behemoth with almost 3 billion monthly active users — roughly a third of the planet uses it every month.

The downtime sent shockwaves through the Internet. Many sites saw unexpected spikes in traffic as people looked for something to do when Facebook was no longer there to keep them entertained.

It's mind-blowing to think how many lifetimes are spent scrolling down that endless feed, hooked on what outrageous piece of content the algorithm brings up next.

Online stores saw a steep decline in orders during that time as well. Facebook not only takes your time; it also influences you to buy more stuff that you don't need. That means that you have to work more to earn more money and have even less time to do what you want to do — like writing.

It's not just Facebook

TikTok is the most downloaded app in the world now. Arguably, its algorithm is even more addictive than what Facebook has. Many things are trying to make you pay attention to them so they can monetise it. But is it a good deal for you?

I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with using these services, but it's vital to keep tabs on your usage and how it affects your life.

The problem that I have with these feed-based apps is how insidious they are. The algorithms are too good. It's so easy and fun to keep scrolling. Before you know it, the time you had for your writing session is lost forever in the black hole of these corporations.

When you write, paint, knit, make music, read, study, build something, you're not only creating value in the world, you're building skills that will stay with you forever. Nobody can take those away from you. The feed doesn’t do that.

Take Your Time Back

It will be a while before we experience the world truly without Facebook. But you can find out how your world would look like without it right now. Log out, delete the apps from your devices and take your time back.

Or set up parental controls on your devices to make sure you're not spending more time than you should on there.

The ultimate trick to get yourself to stop using social media is this: try estimating how long you spend on social media during the average week? Maybe two or three hours per day? 14-21 hours per week? If you started using Facebook in 2007, that adds up to 10,192 - 15,288 hours. Pretty insane, right?

How many books could you have read? How many could you have written during that time?

Facebook, Instagram, TikTok and similar services are free to use. But the real cost is your life. Don't let them take it away from you.

About the Author

Hi, I’m Radek 👋. I’m a writer, software engineer and the founder of Writing Analytics — an editor and writing tracker designed to help you beat writer’s block and create a sustainable writing routine.

I publish a post like this every week. Want to know when the next one comes out? Sign up for my email list below to get it right in your inbox.

(I won’t spam you or pass your email to a third party. You can unsubscribe at any time.)

Past Editions

#215: Writing for the Right Reasons, October 2021

#214: It Doesn’t Count If You Don’t Finish It, September 2021

#213: How to Be a More Disciplined Writer, September 2021

#212: How to Turn an Idea into a Story, September 2021

#211: Writing Every Day, September 2021

#writing #writer's block #write #writing tips #writing advice #amwriting #writing life #writeblr #writing updates #personal update #me

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rivers-rambles21 · 3 years

Text

The one with the road trip

Part 15 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Warnings | 18+ only - no smut but mentions of it

Apologies for any mistakes, this has been written on my phone and its a bit difficult to edit. Once I’m back with a working laptop I’ll give it a once over :)

Bucky had intended on renting a bike so you could ride down to Louisiana but with Sam’s suit it would’ve been an impossible feat.

He settled for hiring an SUV and added you both to the insurance so you could take it in turns driving on the long trip down south.

“Been together one day and we’re already on our first trip” You teased as you rested your feet on the dash, taking in the scenery as Bucky drove. His metal hand gripped the steering wheel as he peaked a glance over to your bare legs, resisting the urge to pull over.

“You’re the one having a mid life crisis doll not me” You feigned offense and swatted the soldier beside you, pleased to get a hit in as he tried to dodge your attack. His eyes remained on the road as he grasped your hand in his. “Less of that thank you” He laughed, bringing your hand to his lips, leaving a kiss on the back before giving it back to rest on your thigh, his hand not leaving yours.

“Looking forward to seeing Sam again?” He didn’t respond but his face said it all. “You’re so dramatic” You chuckled as you leant down to root around in your bag for the road trip snacks. Retrieving a bag of cashews, you offered it to Bucky who gladly took a handful.

“I just know he’s going to ask a billion questions about stuff we’ve not even discussed yet, that we’re probably not even ready to talk about. He didn’t stop asking about you y’know? Y/n this, Y/n that…he kept threatening to ask you out.”

“Oh he did”

The car swerved slightly as Bucky's grip on the wheel tightened, his concentration lapsing for a split second.

“He did what?” He asked, tearing his eyes from the road to glance over at you.

“It was just a bit of harmless flirting-” You began before being cut off.

“We flirted.” Bucky stated, his jaw clenching.

“We also did a lot of things just friends don’t do. Relax Sarge, he only asked to get a reaction out of me.”

Bucky grunted in response, knowing his reaction was a tad over the top but he couldn’t help it. You were his.

“We could always mess with him in return.” You pondered as you took a swig of your drink. “Maybe hold off on telling him about us, it’s only meant to be a flying visit anyway isn’t it? So we wouldn’t have to pretend for long… play him at his own game?”

Bucky smirked in response, completely on board with your little plan.

The next few hours passed with the typical car games and a quick power nap as Bucky continued driving.

“How long until you start at Starks?”

“A month thank god, the GRC wanted me gone pretty quickly, I didn't have to work my notice which was a blessing really. I’ll schedule a day to go and clear out my desk and say my goodbyes. Will you still get your pension if we live out of the country?”

“I’m not sure to be honest, I can pick up work wherever we are though, it wouldn’t be the first time. I’m good with my hands”

“You’re telling me” You muttered under your breath. Bucky heard you loud and clear and let out a laugh as he recalled how you spent most of last night. “Are we crazy? Travelling with no plan, barely any money and only just starting out as a couple?”

“Oh absolutely”

Eventually Bucky took a break from driving after you stopped for food in a roadside diner. It had been a while since you’d driven but you wanted to give Bucky the chance to get some sleep, something you knew he still struggled with.

Despite telling him to try and get some sleep on the back seats, he remained upfront with you, doing his best to battle the drowsiness that had overcome him. He’d not gotten much rest the past few weeks, from battling the Flag Smashers in Europe, to hunting down Zemo and then back to New York. In truth he was worried he’d have a nightmare and wasn’t sure on how he’d react but upon your insistence, he tried to get some shut eye. After an hour or so he dropped off, the sound of you humming along to a song on the radio sending him off into a dreamless sleep.

Bucky couldn’t quite believe it, he couldn’t remember the last time he slept without being haunted by memories of the Winter Soldier. Granted, he only got four hours of sleep , but it was the best he’d felt in a long time.

When it came to your turn to get some shut eye Bucky insisted on stopping over in a hotel for the night. You’d tried to convince him a motel would suffice after you lost the battle of you sleeping in the car but he was victorious.

To be frank, after spending so many hours in the car, you were grateful to be sleeping in a bed with your super soldier by your side.

As you slept, Bucky took the time to fire off a few emails advising he’d be ending his lease. Having slept earlier, he felt energised and was content in browsing the internet as you slept tucked into his arm.

He did his best not to wake you as he opened a selfie from Shuri of her with Ayo and Nomble, a chuckle escaping his lips as Shuri and Nomble looked to be thoroughly enjoying themselves on a boat trip in New York whilst Ayo sulked in the background.

He also replied to an email from his therapist's office, letting them know he’d be absent from his next session but planned on returning the following week.

Bucky was tempted to let Sam know he was coming but thought it best to surprise him.

The next day was much of the same, both of you switching the drive and stopping off at diners for food. Due to the lack of respect Bucky had for the speed limit, you were making good time and would be in Delacroix the following morning.

“-it was like I didn’t exist. Honestly it was the most humbling experience of my life”

“Sergeant Barnes in his uniform… now that is something I’ve got to see.”

“Maybe one day”

Your eyebrow perked at the thought. “Good god man” You groaned dramatically and sank further into your seat, giggling as you caught sight of the blush covering his cheeks. “For what it’s worth, lack of nutrients from the rationing clearly messed with her eyesight.” You were genuinely baffled how Peggy didn’t swoon for the man next to you.

“Where were you in the 40’s when I needed you huh?”

“I doubt I’d have been your type”

“Intelligent, strong woman with a great sense of humor? And thats not even mentioning your ass.. Oh no, definitely not my type” He replied sarcastically.

“Ha ha fine, I’ll take your word for it.”

“I’d have taken you dancing, maybe gone to a show or even the carnival. Anything you wanted.” He took your hand in his again and kissed the back of it as he pondered just how he’d of won you over back then. He usually didn't like to dwell on life before the war, the pain of losing his family and the future he lost was too much but having you in his life somehow made the memories hurt less. Having you with him now along with the future he could picture with you helped him make peace with his past life and accept that it wasn’t something he could ever go back to.

When Steve was returning the stones, he did wonder whether he should go back with him but the realisation that there wasn’t anything waiting for him apart from a time that he didn't belong to made his decision to remain in the present resolute. And by god was he thankful he stayed.

On your way to your final hotel before arriving at Sams, you’d taken over the driving and had kept Bucky entertained with your off key singing and terrible car games.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” As it turns out, Bucky was a sore loser.

“What? It counts!!”

“You cannot see bacteria Y/N”

“Yes I can! It’s right...right… right there!” You pointed to a random bit of the car interior and held back a laugh at a clearly unamused Bucky.

“You’re so full of shit”

“How do you know I can’t see it huh? Guess it’s my turn again, I spy with my little -”

“No” He cut off as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Absolutely not. I’m going to choose a game.”

You let out a little smile and continued focusing on the road until the super soldier landed on something he liked.

“Okay okay, would you rather sounds fun. Doll, would you rather have the superpower of being invisible or ability to fly.”

“Aw come on Buck these are tame! If I have to answer, without a doubt invisibility.”

“Not dirty enough for you sweetheart?” A tingle rang down your spine at your new nickname. “I’d have to agree, invisibility easily.”

“Buck you’re an actual superhero, you’ve already got powers, leave some for us mere mortals!”

“... you think I’m a superhero?”

“....you’re literally an Avenger.” You reached across towards the man beside you, keeping your eyes on the road as you pressed your hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

Bucky rolled his eyes at your sarcasm and swatted your hand away from his head. “Fine you made your point.”

You shook your head as you returned your hand to the steering wheel, tapping away to the song on the radio.

“The rest of these questions are boring” He muttered as he furiously scrolled through his cell.

“C’mon, go R rated”

“It’s no fun when I already know the answers to these!”

“Pfft doubtful, come on, hit me”

“Spit or swallow, you’re a swallower doll.See?”

“Okay okay! You’re right, I give in. How about we just ask each other some questions?”

“But you already know everything,” He remarked, throwing a few cashews into his mouth.

“When did you first see me as someone other than a friend?” You’d thrown him off guard with that question, his hand stuck in mid air as he went to throw more snacks into his mouth.

“Wouldn't you rather know my most embarrassing sexual encounters?” He offered but was met with silence. “Fine……. I’ve never seen you as just a friend. Yes we were friends before we became more and honestly Y/n if it never progressed further than just friendship I would’ve been fine with it, more than fine with it y’know? Meeting you was the best fucking thing-” “Buck, it’s okay” Your hand reached out towards him and squeezed his thigh as you kept your eyes on the road.

“There’s more… before we officially met in the lobby when that creep wouldn’t leave you the fuck alone, I’d seen you around. I was coming back from lunch with Yori and he was complaining about having gone for burgers instead of our usual and there you were, headphones in completely oblivious to the world and searching for your keys in your purse as usual. You were just so carefree - everything I wanted to be. And then a couple of days later we met and I was a goner.”

You bit your lip as you fought back a smile, overwhelmed by his honesty. It was a welcome feeling, knowing you weren’t the only one that felt an attraction almost immediately.

“I’d seen you around too, before we officially met I mean. It’s kind of hard to miss you” You chuckled as you snuck a glimpse over at him and found him doing his usual glare. “It was pretty early on for me as well, do you remember when we went for coffee?”

“And you ordered us two cups of sugar? Yeah I remember”

“Mocha Latte’s aren’t bad for you… they just give you a bit of a buzz”

“Especially if you order extra cream…”

“Anyway! I’ve always been attracted to you, I’m not blind y’know but after seeing this dark looming strong man consume a drink like that, and have some residue cream left on his lower lip mind you, I just knew that it was more than just a crush. There’s something oddly charming and attractive about seeing someone so intimidating be so soft. It’s like I’m the only one who gets to see that side of you and I love it”

Bucky didn't quite know what to say, he was slightly flustered at the compliments you were throwing at him and by the knowledge that you’d been interested far earlier than he had ever dreamed of.

“We’re idiots aren’t we? For not realising sooner.”

“Oh without a doubt”

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#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #tfatws #ao3 #fic #bucky fic #bucky fluff

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echoweaver · 3 years

Text

Your thoughts on the Sims 1-4

Guess I’m in the mood to do these. Grabbing a tag from @mosneakers.

Sims 1: The big thing I remember about this game is that it could take your sim hours to cross from one end of the house to the other. Thus, if the sim got up at the normal one-hour-before-work, they often wouldn’t have time to both pee and eat. I got obsessed with designing and efficient house, with the kitchen right outside the bedroom door, so that my sims could get to work with the best mood.

Then I let the garden go bad, and it would destroy my sims’ mood on the way to the carpool, and it took me forever to figure out what was going on :-D

Sim 2: I remember being thrilled by how much easier it was for sims to get around their house. The introduction of lifespans intrigued me. However, I hadn’t really figured out what I wanted to DO with this sandbox game yet. Playing Sims gets boring if you don’t have some kind of a goal. I’d never heard of a generational challenge, much less rotational gameplay, and I hadn’t plugged into the fan community yet.

I did dabble in mods -- mostly the mod to drastically increase the chance of a sim being abducted when using the telescope so I could make alien babies. I built a household from two CAS-built sisters who were of different races. One of them married a man, and the other a woman, and then I got frustrated that the lesbian couple couldn’t make babies. They adopted, but I was annoyed by how genetically boring their adopted son was. Then I got obsessed with trying to get one of the lesbians to cheat on her spouse to make a baby without being discovered. Where is artificial insemination when you need it?

Later, I created a new sim who married into the Broke family. I got bored and tried to starve Dustin to death to make a ghost. when I removed the door to his bedroom and his needs got very low, he got down on his knees to beg the Watcher for his life. I felt so guilty that I actually turned off the game and never went back!

Sims 3: This is where it happened for me. Open world and a town that aged with my active household just better matches the way I imagine playing. I even figured out generational play, at least somewhat, before really plugging into the fan community.

I didn’t realize until reading @mosneakers and @natolesims‘s memes that there was so much hate floating around for Sims 3 art style! I admit that I do dislike the child faces. I thought Sims 2 faces were too long and thin. Sims 3 faces seem to have overcompensated by being just a bit too round. Otherwise, I’m quite sure I don’t know what you guys are talking about. LOL.

I don’t think I’d still be playing if it weren’t for NRaas, though. Sims 3′s open world was pretty ambitious, and their data management was totally not up to the task. I spent years offering tech support on people’s blogs when they started to suffer data corruption in generation 2 or 3. You just can’t play without at least minimal mods to clean up save files. It’s unintuitive that a modded game is more stable than vanilla, but it’s just true. Sad, but true.

Sims 4: I have played this very little, not because I hate it but because I am stubbornly determined to finish my 10-generation legacy. A lot of folks just rebuilt their household in Sims 4 and continued to play. At the time Sims 4 came out, I was playing supernatural-heavy games with custom skintones, so I’d lose almost everything if I ported them over. It also turns out that it’s hard to face going from a heavily-modded, 11-expansion experience to a game with base or just one expansion. I have a lot more sympathy for Sims 2 players who skipped Sims 3 entirely.

I have a hard time facing the color presets and closed world, but the game in its current state really seems to have done great things with gameplay. If/when I get the Samples done, I’ll take a look at making the switch. Of course, by then Sims 5 will likely be out, so maybe I’ll skip....

What is your favorite Expansion pack

Generations and/or Seasons. But it’s really hard to choose.

Small pets or Horses?

I really, really love Sims 3 horses. Since I’m modding pets, it can probably be guessed that I like the animals in general :).

What is your favorite active career?

Yes.

I have had a ton of fun with almost all active careers. If forced to choose, I might go for firefighter.

What is your favorite Lifetime Wish?

Buh. I really dug the Photography one I guess. I just like doing different ones.

Whims or Wants?

I’m sorry. I have no idea what this question even means (blush).

What is your favorite Occult?

I feel like all the occults in TS3 are kind of underdeveloped. That said, witches are pretty cool.

Cowplants, Bonehilda, or the Social Bunny?

Bonehilda

How do you pick your sims names?

I am absolutely OBSESSED with names. I’m sorry I only got to name one flesh-and-blood child, so I let it all out in naming my simmies. I get into the head of the parent(s) and come up with lists from whatever they would like. My saves are very gameplay-directed, and tend to randomize most traits, so I intentionally don’t build a sim to a name or try to make a sim’s name suit their personality at all. After all, when we name our children, we get no say over who they eventually become :).

Do you create a spouse for a sim, or do you go after a townie?

Townie! My gaming style is heavily gameplay-oriented. I want my sims to choose their partner using wishes and attraction and whatever else the game provides. However, I also am incredibly interested in genetic experimentation, so I do allow myself to change the physical appearance of some sims before making babies with them if they are too bland. I populated my Samples save from scratch, largely using downloaded simalikes of real people. I have NRaas set to use existing sims in the town or in my sim bin, to generate new ones. So basically I do my best to have the most interesting genetics pool I can so I don’t need to edit faces.

Do you prefer to follow storytelling Simblrs, or do your prefer gameplay Simblrs?

I’m not totally sure what this is asking either :-D. Are “storytelling” simblrs the ones that largely use the game as an artistic medium for screenshots using poses and whatnot? My play style is to play the game and build stories from it, so I’m not entirely sure what category I fall into myself.

I suppose it doesn’t matter because I follow both. I’m not terribly drawn to dressup challenges and lookbooks.

What year did you join Tumblr/Simblr?

I have absolutely no friggin idea. I tried to look back in my email archive to track notifications, and that failed. I came back after three years, so it has to be at least for years before I returned....?

#echoweaver #memes #sims #get to know you

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aprils-arcadia · 3 years

Text

A Weekend in Rome

Pairing: Kihyun x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: 2,2k Summary: Your business trip to Rome turned out completely different from what you’d imagined, as your attractive co-worker decided to accopany you.

You never really like rules. It was easier to not restrict yourself, in the end you would just be disappointed with yourself for not being able to follow them. So you only had one thing that could be considered a rule. A simple one that you had just put out there for yourself to keep an eye out. You never really thought that you would find yourself in a situation that required you to listen to yourself. Your rule had been to never date or get romantically involved with a co-worker or to simply fall for one. The emphasis lies on the ‘had been’ because at this very moment you couldn't be further away from following it.

You were sitting in a cafe and fidgeted with the sugar packets, neatly putting them in their container and then spilling it out again to arrange them differently. It wasn't out of boredom, rather out of pure nervousness with a slight hint of terror.

When you had agreed to come to this conference you never would have dreamed that the head of marketing would tag along. You had envisioned this trip as a nice getaway, a possibility to work with it not feeling like work at all.

Rome had been a dream destination for you since you were little and to have the opportunity to go there for a long weekend with it being completely paid by your company had made it even better. You only had to attend a few talks and give a 30-minute presentation yourself, easy peasy. The rest of the time you would have been free to roam the city and to do every touristy and non-touristy thing you could think of. This plan had been crossed effortlessly by Yoo Kihyun himself.

The small cafe near the venue was nearly empty apart from you and Kihyun, who now made his way back to you, two coffees in hand. He sported you a bright smile and sat down opposite of you. You quickly grabbed the sugar packets that were still sprawled over the entire table and shoved them into the container, ruining your last 5 minutes of meticulous work. You tried to smile back at him but knew that this was not your usual charming professional smile but the awkward smile of your thirteen-year-old self trying to talk to a boy. You had been thoroughly convinced that you had dropped that bashful, clumsy version of yourself ages ago. But here you were surprising yourself in the most uncalled for and unwanted way possible.

"I gotta say you were pretty impressive up there," Kihyun loosened the slim black tie around his neck and opened the top button. It was a hot day, the sun almost at its highest point grilling all that stood in its way. Part of you missed the wonderfully climated hall you had spent the last 3 hours in because now the only thing that cooled you slightly was the soft fresh breeze which gradually flowed through the stuffy mediterranean air. He rolled up the sleeves of his button down without breaking eye contact. And with that simple course of action he made the day a little hotter. You felt your ears slowly turn red as you tried to look as normal as you could even after the unexpected compliment and now the slow transition from business to casual was messing with your brain considerably.

You couldn't be serious. This wasn't your first date. In fact you didn't know if this could even be called a date. You had held your presentation an hour ago and afterwards he just asked you to grab coffee.

That is all this was.

That is all this was, you repeated to yourself. But you had no chance in avoiding how handsome the man before you was. You had seen him in a few board meetings before and even though your two departments usually worked closely together you seldomly had any face-to-face contact with him since his office was in a different building complex. Luckily for you, because even though you never really fell for him, which would definitely be against your rule, you still were very much attracted to him and had trouble staying focused in the very few times you actually occupied the same space just like now.

"Thanks," you were able to mumble. You took your coffee from the tray and gave him a small nod.

"So tell me more about what you found out.”

After hearing those words you immediately relaxed. This wasn't a date. Not at all. He just wanted to talk to you about your work. That you could do. There was no reason to be awkward, this was strictly professional. You sighed in relief and started to explain all the various components of your talk and went further into detail. He listened to you attentively while sipping his coffee.

"So as I said it is extremely vital to continue monitoring -"

"-You know I gotta say I like you better that way"

"Excuse me?"

"Well you seemed really uncomfortable since I invited you. It's nice to see you relax a bit. Makes me feel less like I am forcing you out on a date"

"A....a date?"

"Yeah a date. Did I not make that clear?" He looked a little lost and you could clearly see the gears inside his head turning. "I'm sorry. I really thought that would have been obvious." He chuckled and you were completely unable to focus.

Your response probably took you longer than it was comfortable for both parties. But you couldn't believe that you got this all wrong. So this was supposed to be a date. Well that changed things. Or did it really? If you were comfortable talking to him a second ago why would you now be this damn flustered. Sure he was intimidatingly perfect and having taken an interest in him over the last year or so made you not wanting to screw up. So sure nervousness was perfectly appropriate. Still this was your chance. Your chance to get to know him. And what did you plan to do, run? Like hell that would be a good idea. You were here, he was here and you were in goddamn Rome having clearly left your one rule at the airport. So screw it. Might as well make the best of it.

You brushed a stray strand of hair back over your ear and mustered your courage.

"I’m sorry. A date sounds great and it gives us some time to get to know each other and even though we've been working together for a year now I hardly know you."

"Well it's not like you ever gave me a chance. You usually just rush out of the meetings I am part of and I rarely see you at the cafeteria." You knew exactly why you didn't try to get any close to him because you would have probably fallen for him instantly. As you were doing now.

“I mean I could have asked you out via email but let's be honest that would have been really weird. Attached you can find the overview we discussed and also would you be interested in grabbing a coffee with me' I don't think so." You giggled.

"Actually I got one of those once. From Minhyuk in sales. I really didn't know how to respond”

"Funny I got one or those as well." Both of you burst out into laughter.

“But seriously though. It's like whenever I see you, you are running all over the place your bright yellow binder in hand. And I never see you at the cafeteria. You're really not that easy to get close to."

"I'm sorry I feel like I was just dashing through life the last couple of months. I mean you know how stressful the whole project was. So I never really had time to myself or for others"

“Well sounds to me like it’s about damn time you had some fun.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you from your seat, quickly wrapping an arm around your waist to prevent you from stumbling. You were close to him. Too close. You could feel the heat rushing towards your head and forgot to breathe for what felt like forever. His face was now only a few inches away from you. Your eyes were drawn towards his lips and for a split second you couldn’t stop your mind from going places you had tried to avoid. You could just simply kiss him, it would be so easy. The only thing you’d had to do would be to place your hand on the back of his neck and slowly draw him in. You could do that. Probably.

“So where do you wanna go first? I know some really nice spots”

You steadied your footing and straightened your skirt steadily brushing away the wrinkles and the thoughts that were filling your head. “Sure surprise me”

And surprise you he did. You spend most of the day going from gallery to museum and marveled at the beautiful architecture. Your plan had only involved the mainstream tourist spots, the blatantly obvious go to spots. But it was paling in comparison to the places he showed you.

He excitedly told you everything he knew about the places he showed you all the while never leaving your side. You tried your best to let your eyes remain on the things he was telling you about but ever so often you couldn’t stop yourself from admiring the man beside you.

The bright midday sun was highlighting the sharp edges of his face making it look even more perfect than it already was. His laugh and smile were intoxicating, making you smile brightly everytime and making you want to spend every waking second of this weekend with him. Seeing him wildly gesticulate in the air because words were not enough to convey his excitement, seeing his eyes light up when he noticed how interested you were and most of all making you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. He was able to casually take your hand whenever it was necessary to not lose you or simply because just standing next to you didn’t cut it.

“How do you even know of these places?” you had asked him once you entered a quiet alley looking for a specific restaurant he’d been talking about for the whole day.

“Well I spent the last few years at this conference, just with a different employer. So once I got the main touristy things out of the way I got bored and started to wander around, talked to locals, that kind of thing. I mean touristy spots aside those small places have their own charm and they are not so damn crowded all the time” you turned a corner.

The alley you had entered was gorgeous and it looked like an old painting or at least a picture perfect little world. The narrow cobblestone path wound around the houses. Not the straight lines of streets that dictated where you were going but rather like a little stream that was built gradually to connect the houses without wanting to disturb any of them. The buildings were overgrown with ivy and every house seemed to have their own little hanging garden perched upon the small balconies. Everything was framed in green and a few radiant specks of colour in the form of tiny flowers. You hadn’t moved but were just admiring the view. Trying to take it all in and commit it to memory.

“Ah there we are” The place he pointed to was a small window front, not more than the little shops at home that had been neatly arranged next to each other. It only had a few chairs outside.

“Come on. Let’s eat”

Kihyun was standing right beside you and took your hand, gently guiding you towards a free table. “

The meal had been delicious and after it was over none of you had the intention of leaving instead you spent the rest of the evening talking until the sun was slowly setting. The twilight illuminated the small world you were currently lost in. Sitting in this tiny restaurant and talking to the man you had tried so hard to avoid.

Giving in had been so easy. You didn’t want to fall in love, hell you even went to such length as to not give him any chance to really talk to you. And absolutely you were right. Because right now that mushy feeling in your stomach had grown to a size you could no longer ignore. No you didn’t want to fall in love but you sure as hell were. He’s shown you his favorite places, the hidden gems in his tour all putting one thought in your head that you couldn't shake: He seems to like you. Or was he just playing with you? Taking you along to not spend the weekend alone and ditching you once you were back home? Maybe just maybe he’d be capable of this. And let’s be honest just because you were getting attached wouldn’t mean he’d do the same, now would it. But right now you didn’t care. Even if he was just playing some wicked game with you, you had already fallen too deep. Too deep to realize it even if you wanted to and too deep to care that he might destroy that little world of yours in 2 days time.

#mx #mostax #fanfiction #monstax fanfiction #Yoo Kihyun #Kihyun fluff #kihyun x reader #aprils fanfiction #aprils arcadia

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pbandjesse · 3 years

Text

Today was a good day. I did not have the stress of the fear of being sick. So I felt a lot better and pretty productive.

I probably could have slept better but I slept okay. I had trouble getting up this morning. But I wanted to go to the grocery store with James so I made myself get up.

I felt really cute today though. I was excited to wear these overalls and I felt really cute in them. I finished getting ready pretty quick and we got out of the house not long at 9.

I requested Mcdonalds. But then the line was long and I felt bad about it. James wanted to stop at their parent's house to get a waterbottle they forgot. And so I said we should go to the grocery store in their neighborhood but then there was a road closure and it took us until almost 940 to get there and I tried to just not show how worried I was about James being late to work but of course it was fine in the end.

I did have a nice time walking around the store. We didn't need much. Staples like bread and milk. We got three different kinds of oreos. Some vegetables. Yogurt. The line to check out wasn't long but the person in front of us broke their order up into 4 orders so we had to wait a while. But it was fine. We still had time to go to the Fulwiler house.

We got there and James went inside. I stayed in the car. Got startled when Anne came back to give me two candle sticks they got us. They are brass and I am very happy about them.

We got home with plenty of time. James made coffee and I put the groceries away. Organized the fridge a little. And then I got to work.

I didn't have anyone to style. So I sent some emails. And drew out a new stamp. I wanted to take my time so I stopped half way through. I don't want to rush like I felt like I did with my sheep. Instead, I decided i would repaint my bike.

I spent like an hour scraping the old tape and stickers off of the frame. I for sure could have done a better job but I am still pleased with the base I made.

James gave me some tools to take my basket and wheels off. I bagged and tapped off the whole thing. And brought the bike outside to the fire escape to paint.

I had more overspray than I expected. Painted my foot. A lot of dusting white on everything. But Its alright. The fire escape needs to be replaced anyway.

I had some lunch. Hung out with sweetP. Wandered around the apartment. I cleaned the bathroom. I vacuumed. I collected all the laundry. Our machines are still broken so the sheets and towels have really gotten all backed up. We have 3 bags worth now. But at least its all collected.

I would paint my bike by hand after the white dried. I wanted primary color blobs. So I would paint those. I should have done yellow first, so all of it is a little mixed. But I am pretty pleased.

It was fun doing each blob and once it was dry I outlined them in black. I will give it a clear coat tomorrow but I may need to buy more. We will have to see.

I had a phone call with my insurance about my at home test getting delayed. She was very concerned and seemed really nice. I hope that they can figure out what went wrong. She didn't seem super concerned about people's access being affected but I still am.

I had dinner and watched videos. James finished up work and is recording a podcast with their friends. Im going to feed the aquatic animals and take a shower. James is biking to DC tomorrow. I think I will go to the thrift stores. Enjoy some time alone.

I hope you all have a great night. Take care of eachtoher. Goodnight!

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hpfannons · 3 years

Note

Oh la la! Thats a fine choice of specimen. Thank you. :) lol. I only ask about the jealousy thing because I remember that Dick said one time that they only get to see him 2 months a year or something... I probably meant the batfam side i guess... lol but its good most Harry’s friend are okay or just roll with it... maybe I should asked some batfam moments during their stay in order hq... I really love that scene where Harry was on Dick’s lap and and the rest are just with them... I kinda want a scene with the same feeling...if you dont mind. xD thank you very much! glad to hear ur answer about fudge and umbridge. thank you so much... im really immersed in this au... looking forward to part 7. >_< thanks and stay safe y’all.

Glad you like my batfam! My best friend and I spent way too long going back and forth on people we could agree on for different characters (I think Tim and Alfred were the hardest… but it was years ago, so don’t quote me on that lol)

Sorry about the jealousy thing though, miscommunication on my part. I blame that for answering at 3 am on my phone XD

Yes, there is a lot of buried jealousy with the Batfam. Though surprisingly, most of it comes from Harry. That’s mostly because all these new family members come in while he’s at school, so it kind of feels like they’re all much more close knit with each other than with him because he’s not there for the large portion of the year.

They’re all happy to include him and catch him up with things he missed while he was at school… But there are some things you just have to be there in the moment for, because retelling the story just isn’t quite the same.

That’s not to say that the rest of the Batfam don’t have the same feelings as well, I think I’ve mentioned before that Tim and Harry especially are very close (actually best friends, on the same level as Harry and Ron) so Tim is definitely one of those people who feels Harry’s lost during the year the most.

Add on the fact it’s not really that easy to keep in touch with him while he’s at school, and it really is just hard on everyone.

As a side note, I fully believe the family would find some kind of way to make alterations to a communicator that will work at Hogwarts. Considering how many people who both use magic and have been involved with the Justice League in some way or the other, I find it hard to believe they haven’t found a work around for the whole magic screws with tech problem. At the very least, Harry would have a way to check his email from family, b/c making Headwig carry letters from Scotland to New Jersey and back is just cruel.

As far as the Batfam hanging out around 12 Grimmauld Place… They’re trying to be as non-confrontational as possible, even if there’s still some ruffled feathers from the first night. So the boys mostly go along with helping clean out the place under Molly’s orders - Jason was originally kind of prickly about it because he’s not a child (certainly not her child), so he found getting ordered around kind of insulting… Until his inner clean freak won out and yeah, this place does need a lot of work. Alfred has taught them all well, and it shows.

Tim mostly hauls himself up in the library when he can get away from clearing out pixies and de-gnoming the garden. He’s got like four notebooks full of information and Ron is a little shocked to find out Harry wasn’t kidding when he said Tim was worse than Percy and Hermione together when it came to information gathering.

Damian has less than stellar people skills at the best of times, and here he’s decided he doesn’t care very much for anybody over the age of seventeen (that’s not family anyway), so most of Dick’s time has been dedicated to keeping the youngest away from most of the Order. Not that he really blames him, Dick isn’t nearly as vocal about it as Damian, but he is also just completely done with all of them. He’s only playing nice because they’re here for Harry.

Bruce has also posted himself up in the library, reading everything he can get ahold of in regards to the history of the wizarding world trying to understand exactly what he’s son has gotten wrapped up in. Because lord knows nobody in this house is going to explain it to him… At this point he’s about one wrong comment away from telling them exactly where they can shove their ‘muggle’ excuses.

There was one notable evening though, when the boys as well as the Weasleys and Hermione were just hanging out in a parlor or sitting room or whatever it was supposed to be. Jason had been messing around with an old radio he found the other day and between him and Tim, they managed to get it working. The minute they recognized Britney Spears’s voice, there were four sets of eyes immediately on Dick who gave all of twenty seconds of resistance before he was up and dragging people along to dance with him. The impromptu party had ended up going on for hours, Tonks getting roped into the fun with them while Sirius and Remus smiled fondly from the doorway. Molly made a passing comment about bedtime, but didn’t argue back when that was quickly shot down by the other adults. Let the kids be kids while they could.

As far as soft moment’s for the Batfam… there are two that really come to mind, though they’re kind of sad though.

The first is really kind of short, but it’s after the battle of Hogwarts, and Harry’s come back from his final fight with Voldemort, and there’s just people everywhere in the great hall, but Harry knows exactly where he’s going. Bruce is standing to the side, watching while Jason’s getting patched up, and trying to keep an eye on his other kids as well. Everyone's a little banged up and bruised, but they’re all alive, and that’s the important part right now.

And then he sees Harry and there’s this almost tangible sense of relief because now all of his kids are present and accounted for, and Bruce feels like he can finally breathe again. And Harry just like collapses into Bruce who has to scramble a little bit to catch him, but then just stands there and holds him, because Harry is just completely exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. And all Bruce hears is “I want to go home Dad.”, and honest to god Batman almost starts crying in the middle of the great hall in front of everyone.

The other is after the Triwizard Tournament, and everything with Mad-Eye Crouch, when Harry’s in the hospital wing. Everyone’s standing around trying to figure out what the hell just happened, and Harry wakes up still kind of groggy from whatever Madam Pomfrey gave him to knock him out, and he ends up breaking down crying in front of everyone.

Dick doesn’t even hesitate, he’s on Harry before the first tear even really starts rolling and just tucks him into the crook of his neck and let’s him cry it out. Except Harry’s been traumatized and he’s like full-on sobbing, almost wailing, and that just stabs everyone straight through the heart. Tim’s next, doesn’t say anything, just sits down behind Harry and tucks himself up against his brother’s back. Damian and Jason join in as well, Damian sitting on Harry’s other side and just quietly putting his head on Harry’s shoulder; while Jason sit’s down a little farther away, reaching out to put a hand on the back of Harry’s neck. Bruce is standing on the other side of the bed, and just runs a hand through Harry’s hair while they let him get it out and calm down.

And once he’s down to hiccups and kind of stuttery breaths, Dumbledore says something about leaving him be, and if looks could kill… Jason’s still armed, and he almost, almost goes for the gun. Bruce head’s it off at the pass though, saying he’ll go with them to discuss things further and also inform the league about what’s happened, but the rest of the boys will be staying.

Madam Pomfry insists on dosing Harry again, and after some reassurances that his brother’s aren't going anywhere, they get him to drink the potion. That’s as far as they indulge the mediwitch though. Tim and Damian both try to settle down in the bed on either side of their brother, though after some jostling around and being unable to really fit two teenagers and a ten year old comfortably in a hospital cot; Dick and Jason move another bed over flush against Harry’s and Dick manages to coax Damian into it with him, as long as the younger is able to keep hold of Harry’s arm. Jason retakes the seat he’d pulled up to the bedside, kick’s his feet up on the cot and settles in to keep watch over the lot of them for the night. And that is exactly where and how Bruce finds them the next morning.

#harry potter and the batfam #batfam anon #harry potter #batman #batfam #Anonymous

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xanderwithanx · 3 years

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Chloe does night-time diary posts on HER tumblr, so I'm going to start doing them here, sometimes. It would be nice if you read it, but, please, don't feel obligated! This is more for me to write.

(I got tired of my normal journal, I guess. It's full of bad poetry anyway. Besides, where's the thrill of losing anonymity in a physical notebook?)

I've basically been asleep and depressed for several days, because I had withdrawal after not being able to get my adhd meds. But, I got it today, and DID THINGS. (This is SO much better than before!)

Today, I went to a small café or restaurant (focused on tea) called Alice's Teacup that was Alice in Wonderland themed! My long-standing obsession with Alice in Wonderland knows no bounds. It was a really cute place. I got pumpkin pancakes, and some really good iced tea. Like... REALLY good iced tea.

Still, it seemed like the entire place was geared towards having a pot of tea and snacks with your friends, which left me a bit lonely. The person I asked couldn't come, and by the time I heard back, I was more than halfway there. Still, I read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and watched Monty Python on my phone, so I still had a good time!

I dressed pretty eccentricly and effeminately all day, but, with my facial hair, I was ALWAYS coded as a man, even by people on the street! Pastels, a stupid hat, a crop top, and facial hair was a winning combination.

On my way, I was stopped by some guys soliciting for charity. I don't make a habit of stopping for strangers on the streets of Manhattan. What if it's a scam? What if I'm being pressured to buy something? What if it's a strange political rant? But, I had already taken my earbuds off, I wasn't in a hurry, and I'm terminally polite. The first guy said he liked my energy, which seemed to come from a genuine place, because I liked his too!

They were asking for donations for a breast cancer charity, the United Breast Cancer Foundation. After a discussion, it seems like the charity helps pay medical debt, medical bills, and other practical needs, which is much better than *some* others I could name. I regretted not being able to give their minimum there, as it was pretty high, but told them I'd give what I could when I got on the website.

I... did not. Money is tight, because I'm bad and irresponsible with money, even though this is more than a worthy cause. I didn't NEED to go to that tea place, and I don't NEED to spend so much money on food. Sure, I can justify it: I wanted to go to that place for so long, and it was near the college anyway! But, if I was responsible with money, you KNOW my friends direct fundraising drives would go first, worthy charities second. Still, I feel bad about it.

Then, I went to the college library, to get books to start my thesis research. I have literally been unable to go to the college itself, aside from getting my ID, so this was great! There just wasn't a reason. It was... very empty. I went to the library stacks, which was deathly quiet and deeply haunted by the old books. I half expected something to pop out at me, as I turned the stacks, but I wasn't even paranoid or anxious. It was like I was in something else's house. I was welcome, but on thin ice.

I picked up an irrelevant psychology book on the "schizophrenia problem" from the 1930s, out of morbid fascination, and quickly put it down when it threatened to shatter in my hands.

Some students walked past (which was a suprise in those monastic basement library stacks), and I added something to their conversation, in a totally natural and casual way. But, omg the poor girls, I made them jump! Luckily, I'm the least threatening person on earth, and we laughed it off.

After a lot of hunting, I got 5 out of my 10 books (for the most part)! (The rest are, sadly, online. I like to read physical copies.) Strangely, I only came in with a list to get 3 books out of 6.

Most of the books I got are about art in the AIDS crisis, which is the core of my thesis, I think, all with different value. One about exhibitions, one about the larger narrative of those gay artists, and another contradicting the larger narrative.

I also got a book about "Art and Homosexuality". Just, the parallel construction of both "art" and "homosexuality" across cultures and times, from earliest history to the modern age. It wasn't on my initial list, but I'm really excited to read it.

Finally, I got a book called "The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel", about the pain and spectacle of punishment in Medieval and Renaissance European art. I'm mainly interested in Italian Renaissance art of the crucifixion--and its masochism--for the second quarter of my thesis.

The rest are online, and Should mostly focus on Bacchus in the Italian Renaissance (especially through art) and what I call the art of "gay liberation", concurrent with the AIDS crisis (i.e. The Cockettes). These two topics make up the last half of my thesis.

I'm SO excited to get started!!

I even got to cross the college's sky-bridges! (The college is a few skyscrapers.) Still, the loneliness and novelty were kind of the same thought. Imagine if I had been here before COVID, or, if COVID hadn't happened. Who would I have been able to meet? What would the college buildings mean to me? Because, for now, they're just buildings. But, I got to see the street from above, and that was amazing!

Just walking through New York--the Upper East Side--on a cool, sunny day was beautiful. It takes 20-30 minutes to get from my place to the college (and the tea place), but it was great being able to listen to my music (a lot of They Might Be Giants on the playlist today) and see the city. You know, people, super cool old architecture being pushed out by terrible new architecture, and pigeons.

Oh my god, the pigeons. I took pictures, but none of them are good. I kept thinking about how pigeons and doves are functionally the same. We domesticated pigeons, which is why they're here, and no one is stopping to notice them? Even the ones that were splotched with pure white, like doves? There's only so many pigeons you can take until they're just white noise and a nuisance, I know, so don't think I'm blaming anyone! But it's so hard to look away from these quirky little birds.

Also, at one point my walk, I was vaping very strategicly. The mental task of searching through library stacks will do that to you, when you already have an addiction to nicotine. I made sure no one was around, and no one would be affected. I stopped on a corner next to an old, ornate Catholic church while the traffic light changed, and I almost juuled right next to a priest! I'm glad I stopped. I don't believe in Hell, but, I would have walked down there myself had I vaped at a priest. Still, the church advertised itself as LGBT+ friendly, so maybe they aren't so trigger happy on the damnation. Either way, I DIDN'T vape at a priest today, which is good.

Once I got back, I spent a few hours watching things with my amazing girlfriend Chloe, who you may know here as @cisphobiccommunistopinions. She is so beautiful, and I love her more every day, every time I see her. God, it's almost been 5 years!

I just wish I could spend more time with her. She's in Virginia, and I'm in New York. Like she said to me earlier, I'm flighty at the best of times, and, with my lack of object permanence for the digital world, I find myself not giving her the attention I deserve, or, the full connection I long to have with her. We used to live together. Luckily, someday we will live together again! All these problems won't be forever, and we can live together again.

We watched a lot of things, but we're pretty deep into Serial Experiments Lain right now. It's a postmodern anime from the 90s, and, wow, do I have no idea what's going on in it. It's about the internet, and potentially schizophrenia as well. However, I'm obsessed! One day I'll be able to crack this artistic code, and it's unreality, thematic knots, and double-meanings. I will probably understand it better on the second watch. I don't see myself in Lain, but I see my 14 year old self in her, when I had just developed schizophrenia. Her cyberpunk fate seems like it's railroaded towards tragedy, but I want to save her, even if it's silly and irrational.

I told Chloe that I was scared about spilling apple cider on my library books, and she referred to it as "The Great Apple Juice Disaster of September 11, 2021." To which I said that it was the second worst thing to happen in New York on that date. It was funnier if you were there, and also were in my brain at the time.

Anyway, tomorrow I'm meeting some online acquaintances from the college's "Queer Srudent Union" at a Japanese Culture Fair in a park. (I do not know which park.) It emphasizes "fun"! I don't know them very well, but they're friends with the one person I know irl, so it should be good.

Tomorrow night, I should Probably head downtown to check out a gallery show by MFA (masters of fine arts) students at Hunter! After all, I was in a group project with one of them, and they're absolutely brilliant. I missed the Thursday gallery opening by a landslide, because of the aforementioned lack of adhd meds and Being Asleep, which I infinitely regret. I could have listened to all the artists and curators talk about their art and exhibition! Maybe I could have even talked with the artists and curators. But, it's best for me to go sooner, rather than later, so I don't forget. And, I REALLY want to go.

It's "This dialogue which happened to be present in all other dialogues" at the Alyssa Davis Gallery. From the email I got, "Each of these works observes a threshold of transition. [...] [These] intimations [are] of a frame of mind shared by the artists. These works perform, record, access, engage, document, and entrap, embalming the viewer within the gallery space."

sgp is a really good artist, by the way. Their work is just next-level. Be sure to check out their art, if you have a chance. Let me link their portfolio: https://saragracepowell.com/

(I highly suspect spg and the other member of my group project ghosted me afterwards, but I understand. I was really in over my head. Still, they're both really sweet and kind people, don't get it twisted!)

I ALSO really want to see The Cake Boys. They're performing at the 3 Dollar Bill in Brooklyn on September 26th. (It's only $15!) They're the only all drag king collective in NYC! (Are... there any Other all drag king collectives out there?) Other than the fact that a lot of them are trans or nonbinary, which I love, this show is a totally non-judgmental competition for over 40 drag kings! I've heard their shows are hilarious and unique.

I just have to wait until I have $15 to spare. I... didn't eat dinner tonight, because I'm irresponsible with my money and don't want to ask my parents for money... again. Don't worry, it's literally fine, and I don't make a habit of doing this!

Which reminds me! For my birthday, my parents gave me a gift card to Lush! I'm definitely going to Lush tomorrow, which will be great. I would describe my personality as "Lush store employee acosting you about a bath bomb demonstration", so I'll fit right in.

I also made a transition timeline, to show how much I've changed on testosterone. For the better, I hope! I really believe I'm becoming, if not Have Become, the man I was always meant to be. It's so strange to look back at who I was not too long ago, and to know the absolute pain I was in. It's also strange, in a good way, to see the man looking back at me in the selfies. I'm so much happier now! Much more candid in my pictures, at least. But, I know that I'm so much more comfortable as myself than I was even 6 months ago. It's strange. Sometimes I think to myself, "I don't pass yet; I'm not who I Need To Be yet." Then, I look at my selfie from today, and... I'm THERE. My mind just hasn't caught up with my amazing, natural, normal reality.

The end. I have to get ready for bed, (even though I could be partying on a Saturday night in the city. I'm lame.) If you actually read this, I am kissing you on the mouth right now. I hope it made you calm down tonight, like a terrible bedtime story. If you didn't read it and just skipped to the end, don't worry: you did the rational thing.

#long post #diary entry

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thegirlwholied · 3 years

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fic writer interview game

(though I go such long spans between updates 'fic writer' is a generous description... look, I may not have glorious purpose but I have glorious excuses)

& thanks @aurorawest for the tag 💕

name: Cara

(...not sure how many of you out there know this actually- except those of you who know me IRL! - as while I love my name I rarely reference it here & do enjoy that a certain corner of the internet knows me as lyin)

fandoms: I am a dabbler, a renaissance fan, a reader-of-all-trades (master of none!)- I'm all over the place; if I like something I check the Tumblr tag; if I reblog it I have probably at least stalked the AO3 page to see what folks are up to (I am in my own little fandom corner- but kitty-corner to many avenues!).

two-shots: the closest I've come to a two-shot I wound up putting up as a one-shot instead (or we could count my one fic that only has 2 chapters, but in my head it has more)

most popular multi-chapter fic: I had to check but my guess was right, it is Glass of Water, & you know, imho the one thing ol' fan fic dot net still has going for it over AO3 is its cool statistics - I don't know who you are, 50-100 people from all over the world reading till the last chapter every month on FF Dot Net even now, but much love!

actual worst part of writing: making myself sit down & get going. When I really get going - I forget to stop, I forget to eat, I don't hear people talking or music (when I toured the Louisa May Alcott house they described her writing like this and I related so much), I go for hours upon hours without meaning to and then I stop and - tend to stay stopped too long. I'm not good at the 'write everyday' process; I'm best at it when traveling, when I'd settle in at a coffee shop or location (or on a plane!), write some, & have to move on, but, uh, global pandemic put a cramp in that. I know it has to be on the page to count but I really, really do a lot of my writing in my head first. Most of my fics, if you've read one, are first drafts, straight up. They just got rewritten in my head & half-started notes & beginning scenes until I finally sat down and the whole thing came out at once feeling right. Or half comes out in one burst and the rest in another burst however much later. Typically I'd adjust a few typos & post. This is by no means writing advice! It'd be bad writing advice! But just how I operate. I've tried other ways but I've learned over years that my work's better when I accomodate/work around my natural creative process rather than trying to change it. (Also deadlines. I'm so good at delivering on hard deadlines; I am weak with soft deadlines.)

how you choose your titles: as this is a fic specific 'interview', how I title fics is very different than my og fiction. Most commonly: song lyric (...actually I did title my og fiction grad school thesis after a song lyric too; i may not hear/play much music while I write but I sure think about writing while listening to it), canon reference that is typically One Dramatic Word, poem/quote references with a heavy lean on Yeats.

do you outine?: not for fan fics, but I have a general shape in my head of 'this chapter where this happens' - if I have an unfinished fic with expected number of chapters, those are pretty accurately predictions; I have at least a big picture of what happens in each chapter. & probably some of the conversations, sometimes even already jotted-down dialogue. A written outline? Not so much (my original novel did have a list of chapters with notes to keep it straight but they looked like "Chapter Thirty-Seven: epilogueeeeeeee denoumenttttttttt job" - direct quote down to the # of t's, there)

Ideas you probably won't get around to, but wouldn't it be nice?: I still convince myself I will finish All the Things! but uh some have gone wayside yeah. One I really thought would be cool & know is blowing in the wind was this Buffy fic (yes, A Fic Not Appearing On My Actual Fic Profiles) which was a *whole* Big Concept thing even though I thought I could do it in 5 chapters. ...And then I didn't.

spicy tangential opinion: not that spicy but the fanon/canon gulf is often wide & deep for certain characters in particular &🎶I'm frightened by those who don't see it🎶. really, a character’s fanon version at times may be more fun (though more often it softens character's edges amd I like edges) but... with *certain characters in particular* it feels like that distinction’s been weirdly lost. Also, random, but probably because,my formative years were fan fic dot net, not livejournal, I always feel odd when my AO3 replies to comments (instead of reviews) are a) public and b) add to the comment count. AND I tend to wind up in a loop of 'wouldn't this person rather I spent this time working on an update' where I just... never reply which seems counter to the expected AO3-cultural norm these days, so I feel guilty? Despite the guilt I just reply to so many emails for a living (3 inboxes just for work, plus then my personal email & texts!)... so for the record my default approach is 'I appreciate all comments SO SO MUCH & do read them all but please message me on Tumblr instead if you want a response".

These opinions are 'pumpkin spice' levels of spice, not exactly cayenne here, but hey I think I achieved tangential

callouts @ me: I always think I will get there faster than I do - this is true when I am driving places too! My friends expect me to be late even though I don't expect me to be late!- so I have been known to, let's say, overpromise on update speed. (I meant to do my work today, goes a favorite poem that always applies @ me) (Time between 2011 and 2021 feels especially timey-wimey and oh no 🎶well, I guess this is growing up 🎶).

(also @ me: overly fond of parenthesis.)

& definitely some people-pleasing tendencies that spill over into, not so much my writing itself, but how I feel about it.

best writing traits: detail, dialogue, ...deaths? Lol but really. My favorite thing as a reader is when writing make you laugh & cry so those are my favorite compliments as a writer. Humor/angst: always my fic genre. Even my closest-to-fix-it fics are labeled 'somebody lives' not 'everybody lives'. ...and I need to update them (dammit)

tagging: ...this is way too long to tag, aka inflict directly upon, anyone else, except @aurorawest who asked for it 😂

#about me #tag games

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ashketchup119 · 3 years

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Musicality

Ok I LOVE this story!! I made a whole story based off a lil convo @jemtoka and I had, and I made oc’s based off each of us and went to town. It was very fun to write, and I got to combine my music knowledge with my writing skills.

Enjoy!

When Benji had first set out to find the ghost of Beethoven, he wasn’t actually sure that he’d be able to do it. His brother had once called him “all bite and no bark”, a reference to the fact that out of the four brothers, Benji had been the only one to not outgrow his infant habit of biting things- or people- when stressed. But in this situation, he definitely felt like he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

He absentmindedly chewed on his chewing necklace as he drafted a grant proposal with his friend, Mujika. Muji was drawing in a notebook, something for his art classes, though he looked up when prompted to review the words that had appeared on Benji’s screen. Muji had done his fair share of research, and though he did want to help with the writing of the research paper, it had been agreed that Benji was the more… academic writer. The two of them had met through social media a couple of years ago, and once they’d started direct messaging, had become close friends quickly through a mesh of shared interests, similar humor, and a half-baked scheme to take over the world.

Which led them here, to a table in the back of a 24-hour McDonalds, Benji chewing the head off a stiff chewable bat pendant and Muji using his nocturnal tendencies to do things like “make sure his friend drank water and didn’t forget that he was a person.”

“Fo you fink ish bit avou duh Immoruhl Bewuved ith done? Ish kinda duh hoh vashis of arr puhposal so…” Benji trailed off, jaw absentmindedly moving over the poor bat, whose head was holding on by sheer force of will to the rest of its body.

“What?” Muji asked. He did not speak bat-in-mouth.

Benji pulled the pendant out of his mouth with an audible pop. “Y’think this bit about the Immortal Beloved is finished? It’s like, the whole basis of our proposal n shit.”

He turned the laptop towards Muji, who closed his notebook, set it to the side, and pulled the laptop in front of him. He read it quietly, and Benji began to tap out the beat to the song playing on low volume in his earbuds. He began to hum, too, murmuring lyrics under his breath as he stared off into the distance.

“I think it looks good.” Muji finally replied, turning the laptop back toward Benji and grabbing his notebook again. “I can’t think of anything else we could add to that section.”

Benji gave a little half shrug. “I guess you’re right.”

The two of them once again worked in solitude, only broken by Benji ordering fries at about 1 AM. At 3, they decided to call it quits, though Benji seemed more wired than ever and voiced some apprehension about “going to sleep when there’s so much work to be done, Muji!” Muji chastised him slightly and promised that they could come back the next day- or rather, later that day- to finish up. There were only slight revisions to be done, then it could be sent off to the Music Master Scholars, an organization dedicated to the care and keeping of the ghosts widely considered Music Masters, which included household names like Mozart and Beethoven, but also lesser-known composers like Joseph Bologne and Francesca Caccini.

Ghosts were, of course, a commonplace occurrence, though one could theoretically live their life without interacting with one. That was rare, though; ghosts had a tendency to wander, though they could only appear in places that held significance to them in life and graveyards, but even living in a house increased the average person’s chances of encountering a ghost exponentially.

But these ghosts were special, because of the knowledge they possessed and the lives they’d lead. The Music Master Scholars were the only people in the world who both knew and had access to the location of every ghost, and to join their ranks, one had to find the location of one of the ‘hidden’ Music Masters- of which Beethoven was the most hidden. Their non-administrative members were unknown, but said to be most, if not all, of the foremost music scholars in the world. How could they not be, with the Masters themselves guiding their research?

Benji and Muji really, really wanted to be Music Master Scholars.

When he was 10, Benji had been given some sort of “young musician” scholarship to visit Europe for a month. He was a double bassist, a dying breed in the modern age, and the fact that he had progressed from monotonic exercises to Baroque sinfonias in the span of four months had impressed his teachers.

His parents had gone along, too, mostly because they knew their child, and Benji did have a propensity to get into trouble. Devil’s luck, his mother had tsked, and that had been that.

He’d managed to escape the group in the middle of a museum, though he didn’t wander far. He just wanted to look at everything without feeling like people were constantly breathing down his neck.

Well. HE didn’t consider “the park near the museum” to be far. His parents did, though, he found out later.

At the park, he found a man. Well, not a man. A ghost. The ghost was staring wistfully at the museum in the distance, and started when he noticed a small child staring at him.

“Hi! Who are you?” Benji asked, clutching the stuffed animal his parents had gotten him at another museum the day before.

The ghost cleared his throat. “I’m uh…” He started in a raspy voice before pausing and clearing his throat again. “I’m,” He sighed. “I’m Johannes Brahms.”

“Yo-hahn Brahmzzzz.” Benji repeated, drawing out the last “s” sound. “Oh! You did music, right?”

Brahms smiled slightly, and nodded.

The two of them talked for a while before Benji’s parents arrived, harried and frustrated. They apologized profusely to the ghost, who insisted it hadn’t been a problem.

The whole experience left Benji starry-eyed, and with the help of a friend he’d made in Germany, he would call and converse with Brahms for hours, asking about counterpoint and meaning and technique and just in general picking his mind. The composer took this with grace, and seemed more than happy to answer the young musician’s questions. When he’d told Benji about the Scholars, Benji had immediately decided that he was going to be a Music Master Scholar.

Muji had played violin until he’d dropped out of high school to take care of his mom, and hadn’t resumed it until after him and Benji had been talking for a while. He didn’t know much about composition, but he loved music history, and after getting his GED and enrolling in college, had even majored in it. Plus, he just kinda just thought the whole thing was cool.

They’d been researching for a year and a half, with pointers from Brahms, and tips from a professor Benji’d had two years ago, a Classical scholar named Dr. Chang. Benji had once emailed her and asked, point-blank, if she was a Music Master Scholar, but she’d only sent back a cryptic winky face emoji in response.

The next day, after three more hours of sitting in McDonalds, revising the proposal (most of which was Muji saying “Benji it looks fine!” and Benji responding with “No, no, this comma in paragraph seven just makes it sound better! Ties it all together, don’t you think?”), it was sent off in an email, and Benji resolved not to think about it while Muji resolved to mention it at the most inopportune moments, just to mess with his friend a little.

They were approved a month later, and three months after that day at McDonalds, they were sitting on a plane heading to Austria, Benji mouthing practice phrases in German as Muji slept. They had about a month to traipse all over Europe in search of a ghost very few people had been able to find, and they were excited to start.

The first week was spent in Austria, visiting Beethoven’s own grave (a nonstarter; the ghosts there hadn’t seen Beethoven since he was buried, and none knew where he’d gone), his childhood home and the area surrounding.

Nothing.

The second week was spent in Vienna. There, they visited the ghost of Mozart, who was a fidgety, flighty sort. He was known for being somewhat immaterial, and often took to jumping on top of objects in a manner that caused the people around them to panic for a few seconds before realizing he was too immaterial to do anything more than whisper vaguely about his childhood. He’d tried to pet Muji’s hair and got annoyed when nothing happened, so it wasn’t a particularly long visit.

They tried to visit Haydn, but while the location of Haydn’s ghost was well-known, only Music Master Scholars were allowed to see him, as he claimed the crowds exhausted him, and he wanted to be able to give his full attention to those visiting him. It made sense, since ghosts used massive amounts of energy to communicate and interact with the world around them, and the more energy they expended, the less time they were able to spend on earth. Despite this, the two of them did make an effort, but were summarily barred from entering.

“Next time!” Benji declared confidently as they walked to their next potential Beethoven hot spot.

They visited Brahms, who had resolved to meet them in Vienna upon learning they were coming, and spent a whole day with him, visiting locations which had been important to him and letting his impromptu history lessons wash over them with a look of awed reverence.

Beethoven wasn’t in Vienna, and by the third week the two friends were feeling the threat of rejection hot on their heels. They began keeping odd hours, trying their hardest to figure out their next move.

“Maybe we should reread our proposal? Clearly the Scholars saw something in it, right?” Muji theorized from the bed he’d claimed as his their first night in the hotel.

“Mmmm.” Benji responded from his position on the floor at the foot of his bed, still feeling the after-effects of a well-deserved mental breakdown.

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried to motivate him. “We can do it! You’re a super cool music spy, remember?”

Benji huffed at the reminder of an old, inane conversation between the two. “I don’t know, Muji. I think it’s kinda pointless.”

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried again. “This is like, your dream! It’s now or never! Put our mutual brain cell to use so we can find Beethoven!”

Benji sighed and got up. “Fine, fine.” He murmured as he got off the floor, grabbed his copy of the proposal from his bag, laid down on the bed, and stuffed another chewable pendant into his mouth. “Wet’s fee.”

Silence reigned for a few, brief seconds, before Muji suddenly exclaimed, “Hey! We never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved, right?”

Benji sat up straight on his bed and spit out the pendant. “Holy shit, we never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved.”

After a quick Google search, two train tickets, a couple of sandwiches, and a dash through the rain, they arrived at the Frankfurt Main Cemetery. There, they asked after the name they’d listed in their proposal as the possible Immortal Beloved, and the ghosts pointed them towards the back of the cemetery.

In a ghost grotto, they found a woman, calmly humming the tune from one of the Diabelli variations, though in their excitement neither Benji nor Muji could name the tune.

“Are you-“ Benji paused and took a couple of deep breaths. “Are you the Immortal Beloved?

The woman stopped humming and smiled at them.

“Ah, that is a moniker I have not heard in some time.” She arose and walked away from them, lifting her skirts elegantly in a manner which conveyed a sense of class. “Come; I think you are the ones I’ve been expecting.”

The two followed after her eagerly and looked confused when they stopped at a mail office in town. There, she reached into a P.O. box, pulled out a silver envelope, and gave it to Benji.

“This is yours.” She murmured. “Please do come to visit; it’s rare that I receive visitors.”

With this, she disappeared.

The two stared at the envelope for a couple of seconds before Benji eagerly opened it, accidentally ripping the envelope in half. He then read it, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’s it say?” Asked Muji, eagerly, from over his shoulder.

“It says… it’s just numbers? I don’t get it.” Benji gave him the paper, trying to puzzle out what it meant.

Muji frowned, then plugged the numbers into Google.

“It’s a location!” He burst out, excitedly shoving the phone in Benji’s face.

The two of them hurriedly called a taxi, listing the location Muji’s phone had given them. They were dropped off in front of the building, and saw someone standing at the entrance. They showed the person (a Scholar!) their letter, and with a large smile, they were taken inside, their guide walking confidently as Benji and Muji trailed behind them. The interior of the building was long and winding, which left the two feeling as though they’d been deceived by the outward appearance of the building. The building had looked small and unassuming, and this place was built like a maze. They were sure they’d be lost if they tried to head back without a guide.

Near the end of the path they heard the sound of a piano playing, and warm light spilled into the hallway. They eagerly rushed ahead, much to the amusement of the Scholar.

There, facing the wall, conducting half a beat behind the sound coming from the recorder behind him, stood Beethoven.

Benji gasped, and clutched Muji’s shoulder. He pointed ecstatically at the figure in the room. “It’s Beethoven!!!” He stage-whispered.

Muji smiled widely as he nodded back. “Yeah!!”

The two of them turned around when a voice behind them cleared. The Scholar gave them each a thick letter with the recognized seal of the Music Master Scholars on the back, and the two of them stared at it, unsure of what to do.

“Well?” The Scholar prompted, rocking back and forth on their heels. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Benji ripped into his envelope first, completely abandoning the flap as he tore the side off. His hands shook as he pulled out a letter on creamy white stationary. He skimmed the words and began crying, clutching the letter and envelope to his chest.

Muji was slightly more careful, removing the letter from the envelope via the flap and pulling out the other contents of the envelope. A laminated membership card, a list of locations of other ghosts, and an alphabetized list of other Scholars with contact info and a small bio were also in the envelope. He pulled out each one, looked at it, and put it back in the envelope. He then stopped and held the envelope in his hands, staring at it.

After about ten minutes, the guide worriedly asked Muji, “Is Benji alright? He’s been crying for a while.”

Muji nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, he cried for like two hours after I finished streaming Crisis Core for him.” At the guide’s look of confusion, he added, “Video game.”

The guide made a small noise of understanding and nodded.

When Benji’s sobs finally faded into sniffles, the three of them began the trek out of the building.

“Sorry this route is so long.” The Scholar apologized. “Oh! Also! I forgot to introduce myself.” They paused and turned, offering their hand. “I’m Soraya Cham! I was the last person to find Beethoven’s ghost. When I heard about you guys, I got excited, really. I was rooting for you!”

The two of them shook her hand and nodded, unsure what else to say.

Soraya continued, then hailed a taxi when they reached the road. They waved goodbye to Benji and Muji as the two of them got in the backseat.

“We did it!” Benji shouted once they were back at their hotel.

#original story #yall get one guess as to which of us is benji n which of us is muji #i hope yall r enjoying these #when the mania ends its all over for these original story posts sry to tell u #ash does shit

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wowweeharrystyles · 4 years

Text

Part 1 | Kindness & The Perfect Fit | 9.2k words

‘Sequins & Zippers’ Summary: An internship with Harry Lambert transformed into a job of a lifetime - Aurora Del Gatto finds herself touring the world with the one & only Harry Styles as his ‘Head of Wardrobe.’ Aurora is nothing but nerves & excitement as she packs her bags & almost 100 custom designer suits that belong to an unbelievably kind rockstar. She never thought she’d fall in love on top of it all.

A/N: So here’s part 1 of Sequins & Zippers. A MASSIVE shoutout to @niallhoranapologist. If it weren’t for Gwen I probably wouldn’t have continued to work on this story. Thanks for always helping me brainstorm ideas, listen to me talk about these fictional characters all the time & for continuously supporting my writing. you da best.

“Ugg, this is useless,” Aurora groans as she throws the t shirt she had in hand across the room. Aurora has been attempting to pack her suitcase for hours now. “How the hell am I supposed to pack 4 months worth of clothes in a single suitcase?” she whispers in defeat to herself.

“Rory? Everything alright?” Aurora’s mother calls from the other room. Rory is the nickname her mom gave her when she was only a baby. Her mother walks into her room and sees the frustrated look on her daughter’s face.

“25 countries? The weather is gonna be different in every freaking country,” Rory lets out a frustrated sigh, falling onto her bed. “I can barely pack properly for a weekend trip.”

“Hey, you’re thinking too hard and overwhelming yourself,” her mother says softly as she sits on the bed next to her. She places a hand on her shoulder, “Let me help. We’ll figure it out.”

Aurora is currently trying to pack for her new job. After the craziest year she’s ever had, packed with graduating college, moving to London to work with one of the most well-known stylists in the fashion industry and having the time of her life doing what she loves most, she was offered a career-altering job for the next 4 months. Never did Aurora think she would be sitting in her room back home in a small suburb of New York surrounded by cardboard boxes labeled with things like: “NYC Apartment - kitchen,” “London - winter clothes,” “School things,” “London Flat - bedding,” “I have no idea, from london.” Organized Chaos explained her life best right now.

“Rory, sweetie, where’s your list?” her mother asks, looking around to locate the papers she’s been carrying around for the past week that’s covered in scribbled notes, lists upon lists and small sketches here and there. “Should’ve really been keeping that stuff in a journal or something.” She finds the papers scattered on Aurora’s desk and a few laid on top of boxes. “Probably wouldn’t be so overwhelmed if you could be a little bit more organized,” her mother sighs gathering the papers into a stack, tapping the bottom edges on the desk to line them up. “You’re normally so much more organized,” her mother continues before pressing a kiss to Aurora’s hair.

“It’s a lot, Mom. I don’t know where to start.” She stands up from her bed and grabs her phone as it dings, indicating she’s received an email. “Finally!” she exclaims with a sigh of relief. “Harry’s just sent me my official itinerary and all of my flight info.”

“Harry Styles himself emailed you your travel plans?” her mother asks in disbelief.

“No, mom, Lambert. Harry Lambert, my boss.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” she laughs lightly, “How many mix ups has there been with that name?”

Aurora’s new job is ‘Head of Wardrobe’ for Harry Styles’ Arena World Tour. In all honesty, she has no idea how she got here. Well she does, but it still doesn’t feel real. Lambert’s original hire for the tour ended up needing to stay in London to help him with his styling work there and she was next in line, but she still isn’t too sure how she got this lucky. The past year happened so fast and it was one opportunity after another that landed her here. She’s barely had a moment to breathe after the holidays and some small jobs here and there to keep her busy. Last January, just over a year ago, Aurora traveled to London for a six week menswear design course at Central Saint Martins for some extra credits before her final semester of college. During this course, she was lucky enough to met Harry Lambert. After he saw her collection of work from the past few years, what her thesis plans were and what she had been working on during the CSM course he kept her information on file for the future. When Aurora left london at the end of the course she had no idea if she would ever hear from Harry Lambert again, but around mid march she received an email from him about an internship position he needed to fill and thought she would be perfect for. Starting the internship in NYC before she even graduated, May was a whirlwind and was the perfect indication on how the rest of her year would be. She moved to London in June and was put to work without a second to spare.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re gonna do,” Aurora’s mother starts before launching into a detailed plan on how they’re both gonna tackle packing up Aurora’s life for the next 4 months on the road, traveling. They’ve got barely 3 days until her flight leaves for London.

Nearly 4 hours later and they’ve organized Aurora’s room. Unpacking the appropriate boxes, written a new packing list, and they’ve also written a shopping list. They’ve got organized piles surrounding them. Again, Organized Chaos best describes Aurora’s life, always.

“Oh, what about that long pleated skirt you made last year? The emerald green one? You definitely need to take that.” Aurora’s eyes lit up at the idea. She loved that skirt, it was versatile enough that she could pair with heels or sneakers. Versatile pieces were key to packing she found out quickly. Her mom reaches into her closet and searches for it. “Probably at the back, haven’t worn it in awhile,” she motions towards her closet while sorting through the box of her bags, making decisions on which ones she’ll need with her.

“Oh gosh, Rory, look what I found,” her mom emerges from the closet with a handful of rolled up posters.

Aurora goes bright red knowing exactly what is on those posters. “Oh no. I kept those?” her mom sets them down on the floor but keeps one to unroll. Once the tape is off and her mom has got it flat, she turns it around to face Aurora. It’s a large poster of One Direction from a TigerBeat magazine. Aurora drops her face into her hands.

“Remember when you couldn’t see a bit of the wall cause of these posters? If I remember right, you liked that blonde one yeah?” her mom laughs, rolling the poster back up. “Maybe you should take one with you and have Harry sign it? He’d get a kick out of it, I’m sure.”

“Mom!” Aurora whines. “This is my job, my career. I have to be nothing but professional.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a joke or two. Gotta have fun still and honestly, he’d probably think it’s cute.”

“Mom, it’s embarrassing and I’m gonna be working with him and his team for the next 4 months.” Her mother can see the panic on her face. “I cannot just show up with a One Direction poster.”

“Ror, I’m just having a bit of fun with you. You need to relax or you’ll just be frustrated and stressed the entire time.” She sets the posters aside and goes to join Aurora on the floor. Placing a hand on her cheek, “Baby girl, my baby girl, promise me you’ll have some fun? This is a chance of a lifetime and I know you’ll work your butt off and do your job perfectly, but you need to enjoy it too. Okay?” Aurora nods slowly. She knows her mother is right, she always is.

“Okay,” she says softly giving her mom a weary smile.

“You’ll be okay, I know you will,” her mom says before leaning in and hugging her daughter. “I’m so proud of you.”

Aurora and her mother continue bustling around her room until the sun sets. By the time there is no daylight left there are 2 large suitcases completely full, all organized and packed with Aurora’s belongings. They spend the next hour packing up Aurora’s rolling caboodle. The large, rollable, sturdy set of drawers and compartments is from Aurora’s days as a competition dancer. It used to carry her stage makeup, extra pairs of tights, accessories and an emergency sewing kit. It was always covered in glitter and there were bobby pins in every nook and cranny, a few stray sets of false eyelashes too. But for the past 4 years, she’s used it for all things sewing and design. She never went to class or the design studio without it. Aurora and her mom empty the drawers and reorganize the contents. They make another list of things they need to pick up at the local sewing store the next day. Aurora pulls out her old sketchbooks and sets them to the side and adds a new clean book to the now empty drawer along with her cases of Micron pens, drawing pencils and prisma coloured pencils.

Aurora continues to organize each little compartment as her mother prints out small labels and adds them to the section dividers. Aurora loves to be overly organized and have everything in its place. It keeps her calm and stops her from getting overwhelmed in stressful situations. There’s nothing she hates more than being backstage at a fashion show and needing a simple needle and thread to fix a small seam quickly and having to dig through the drawers to find what she needs. Backstage life, anywhere, fashion shows, dance competitions, or even a world tour, can be stressful if you’re not prepared properly.

“Oh, keep the box of sequins and swarovski crystals in there. I actually might need them.” Aurora finishes the sentence with a giggle as she’s setting her scissors in their respective home.

“Really?” her mom laughs too.

“Yeah, some of the looks for this tour are actually pretty sparkly. You never would’ve thought. I actually might have to bedazzle a few things on the road.”

“You’re home!” her mother sing-songs. They both laugh again thinking about the countless hours they spent bedazzling dance costumes with 100’s of crystals.

After saying goodbye to her parents through a continuous flow of tears, Aurora got on an 8 hour flight. She kept herself busy on the flight to occupy her mind and stop her from overthinking or panicking about the next 4 months ahead of her. She landed in London on the 3rd of March, just a few days till she’d be back at this exact airport with the same luggage plus a few crates labeled ‘Wardrobe’ that she’d also have to care for. She made her way to the Air B’N’B that had been set up for her for the next few days and headed straight to bed. One thing Aurora, jokingly, prides herself on is the ability to sleep anywhere at anytime.

When the morning rolls around and her alarm wakes her, she’s preparing herself a cup of coffee when her phone rings. She notices Lambert’s ID on the screen. She answers and they exchange good mornings before he asks her about her travels from the day before.

“Okay, so, I’m sending a car to where you’re staying in about an hour to bring you to the arena.”

“Arena? I thought we were meeting at your studio?”

“Oh no, change of plans, sorry should have mentioned that in an email. Harry is in full rehearsal mode and everything for the tour is at the mock stage space at Wembley Arena. They’ve just finished the final tech rehearsals and Harry will be there today to start running the show,” Lambert continues. The new knowledge of Harry Styles being there on her first day makes Aurora jittery, small butterflies erupting in her stomach. She’s met Harry before. They’re friendly, but she was only just Lambert’s shadow anytime they were together. He was sweet and kind, just as everyone always says, but she was still a tad nervous. She will be with him almost everyday, on her own, without Lambert there to be a buffer. Aurora tended to be a nervous person, especially if she doesn’t know someone all that well. She can keep her nerves at bay and save a proper panic for after the situation ends most times, which is the best she can do right now. It’s something she’s working on. It’s what she hates most about herself, not being able to keep her nerves in check.

“Oh yeah, makes sense,” Aurora responds, surprisingly with no jitters evident in her voice.

“Great, I can have the run of show lookbook all put together for you when you arrive and we’ll go through it and make notes.” “Do you mind if I actually set it up when I get there? I would feel much better and more settled doing it myself as we do a walkthrough of the wardrobe.”

“Of course, Aurora, whatever you think will work best for you.”

She thanks him and they end the phone call after confirming the time and car that will be picking her up. She finishes off her coffee and heads to the living room where she left her suitcases last night. One of the large suitcases was lying on the ground, opened, exactly where Aurora left it last night. She ruffles through the contents of her suitcase, moving around different packing cubes until she finds the cube that contains her favourite black jeans. She locates a creme hooded knit sweater and some clean undergarments. She pops into the shower and continues to bustle around the small flat getting ready. At some point she turns on some music to distract her mind. There’s an airy feeling in the flat, the sun shining in london for a change and it calms Aurora down despite the nerves running through her veins. Aurora checks her watch, 10 minutes until her car is due to pick her up. She slides on her all white leather court sneakers and laces them up, tucking in the excess laces for a clean finish. She grabs her black bomber jacket and slips her arms in, then pulls out the hood from her sweater so it lays comfortably on the outside of the jacket’s collar. She takes a quick look in the full body mirror that leans up against the white brick wall across from the large, unmade bed. She’s reminded by the reflection in her mirror to text her mother and thank her for convincing her to pack her favourite clothes instead of all her fancy stuff. She looks put together but is still extremely comfortable, prepared for anything today has to offer her.

There’s a short honk from the street in front of the building. Aurora grabs her rolling caboodle and her purse before rushing out the door to meet the driver.

20 minutes later she finds herself stepping out of the car and thanking the driver for holding the door. He grabs her caboodle from the trunk and hands it to Aurora and wishing her well and to have a nice day. Harry Lambert greets her at the door giving her a big hug and exclaiming about how excited he is to have her there. He takes her an office where the tour manager, Michael is set up. The office is busy with several people working at desks on laptops and people taking phone calls. Lambert introduces Aurora to the team and gets her set up with her tour pass and all the nitty gritty stuff. Within half an hour she’s all set for tour and has her new lanyard tied to her on a belt loop. They walk through the never ending halls plastered with signs that state “Treat People With Kindness” and Aurora smiles everytime she sees another. Lambert points out different places, important notes posted on bulletin boards and casually introduces her to people as they quickly pass.

Everyone seems to be on a mission, darting in and out of rooms and talking on headsets. It’s a busy atmosphere but nobody seems stressed or upset. Aurora appreciates the hustle that everyone seems to have. There’s smiles and high fives passed between crew members and coffees getting pass along. Lambert points out where Harry’ band’s dressing room is and then Harry’s as well. Harry’s reads “Hershel” on the sign that sticks out from the wall.

“Hershel?” Lambert chuckles when he sees the confused look on her face.

“Yeah, Jeff, his manager, you’ve met him, calls him Hershel 95% of the time.” She nods along with a smile. After making their way through a few more halls they reach a larger dressing room. “Okay, so here’s our space for the week.” Aurora rolls her caboodle and sets it against the wall near the door for now and sets her purse down on an empty space on the counter that lines one of the shorter walls. On the wall directly across from the doorway there are 3 large black cases that stand about 6 feet tall, opened and filled with garment bags.

“Is everything here already?” Aurora makes her way towards the case farthest left.

“Hopefully!” Lambert picks up a large binder that’s sitting on the table across from a small leather couch. “That’s where we’re starting. Checking through each night’s look and making sure it’s all here.” She takes the binder that Lambert has handed her and opens it up to the first page.”

“Oh wow. I almost forgot how beautiful these suits are.” Towards the end of her internship in London, Lambert let her help him pick some options for the tour. She thumbs through the book quickly to get a glimpse of the beautiful designer suits. She notices quite a few of her favourites made the cut. The 2 of them sit down and devise a plan to best get through this large task of double checking the 60 looks in front of them. They’re about ¾ the way through around 1pm when they mutually decide to take a break and grab some lunch before they power through the rest of the wardrobe. After meeting more members of the crew and grabbing another cup of coffee, Lambert and Aurora make their way back to their dressing room.

“Hey, let’s go take a look at the stage,” Lambert said as he made a sharp turn in the opposite direction of the room they’ve been working in. “I haven’t seen the final setup yet.”

“Oh, I’d love that!” Aurora’s face lights up at the idea. They enter from the back of the stage. The stage itself is fully constructed but the light trees are currently hanging low to the ground and crew members are working carefully to change the direction, colour or size of each bulb. Lambert excuses himself as he takes a call, telling Aurora he’ll meet her back in the dressing room in 15 minutes. Aurora continues the theme from today and introduces herself to the stage crew. “Mind if I check out the stage?” she asks Jack, one of the crew members who introduced himself as the Stage Manager.

“Go ahead, just keep an eye out, we haven’t cleaned up much.” She nods and smiles while walking up the metal steps at the side of the stage. She takes careful steps as she steps to center stage. She looks out into the empty arena. The lights are low and the noise from the powertools is echoing through the arena.

Though there isn’t any music, the stage lights aren’t shining, and she isn’t in one of her rhinestoned costumes, she still feels at home standing center stage. The nerves she’s been holding on to all morning wash away as she takes a deep breath. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment and she remembers the last time she performed on a stage like this one. It was her senior year of high school at nationals in New York City. It was her farewell to her dance career. A smile starts to grow on her face, the nerves from this morning, the the whole trip to get here, completely washed away now.

“Oi!” a voice booms through the air, making Aurora jump and she searches for where it came from. She turns around, her hair following her as she turns. Her hair continues to follow her movement, falling in front of her face a bit but she can still make out the face the voice comes from. “What’re you doing on my stage?” She’s met with a smiley, broad shouldered Harry Styles. He’s got his hands in the pockets of the tartan trousers he’s wearing. The strong feeling of embarrassment brings heat to her cheeks as she looks down at the black and white vans he’s sporting.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, I-,” she starts rambling apologies. She watches his vans take a few steps closer to her. Aurora’s fumbling with her hands, a nervous tick of hers. “-I was told, told, I could, could, check out the stage,” she’s stuttering over her words and pointing in the direction of Jack. She finally stops talking when she meets Harry’s eyes. He’s still beaming and her stomach drops at the fact that he’s enjoying this situation. His confidence paints an incredible stark difference from her mumbling nervousness. Her brain is a bit fuzzy right now but that doesn’t stop her from noticing the way his eyes sparkle.

“I’m only joking, love” he says as he pulls his hands out of his pockets with a chuckle. “The stage suits you.”

“I’m sorry,” Aurora offers again. “I’m-” She’s reaching her hand out when he cuts off her introduction.

“Love, we’ve met. How could I forget you, Aurora.” She’s startled a bit when her name comes out of his mouth. “Ya fixed the hole in my pink jacket, remember?” He’s stepping closer to her and before she’s able to process what’s happening he’s wrapped his arms around her torso, his tattooed arm rubbing her back briefly before pulling away.

A small laugh leaves her mouth, “I remember, didn’t think you would is all.” Her voice is soft and trails off towards the end of her sentence.

“Not got much a reputation then if I’ve got people that work with me thinking I’ll forget them.” He lets out a soft chuckle and his smile elicits a dimple on his cheek.

“No, no, you’ve got a much better reputation than that, promise. You must meet a lot of people day to day is all.” Aurora is calming down, now, realizing that there is no reason for her to be so nervous around him. She’s interacted with him before, this shouldn’t be so jarring to her. Though this time is different. She wouldn’t be working behind Lambert or running errands. She’ll be with Harry just about everyday and she terrified she’ll never be comfortable, always anxiety ridden. Although his life is much different from hers, she’ll be getting a real taste of it and they’re close in age. They’re bound to find something in common. Right?. There’s a bit of silence before Aurora speaks up. “Well, your suits aren’t gonna organize themselves. I better go find Lambert.”

“Yes, of course. Don’t let me stop you from your work.” Aurora nods. She excuses herself as she makes a comment about how she thinks the stage looks great so far. Just after she’s walked past him she feels him grab her hand. “I’m excited to have ya on tour with us, love. Happy to have you making sure I sparkle just right on this stage.” He’s let go of her hand and presents his arms out to the sides as he mentions the stage.

She’s beaming back at him. “Packed extra rhinestones just for you.” She’s almost skipping down the stairs after that. A weight of relief falling from her shoulders in a light sigh. First, interaction with Harry? Check. She finds her way back to the room she’d been working in all morning. She settles down on the couch again, pulling the large binder into her lap. She jots down a few notes and adds to the ever growing list of things that need to be done. She stands up and walks over to one of the open wardrobe cases. She’s sliding hangers across the rack before she gets to the next look. Aurora takes the hanger off the rack. The sleek black hanger is labeled Yves Saint Laurent and an emerald green sequined button down shirt hangs off of it. There’s a pair of black straight leg trousers folded over the hanger as well. Aurora carries the ensemble across the room and hangs it on one of the vanity bulbs that sticks out from the light bulb framed mirror. She fixes the collar so it’s sitting straight. She takes a step back with one hand on her hip and another on her chin.

“What’re you thinking?” Lambert asks when he sees Aurora’s furrowed brow. She hums, still processing her thoughts.

“You know Michael Jackson’s black sequin jacket? The one he wore when he did the moonwalk for the first time?” He nods, following along. “Think we could play with that idea. What if Harry wore this open, with the Calvin tank?” In the small section of a wardrobe they’ve already gone through is a slew of clothing articles that will be used for multiple shows. The Calvin tank she’s referencing is one that will be, in Aurora’s opinion, an iconic, staple for the entire tour. It’s a simple white ribbed tank but on the left side, “Treat People With Kindness” is embroidered in black. “It’d be closer to Michael’s ‘Billie Jean’ performance in Munich that same year, but it’s the iconic sequin jacket that will sell it.”

“You really know your stuff huh?” Lambert chuckles, impressed by her knowledge and the way her brain works. Lambert walks away and grabs the tank from the rack and brings it back to Aurora.

A smile creeps onto Aurora’s face. “My mom loves Michael Jackson. Loves him like everyone loves Harry. I grew up dancing around the house to his music.” She takes the tank from Lambert after he slides it off the hanger. She’s quick to unbutton the YSL shirt in excitement but does it as carefully as possible. She hangs the tank under the shirt, turning it into a overshirt now. The smile on her face is growing. She’s in her element, doing exactly what she’s always wanted to do. Lambert places a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. A silent approval. Aurora walks back to the table and writes down their decision for this look in the notebook she’s been working with. They go through a few more suits and make a note that they’ll need an extra white button down from Gucci. Lambert is sending Aurora there sometime this week to pick a few more things up that are getting finished and some extra shoes for Harry as well. Lambert says Harry likes to wear his shoes to dust and that Aurora will have to make sure he doesn’t go on stage with holes in his shoes cause he will, especially his rainbow loafers. They finish going through the rest of the suits before calling it a day. Lambert fills her in on the next few day’s timeline to prepare her for the week. Aurora leaves the arena feeling like her heart could burst. She couldn’t have imagined a better first day at her new job. Aurora heads to bed early, after she orders a Domino’s Pizza, to rest up for the days ahead and beat the jet lag that’s bound to hit her in the next few days.

When she gets to Wembley the next morning, Aurora grabs a coffee from craft services and says hello to a few people she recognizes from yesterday. She’s thankful that everyone has a lot to get done and people are jutting off to their own areas to get to work. Aurora would be lying to herself if she didn’t acknowledge that she’s a bit overwhelmed by all of the new faces. She knows faces will become familiar as time goes on but right now she’s content with her coffee and knowing that she’s walking to a room to work on her own for awhile.

When she finds herself in the familiar green room she sets herself up for the day. Aurora pulls her laptop out of her leather bag and presses play on her current spotify playlist. She likes working alone, but not in silence. After collecting her notebook from yesterday and the envelope of images that Lambert left for her she sits down and starts putting together the final look book for tour. She’s organizing the book by tour dates, making a section for each city.

“Basel, Switzerland” is written on the top of the 1st page in bold all capital letters. Aurora tapes an image of the black glittered Gucci suit that Harry will wear for the opening night of his world tour. She copies any notes she made about this look from yesterday onto the space underneath the photo. After she’s finished the page for Switzerland she goes to the large cases and pulls the black glittered Gucci suit to the empty rolling rack that she set up yesterday. Each of the traveling cases will need to be organized by date to make traveling and set up easier throughout the tour. She continues this process for the next 2 hours. Once her coffee is empty at the end of the 2 hours she has almost 6 cities complete. Aurora takes her empty coffee cup as a sign for her to take a break. Before leaving the room to get more coffee she checks her phone. There’s a few notifications, emails from lists she keeps forgetting to unsubscribe to and a string of texts from her mother. She laughs at the first text - “I know you’re probably fine, but you’re in a different country and I need to hear your voice to make sure you’re still alive and it’s not some kidnapper texting me back” - then another text about 20 mins after that one reads “I love you, I know you’re busy, but please call me” and the last one delivered just a few minutes ago, “I’m your mother, it’s my job to worry.” Aurora shakes her head and feels a bit guilty because she hasn’t texted her mom as much as she probably should have and before knocking out last night she texted her back apologizing for not calling after her first day and that she was just too exhausted.

Her mom doesn’t answer and is greeted with an automatic voicemail greeting, “Classic,” she chuckles as she hangs up without leaving a message. She shakes her head, standing in the doorway as she sends off a text saying she’s taking a break and to call her back, adding a “I’m good, everything’s amazing! Just calling to chat” as she always does so her mother doesn’t worry any more than she is. As she finishes the texts she mumbled a bit to herself about how her mother is always worrying but never picks up her dang phone. It isn’t until a familiar voice rings through the hallway that she realises she was mumbling quite clearly.

“Sorry, everything alright, love?” Harry’s distinct voice travels closer to her as she looks up from her phone to him. She’s made her way into the arena hallway completely now. There’s a small furrow in his brow but a slight grin on his face.

“Ah yeah, didn’t realise I was talking out loud.” She holds her phone up, “You know mothers, always worrying but never actually answering their phone when you call.” Harry laughs, his shoulders shaking. “She sent me this string of texts about being worried and 2 minutes later doesn’t pick up when I call her.” She sighs before sliding her phone into the pocket of the track jacket she’s got on today.

“My mum does the same. Always saying we don’t talk enough or that she misses me and when I do get the chance she’ll text me back saying she’s out with friends drinking wine or s’thing like that.” Aurora laughs along with him. When she takes a proper look at him she notices he’s wearing black adidas joggers today with a white t shirt and a black nike jacket.

“Looks like we both had the same idea when we got ready this morning,” she continues to laugh while gesturing between to two of them. They’re dressed almost identical right down to the white sneakers. Aurora’s got on her favourite black lululemon leggings instead of joggers but her tshirt and track jacket look just the same as Harry’s. Harry takes a good look at what he’s got on and back to Aurora and his eyes begin to crinkle and his nose scrunches up before he’s laughing. The laugh is almost a giggle and Aurora has to hold back from flashing him the most endearing smile.

“Guess it’s a good thing that my Head of Wardrobe and I match. Must mean I’ve got the right person taking care of my clothing then.” He swings his arm around her shoulder before asking if she’s got a minute to grab a snack.

“Probably should eat and I definitely need some more coffee,” she replies with a smile and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket not knowing what to do with them. There’s something about Harry, it’s that thing that people always talk about, his ease around everyone, the way he makes you feel like you’ve known each other forever. His kind demeanor relaxes Aurora and she’s sure this is how he makes everyone feel. Harry starts to go on about different things that are happening around the arena as they walk to the green room, pointing out different people and what they’re working on. Harry doesn’t know this, but the more Aurora knows about her surroundings and the things people are doing, the more comfortable she feels. Aurora likes knowing what’s going on. She knows it’s got something to do with wanting control over as much as she can but she also knows that there is so much going on that she can’t control anything and she especially knows that it isn’t her job. But knowing is good for her. Just as they turn the corner to the green room her phone rings. She pulls it out of her pocket and “Mother” with a pink heart is flashing on her screen. She shows the phone to Harry and she slides out from under his arm. “Rain check on the snacks?” she offers him before answering the call. She smiles as he shoots her a grin and voices an ‘of course’ before he turns around and goes back the way they had came. She questions his actions for a moment before saying hello to her mother.

Aurora pulls out her notebook while she’s in the car the next morning to review what she needs to get done today. Written in red, at the top of the page under today’s date is: final fitting with Harry @ 12pm. She’s excited to get some of the newer pieces on him and finally have all the looks together. She’s nervous too. Lambert won’t be there again today or barely at all the rest of the week, her part time buffer ripped away sooner than expected. She knows there’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s just Harry. ‘Just Harry,’ she continues to mumble under her breath.

“Miss Del Gatto, we’ve arrived,” Steven, her driver, who she’s come accustomed to after the past few rides, announces. Aurora looks out the window and sees the Gucci store front.

“Thanks, Steven. I’ll only be a few minutes.” She smiles at him before stepping out of the car. She got dressed this morning in slightly more put together outfit that she had on yesterday, knowing she had to stop into a few stores on her way in to pick up some pieces that were still missing. Her black chunky heeled leather boots make a clacking sound as she walks towards the entrance. Before she can even reach for the door, she’s welcomed by a man in an all black suit that is welcoming her into the store.

“Welcome to Gucci.” His voice is deep but bright and welcoming, she thanks him with a smile.

Once she’s a few more steps into the door she adjusts the small gold airplane necklace that is sitting on the outside of her black turtleneck before speaking up. “I’m here to pick up some shoes for Harry,” she rattles out. A questioned look appears on the man’s face. “Harry Lambert and Styles.” She clarifies.

“Aurora Del Gatto, yes?” another woman’s voice speaks up from across the store.

“Uh, y-yes,” she stammers while turning towards the women.

“I’m Lauren. Nice to meet you, Aurora. Harry told me to be expecting you this morning.” Aurora shakes Lauren’s hand with a smile. Lauren looks like a seasoned pro, her black suit fits her perfectly and her greying hair is pulled up into an elegant low bun. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” she says motioning towards the plush dark purple couches. “Would you like any water or coffee, dear?”

“Oh, I’m alright actually, thank you.”

“I’ll be right back with everything.” Aurora nods in acknowledgement while sitting down on the couch. She slides off the lightweight, long, camel coloured coat she’s wearing and drapes it over the couch next to her. She checks her watch to make sure she’s good on time. She’s got to stop at Calvin Klein as well before heading to arena to prep for Harry’s fitting. It’s just gone on 10am, she’s got plenty of time but still anxious at the thought of arriving just before the fitting, not getting a chance to set up. She’s brought back from her thoughts when Lauren returns with 3 shoe boxes in her arms and a garment bag.

“I think there are only 2 pairs of shoes I’m supposed to be picking up,” Aurora questions, “the rainbow loafers and the Spring 18 leather boots.” Lauren’s face lights up in a smile.

“Yes, those are both here and there’s a pair of sneakers here for you as well.” Aurora’s face reflects exactly what is going through her mind: surprise, shock, and other emotions she couldn’t put words to. Her jaw has dropped and her eyes are wide. “Harry called last night and wanted us to fit you into some Ace Sneakers for the tour.”

“Lambert said that?” Aurora is confused, giddy and nervous, always nervous. She doesn’t even know how to accept a gift like this. She’d also be lying if she hadn’t been looking at these sneakers forever.

“No, dear, Harry Styles.” Aurora is beyond caught off guard at this point.

“I’m sorry, I think there must be a mistake. There’s no reason for Harry to be giving me anything.”

“He specifically called these in for you. I don’t know the details, he just wanted to make sure you walked out with the perfect fit.” She set 2 of the boxes down on a glass table and brought over the 3rd box. “I grabbed the 7.5, I’m normally pretty good at guessing.”

“Well, you would be right.” Aurora laughs nervously. She slides off her boots in order to avoid the overwhelming thoughts in her head. She’s afraid if she doesn’t keep moving she might go into shock. She’s trying on the sneakers before she speaks up again, “Uhm,” Aurora starts to speak, “Does Harry, uh, do this often? I-I mean, uh call in for gifts?”

“I wouldn’t say often, but I’ve fulfilled a few of his gifting requests over the past few years. Just a handful though. There really hasn’t been many, if I’m honest.”

Aurora smiles to herself. She’s still confused about it all but still that same familiar feeling rushes through her when she’s reminded of Harry’s incredible kind demeanor. And before she knew it, she's walking out of Gucci with a smile on her face, a tingle in her fingers, a garment bag and not 2 but 3 boxes of shoes.

She’s setting up one last suit on the tall silver rolling rack before she checks her watch. 11:59. She made great time getting to Wembley after grabbing the pink plaid jacket and custom boots from Calvin Klein. There’s a light knock on the slightly ajar door seconds later.

“‘Ello, love,” Harry’s voice booms through the small, concrete walled room. Aurora turns towards the door. “All ready!” He exclaims as he makes his way towards her.

“Hi Harry,” Aurora responds before Harry has a hand at her waist and is placing a light kiss on the top of her cheek.

“How’s your morning been?” He’s now made his way to the rolling rack she had just filled.

“Good,” she wants to ask him about the shoes but she doesn’t know how to bring it up. “I did uh- I, I-”

“Can I try this one on?” Harry interrupts, suddenly distracted by the garments he hasn’t seen yet. She’s grabbing her book from the table across the room when she hears the sound of hangers hitting the floor. “Oooff,” there’s a chuckle that follows. “That one’s a bit slippery.”

“Oh gosh, yeah I need to add some hanger loops to that one,” Aurora sets her book down and rushes over to pick up the fallen garments and hangers. Harry utters a few sorry’s before stepping away. She swears she hears him mumble about being in the way. Once she’s got the fallen garments gathered on the crook of her arm, she grabs a hanger adorn in the pink plaid Calvin suit. “That’s what you get for being so nosy,” she quips at him and hands him the suit. His jaw drops slightly but before he can say a thing Aurora’s speaking again, “Try this one on first, please.” Aurora lingers on the please and shoots him a sweet smile. “There’s a small room through there you can change in.” She turns around after motioning towards the door and sees that Harry already has his trousers down to his ankles. “Orrrr you can change right there.”

“Oh, don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, darling,” he responds as you quickly turn away, sliding the plaid trousers all the way up and buttoning them just as fast.

“Oh no, you’re fine, don’t wanna be rude is all.” Aurora is flipping through her book finding the section for Stockholm. “The black ribbed tank was on the hanger with the jacket, yeah?” She asks as she skims over the page in front of her. He hums back letting her know it’s there. Aurora lifts up her coffee cup from earlier this morning to her lips, turning around to find Harry fully dressed in the Calvin Klein suit she picked up this morning. She frowns realising there’s no coffee left in her cup.

“What?” Harry asks, his brows knitted together in concern after seeing the frown on her face. “Does it look that bad?” He’s messing with the way he’s tucked the shirt into the waistband of the trousers.

Aurora giggles at his frantic hands. “Harry, nothing could look bad on you.” She shakes the empty cup in front of him. “I’m out of coffee.”

“Well, that frown was badly timed. I’ve got a brand new suit on and that’s the first reaction I get?’

“Oh you’ll be fine, rockstar. Plenty of ego pumping in the near future,” Aurora quips backs at him as she makes a circle around him. “They did great with this one,” she’s pulling at the shoulders of the jacket so it sits just right on his broad frame. “How do the trousers feel?” She asks as she smooths down the fabric of the sleeves before rounding back to face Harry straight on.

“The trousers? Yeah they feel good. Fit perfect, I think.” He’s pulled up the bottom of the jacket and is twisting his hips round. “Wha’ d’ya think?”

“I think Calvin Klein knows exactly what he’s doing,” she says with a smirk. “Okay, that one’s all set, go ahead and put this one on now.” She hands him another pink jacket, this one velvet with embellishments and it has a Gucci tag on it rather than Calvin Klein. She hands him black trousers with a gold trim as well. “You’ll wear this with a button down but just try with the tank. I just need to make sure all the alterations were done properly.”

“Did you stop at Gucci this morning? Lambert mentioned you were going,” he asks while handing her the plaid suit he just took off. Aurora busies herself with hanging them up.

“Yeah. Got your loafers and boots. I also-”

“Oh nooooo, Aurora,” Harry’s voice is panicky.

“Wha-,” is all she gets out before she sees and hears the beads rolling on the floor. “Ahhh I had a feeling that was going to happen. And THIS is why we try things on 100 times. Wouldn’t want you unraveling on stage.” She runs over to her kit that stands in the corner.

“I’m sorry, not sure what I did,” Harry’s face shows worry like he’s done something wrong.

“Hun, you didn’t do anything, promise. I think it might have been from the alterations.” Aurora is tying a knot in a piece of thread before walking over to him. “I’m just gonna close this strand up while it’s on you and I’ll re embellish it later.” The piece that’s come undone is on the right shoulder. She slides her hand under the jacket to find the back of the spot she needs to fix. Her hand brushes the skin of his shoulder, reminding her he’s only wear the tank underneath and he flinches. “Sorry, my hands are probably cold. This will only take a second.”

“S’alright, love.” There’s silence while she focuses on the work in front of her. Once she’s finished she carefully slips a small pair of gold scissors underneath the jacket and cuts the thread and needle she had been working with loose, detaching herself from Harry’s shoulder. “That was quick,” Harry says with a tone of surprise and Aurora thinks she can hear a little bit of disappointment as well. Aurora shrugs her shoulders in response.

“Could you put on the black version of that jacket for me?” Aurora asks as she grabs a spool of black thread. “Think we might have the same problem with that one too.” She slides the needle she’s threaded with black thread onto the cuff of her sweater so she doesn’t lose it. She helps Harry into the black jacket and hangs up the one he just had on.

“Aannddd there it is,” Harry says with chuckle as a strand of beads comes loose on his right sleeve. Aurora gets to work on the one on his sleeve as 2 more make themselves known on his back. “So you got my boots and loafers this morning? Up to anything else before I came in and ruined all the garments?” Aurora laughs and moves to his back to take care of the broken pieces there.

“Uhm picked up that Calvin jacket and your custom boots. Let me tell you, those boots are glorious. The glossed leather with the steel tip will look incredible with your suits. ”

“Oh can I see them when we’re done?”

“‘Course you can!” There’s some silence between them again as she concentrates on the job in front of her. She catches a glimpse of the white gucci bags that are sitting by one of the wardrobe cases and it’s like those new sneakers are burning a hole in her head. It clicks in her head now that he’s been directing the conversation this way trying to get it out of her. “Hey Harry,” she’s met with a hum, “can I ask you about something?” She continues to work on the jacket, keeping her hands busy. She’s thankful that the strand she’s working on is on his back so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with him.

“‘Course, Aurora.”

“Uhm, at Gucci this morning, they uh, they fitted me for sneakers,” Harry hums in response, “and um, I-I, um, that was very kind of you.” She’s stuttering through her words. It wasn’t until now that she got a tinge of nervousness. “Y-you didn’t need to do that. Really.”

“Aurora, I wanted to. And I thought you deserved some new shoes.” She can’t see his face but she can hear the smile that’s formed on his face. “We’ve got a few countries to trek around the next few months.”

Moments later she’s finished repairing what she can and she’s sliding Harry’s jacket off his shoulders. “Thank you, Harry,” she says finally after the black jacket is hung back on its Gucci hanger on the rolling rack near them. “Seriously, too kind.”

“No such thing as too kind, Ror,” he quips back and before she can comment on the nickname, he’s talking again. “Now what else do you need me to try on?”

The afternoon goes by quickly and Harry is patient with her. He stands up straight in each new piece and asks questions about different things she’s making notes of or checking off of her thousands of lists. She checks her watch quickly as she’s making one last note.

“How is it 3 o’clock already?” Aurora stammers out. “Sorry to take your entire afternoon from you.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ror.” Harry’s pulling down the hem of his white tshirt he walked in wearing earlier today, “Nice to spend some time with ya and seems like you’ve been able to check a lot off your list.”

“You probably have a list a mile long of things that need to be done this week too, though,” she rebuttals. “Or do you have someone to take care of those things for you?” she jokes.

“Oh yeah, don’t remember their name, but I just tell them everything I need done and they do it for me.” The look on Aurora’s face is utter disgust, unable to politely react because she wasn’t expecting that answer. There was no hint of sarcasm in Harry’s voice. Harry’s face is still and he’s silent for a moment before his nose scrunches up and a giggle erupted from his mouth. “Ror, I’m totally kidding.” He’s placed a hand on her shoulder now, rubbing his thumb soothingly.

“Harry,” she’s giggling along now too, “you had me for a second.”

Harry thanks her for her work and the time spent together today and leaves only after giving her a hug and a short kiss on her cheek.

The next few days are spent hand stitching gold and silver beads onto those 2 Gucci jackets, labeling every single piece of the wardrobe and then organizing the giant crates for the travel managers to take and get ready to fly. She walks through all of the wardrobes multiple time and completes fittings with all of Harry’s band members as well. Brief 1 hour time frames are scheduled with each of them, Clare, Sarah, Adam and Mitch. Lambert pops in to make sure the final fittings went well and pays complements to Aurora’s new sneakers she’s sporting with a knowing look on his face.

There’s one day left till the first tour stop and the arena is just about empty. The stage is packed up, the wardrobe crates have been taken from Aurora and the number of people in the arena is starting to dwindle down. Since everything is already loaded on a truck making its way to the airport Aurora didn’t have much to do today but she kept herself busy at the apartment she’s been at all week for the majority of the morning. She’s repacked multiple times getting everything to fit perfectly, almost committing the perfect folding techniques and order of adding things to her suitcase to memory. Everyone is to arrive at the airport early the next morning but Harry has arranged for a group lunch at the arena for one last collective meeting before the tour starts.

Aurora arrives a few minutes early to the lunch and says hello to a few crew members she’s gotten to know. Lambert is there too - seems that Harry has invited anyone who has helped with the prep of the tour regardless if they’re coming along or not. She also meets a few more new faces like Ayae, Harry’s hair and makeup stylist. She’s new to the tour group and hasn’t been needed for prep so this his her 1st time meeting a lot of the crew too. She sits down with Aurora and Lambert at a table and is engaging in a conversation about this and that when Harry comes up to the table with Jeff. Jeff is a familiar face to Aurora even though she has only interacted with him a few times. Jeff always seems to be everywhere - Aurora always makes mental acknowledgment about how he is consistently working on something but always is seemingly available to everyone.

Alicia, a woman probably in her late 30’s, is following Harry and Jeff with a grey rolling cart like you would see in an old cafeteria and it’s filled with large cardboard boxes. Aurora has met Alicia and remembers Lambert introducing her as the Tour Merchandise Manager.

“Aurora, Ayae, Harry, great to see all of you! Doing alright, I assume?” Jeff asks while rounding the cart and reaching a hand in the box.

“Got some tour sweatshirts for everyone, treat people with kindness and all that,” Harry adds in, running a hand through his hair. It isn’t until now that Aurora notices the length of his hair. It’s not as short as it was when she first met him but it’s nowhere near the length she remembers him having while still in One Direction. There is one curl that won’t stay back no matter how many times he runs his hand through it to push it back. The lone curl falls against his forehead one last time before he gives up.

“Oh, very humble of you, Harry,” Ayae says with a chuckle while examining the sweatshirt Alicia had just given her.

It’s a plain black Champion hoodie with 2 small pieces of embroidery, 1 on the left of the chest and the other on the inside of the right arm. Ayae is referring to the large embroidered “Harry” on the chest. Underneath his name is ‘World Tour 2018’. Hah. He’s gotta love this shit. His name written on everything. Clothing, signs, his name is branded everywhere.

“Heyyyyy,” Harry’s voice is slightly whiny, both of his eyes scrunch up and his brows furrow. The ‘hey’ turns into a giggle and they all laugh along with him. Harry then hands Aurora her sweatshirt. “Here ya go, Ror.” She thanks him softly after taking it from him.

Post lunch, Harry, Jeff and a few others talk about how excited they are and how successful the prep went all week. The Head Travel Manager, Daniel, reminds everyone to double check their itinerary when they get home tonight and to double, triple, quadruple check they’ve packed everything. Harry yells something about making sure everyone’s got their passport cause “long story short” he forgot his once and it was not a day full of kindness. The large group chuckles at his little antidote before the room begins to clear out and everyone heads home to get ready to travel the next day.

Thanks for reading !!! Feedback & comments are always welcome !!!

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #sequins & zippers #aurora on tour #harry styles fanfiction #one direction imagine

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cantgetoutofmyheda · 4 years

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Falling in Love in a Quarantine: Part 11

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PART 11: Day 23

To say that Lexa was overwhelmed would be an understatement. She had spent the better part of her morning, pushing her actual work aside, to embark on her day’s project—setting up the grill and the furniture she bought for the deck.

Annoyed that she forgot to click the little box on the website to pay extra for assembly, she tried to bargain with the delivery guys, but had no avail. Instead, she sat out in the grueling sun and decided to face her fate.

Her goal was to get the setup completed by the time Clarke came home from work. To have a perfectly grilled dinner set up to eat outside and enjoy the new purchases, but without the help of anyone else, despite how handy she was, she was having a bit of a difficult time.

Between Sandy running up to her and plopping into her lap, knocking things around, and her phone constantly going off with messages and emails from her colleagues, hours had passed and she was barely halfway done with the task at hand.

“Fucking finally,” she huffed. Hands on her hips, as she proudly admired the final setup of the grill and table. All that was left were the six chairs, and she would finally be done. She started unloading the boxes, until her ringtone interrupted the task.

She looked down and saw that a Facetime was coming in from Anya. Excited to show off the fruits of her labor, she happily picked up, “Ahn, look at what I just did.” Without even seeing her face, Lexa turned on her back-camera to scan the backyard, “Doesn’t it look awesome?”

“Let me see your face, you loser,” Anya’s voice boomed.

“What?” Lexa answered as she flipped the camera. “Jealous of my handy work for the new setup?”

“Griff’s gotten you to do her dirty work, I see,” Anya smirked. “Looks good, though. Sucks she didn’t spring the cost for assembly, but I guess that’s what she has you for.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, “I’m the idiot that forgot to add on the assembly, but it’s fine. She swiped a bead of sweat on her forehead, “I’m quite skilled, you know. An all-around Jack of all trades.”

Anya raised a brow, “You forgot to add it on, huh?” She threw Lexa a smirk, “What, so Griff gave you her credit card and told you to pick out some new backyard toys? That’s cute. And awfully domestic.”

“No,” Lexa glared in annoyance. “We were at Abby’s for lunch yesterday and hung out in the backyard, and I had grill-envy, so I ordered it while we were there.”

“I see,” Anya nodded, her smirk still ever-present.

“What, Ahn?” Lexa blankly stared.

“Nothing,” Anya shrugged. “Like I said—cute and awfully domestic. Glad to see that you’re financially splitting household appliances.”

“It’s not like that,” Lexa rolled her eyes. “And plus, even after this is all over, you know we’re all going to be here all the time anyway. It’s essentially for everyone.”

“You’ve never bought me a grill and lawn furniture,” Anya teased. “But I guess you’ve never had the hots for me.”

“I have literally never said that I have the hots for Clarke, Ahn,” Lexa huffed. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“But you didn’t deny it,” Anya pointed out.

Lexa rolled her eyes. The annoyance was still present, and she was thankful the view from her phone didn’t show the blush creeping up her neck, knowing that Anya was actually right, “When are you going to give this a rest.”

“When you finally admit that you have feelings for Griff,” Anya knowingly shrugged.

Lexa shook her head again, “Change the subject or I’m hanging up. I have six chairs to put together and as daunting as that’s going to be, it feels like it would be more fun than having this conversation with you.”

“Ouch,” Anya feigned hurt. “I was just calling to check up on you. Raven mentioned she hadn’t heard from Clarke in a few days, and that made me realize I hadn’t heard from you in a few either. Just wanted to make sure you were both alive, but apologies for being a good friend.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lexa’s expression softened. After their Saturday morning escapade, the two spent the day phone-free enjoying each other’s company. She just realized that the time at Abby’s the previous day had also been the same, “Sorry, we were just watching movies all weekend without our phones and then went to Abby’s yesterday.”

“I can’t believe you guys went to Abby’s but won’t come hang with us or let us come there,” Anya let out. It had been three weeks, and other members of their friend group had started to see each other in each other’s backyards. Almost everyone had spent a little time together, other than Lexa and Clarke.

“Ahn,” Lexa replied. “You guys knew that we wouldn’t be able to see anyone. Not with Clarke going into work as much as she has been. It’s not necessarily safe. Or smart.”

“I still can’t believe you decided to shack up there, knowing it meant you’d be closed off to the world,” Anya sighed. “You could have come here or something.”

“I’d rather not third wheel with any of you,” Lexa let out a small laugh. “Plus, it wouldn’t be fair for Clarke to ride this out on her own. You knew I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“I know, Lex,” Anya sighed. “I know.”

“How are you and Raven holding up?” Lexa changed the subject.

Anya nodded, “Good, yeah. Everything’s good over here.”

“Glad to hear it,” Lexa offered a smile. “I’ve gotta run, though. Need to get these things put together so I can do some actual work.”

“Alright, Lex,” Anya smiled back. “Best of luck on your endeavors. Send pictures to the group, I’m sure everyone’s going to be excited for post-quarantine backyard activities.”

“Ha,” Lexa scoffed. “And potentially re-live the teasing I just got from you? Fat chance.”

Anya shrugged, “I’m going to stop myself from saying what I want to say. See ya, loser.”

“I appreciate that,” Lexa rolled her eyes. “Bye, Ahn.”

---

“What’s all this?” Clarke walked into the backyard to see the table set and Lexa standing at the grill.

“Damn,” Lexa muttered. “I wanted to have it all ready by the time you got back. It’ll just be a few more minutes, sorry.”

Clarke made her way over to the grill, admiring the table and setup on the way. She wrapped her arms around Lexa’s shoulders from behind and placed a soft kiss on the side of her neck, “Everything looks amazing.”

It was uncharted territory for them—going from friends to something more. They had spent the weekend acting like teenagers on the couch, but this was new. Coming home from work and the soft and gentle hellos. Neither of them felt like anything was out of place. If anything, everything was starting to feel right.

Lexa leaned her head onto Clarke’s, “How was your day?”

“Judging by how my backyard looks, probably equally busy as yours,” Clarke laughed. She stepped back after another kiss found its way onto Lexa. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Pour the wine?” Lexa asked from over her shoulder. “I got a bottle of that red blend you like.”

The gesture brought a smile to Clarke’s face, “I could get used to this.”

“As if I’m not always like this with you, anyway,” Lexa scoffed.

“Yeah, but now I can kiss you as a thank you,” Clarke shrugged as she poured the glasses.

Lexa walked over with a smile on her face and a tray of freshly grilled kebabs, “I guess I could used to it too, then. Show me what you’ve got, Griffin.”

Clarke waited until the tray hit the table to pull Lexa in. Arms were wrapped around each other and lips finally met. Everything was finally starting to feel right.

#falling in love in a quarantine #FILIAQ #clexa #clexa au #clexa modern au #clexa fic #clexa ficlet #my fic #that time when clexa quarantined together

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avellanas-nutty-empire · 3 years

Text

Covid has really been hitting people hard, but today, as a University student in her third term, I'd like to talk about schools spesifically

I remember last year in my second term when classes got moved online. I had an anxiety attack week one because I just couldent do it. I just cant do school things while I'm at home - I cant even read for leasure (something I really enjoy doing) at home. Theres too many House things to do at home, that's why I designated spesific things to do elsewhere. But now I cant leave my house except for work.

My english teacher too, told me of the day it was announced the whole college was going online, that he saw teachers crying in the hallway. If I were teaching that year it would have been me aswell. But instead, I took the 2020 fall term off, picking up more hours at my essential worker job with my terrible boss who somehow hadn't gotten fired yet. I took the term off, hoping to avoid the chaos of online learning while it was at its worse. But I couldent avoid online school forever, if I skipped a second term in a row i would have to re-enroll; an unnecessary spending of 50$.

This 2021 spring term, I was talking with my counselor about the due date to drop classes; he said the final day to drop without getting marked down for it AND fined for a late fee was feb 17th, a good 3 or 4 weeks after classes start. Great. Except today I got an email saying a 3% late fee would be applied by the first of February.

That was 17 days of class I could have spent figuring out if I had too much on my plate or not. I was already prity confidant I would keep astronomy and psychology, but Spanish Film became a big issue today. The teacher was sick the first 2 days, so today was our first real lecture. Her native language is spanish, and thus she has an accent. An accent I just cant understand (none of which is her fault).

It's hard enough paying attention to the zoom lectures, but now I dont even know what the teacher is saying? How am I supposed to deal with that. I tell my mom and shes completely unremorsful - saying I should just turn up the volume (I have sensitive ears and would like to actually be able to hear when I'm her age so hard pass - it also genuinely just does not work for me, I did try it) or I should just drop the class. But then I start wondering what if this spanish film is the one class for its UCORE requirement I can actually pass? What if the other options are harder and I make things worse by dropping it? What if - what if - what if -

And I feel myself start to spiral. But I dont - I cant have another anxiety attack over online school. This is only the beginning of the term, I barely made it though the last 4 weeks of last years term. Pull yourself together and just email her

I finally gather enough courage to press send on the email I typed up asking her to see if she can figure out how to add CC to help me pay attention and focus (and also just genuinely know what the fuck she is talking about cause I was so lost today). A few hours after I send that email, she posts the next film and assignment along with graphic scene warnings for the film. I cant even read the warning sentence without almost getting triggered.

At first I thought telling her about it would be out of the question, considering she still hadent responded to my previous email - that would be asking for help twice in one day on 2 different subjects. But as I keep thinking about it, weighing my options, I cant stand it anymore. The warning sentence alone was too triggering - and if I watched the scene I would surely get worse and worse symptoms of my irrational fear. I cant watch that scene. So I email her again telling her as much, asking for an alternate film to watch (as she stated she would do if students needed one) or if I should just try to skip past the scene and watch the rest of the film.

She emails back rather quickly, saying not to worry and I dont have to watch it. But she doesnt say anything about an alternative and still hasnt responded to my other email. I start to worry again. How bad of a student must I be to ask for help/special circumstances on 2 completely different areas of the class to put me on an equal playing field in less that 12 hours. Now I'm that student that's always asking for special things to help me. What if it turns out I'm lying about needing them and I'm just doing it to be lazy and get out of extensive work? How terrible of a student must I be then?

No. I remember in 8th grade my math teacher told us about 2 students he used to have that raised their hands and asked a lot of questions every day in class, and one day they came up to him and said 'we must be your worst students, huh' and he was all 'on the contrary, you are my best students'

They asked questions. They asked for help when they were confused, and they learned a lot more by asking than doing otherwise - I'm sure a few other students learned at least a bit from their questions too.

So no, I am not the worst student for asking for accommodations. I'm a responcible adult who genuinely wants to learn from that class and not fail or need to drop it. I want to be successful. And if that teacher wont help me, it's not worth taking her class.

So go forth, and ask your teachers questions with the youth of a 6 year old asking random off topic questions just for fun!

Tl;dr you arent the worst student ever for asking for help no matter what kind of help or how much you ask for - it just makes you a better student, and better than the teacher if they refuse to help you :)

#avellanahablando #school #anxiety attack #anxiety #help #accommodation #special circumstance #online school #question #questions #online learning #zoom class #zoom lecture #college #university #covid #covid19 #coronavirus #i rlly hope i did the tldr thing right

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allthelittlelostgirlsgrowup · 4 years

Text

Love is History

*taps mic* is this thing on? (I stole that from Obama. He was still in office last time I posted my writing).

So fun thing I did - write an angsty sequel to Love is Fiction. If you’ve never read it, it just got over 300 notes this past week. I figured it was time to dust this off from my drafts and complete it.

I hope you like it and my voice sounds similiar to the last election year when I put this out. Honestly I’m so different now and I think this captures the changes I’ve gone through and the way I view relationships now opposed to four years ago.

Love is History

“Art imitates Life right?” Belle closes the folder encasing a rough draft of her first few chapters.

“All good things come to an end.” Emma shrugs as if the concept of him being just a ‘good’ thing ending doesn’t devastate her. He was the best thing.

She thought she’d never write their break up.

“What’s the history?” Belle squints her eyes, nose crinkling as she watches Emma. Belle has been Emma’s ‘Editor’ since college. Now more official. She gets a paycheck, as Emma gets advances from a publishing company that started as a small mom and pop establishment. In the last four years, this little wagon wheel of a company is now a fleet of office buildings all over the US.

“You read book 3: “Wind’s Ally”” Emma leans back in her chair, studying Belle right back. “You know their history.”

Belle keeps her eyes on Emma, relaxing the tension in her face and suppressing a smirk. They’re at a bit of a stalemate here because Emma isn’t sure what more info is needed and Belle isn’t sharing her thoughts at the moment.

“Emma, I knew their history. They finished book 3 in a ‘happily ever after’ kind of way. What underlying issues could have brought them to this point? Why did Alysandra leave?” Emma considers the question. Why did she decide to destroy the happiest relationship she’s ever written? Why would a character who fell madly in love just change their mind? “Maybe, ask yourself why you left.”

-/-

The sun is setting over the Manhattan skyline when she gets back to her apartment. She doesn’t know where she went after the meeting but her mind just got back to the present and she’s pissed.

Emma flings her keys across the kitchen island, kicking her heels off in a huff before stomping over to her bar cart. She pours his favorite whiskey into the anchor-etched old fashion glasses he got her one Christmas.

“History is a stupid word” she grunts to no one but a tilted glass, muffling the sound as the amber liquid meets her lips a second after. She’s taken up talking to herself these last few months. The first four were spent crying and avoiding her reflection. The loneliness finally set in one night and she made herself her own best friend. So she asks her best friend ‘why did you do it?’ as she feels the tension in her shoulder blades ease. Why? Why did Emma Swan leave Killian Jones seven months ago?

“Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

-/-

The nightmares finally stopped and she no longer wakes with a startle when she finds her bed bare of him. Its been 216 days. She’s cried herself to sleep at least 180. She’s been broken before, boys have left in more ways than one, and she has managed to wake up one day finding herself less damaged than all the others. Today might be that day for the Killian Jones saga.

Today is they announced the upcoming film and casting begins in a few weeks. She knows she needs to finish this novel, but she hasn’t finished much. She barely finishes lunch on most days, barely finishes a thought that isn’t dripping in Killian. It’s been seven months and he is everywhere, in everything. She thought progress was a slowly-operated escalator but she was finally on her way.

And then the congratulation calls come through. Text after text, email, voicemail and she’s sure in a week or two, she’ll get a card from Mary Margaret. She sorts through them looking for something she’ll never find and she has to rewind.

She left him. It wasn’t mutual and it wasn’t obvious. He had no clue. All the calls and texts he was going to send her were sent months ago when he was breaking down in voicemails and begging her to just tell him she was okay.

Congratulations, Emma, you saved him...from ever having to care about you again.

-/-

She doesn’t leave the apartment again until the 245th day. It is easy to stay inside with the modern advances in technology. People will bring literally anything to your front door. Except, maybe inspiration. That she has to go out and find.

She finds herself in Harlem. The Harlem Public Library. She has to get back to her roots. Sure, this isn’t Storybrooke, and no, she’ll probably never meet a pair of eyes as blue coconut as...but her work needs her to find a way to write.

She thinks of his face.

Three hours pass and all she has in a google doc is ‘why?’

-/-

Despite the first failure to launch, she finds she quite likes that library. She’s giving herself a pep talk this time, before she finds herself staring at a blank screen wondering why again.

“I left because I had to.” She looks at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. That’s the only statement she’s made to anyone, herself included. When her friends, her agent, her editor, and her heart ask, she tells them she had to.

She makes her way through her apartment, recounting the moments, hours, days leading up to it. There are very few things her mind makes enough sense to share. Everything else is so convoluted, so tangled up in self-loathing and years of agonizing loneliness, the average person wouldn’t get it. Some days, as she’s matured and healed, she finds even she has trouble understanding it.

There’s not a day that goes by she doesn’t spend half of it feeling nothing but regret. That’s the healthy part of her, the well-adjusted adult who grew from the little lost girl. She’s sane enough to know she threw away the best relationship she’s ever had. She’s sane enough to know she saved him from future hardships with her.

The sound of the empire striking back stirs her from her thoughts. Regina gets the Darth Vader theme as a ringtone so Emma never forgets who really owns her career.

“Hey,” Emma answers as she reaches her apartment door.

“Nice of you to finally answer your phone.” She can hear the glare in Regina’s voice. “You know you pay me to do this right? Not the other way around. Get your money’s worth, why don’t you.” Emma rolls her eyes as she packs her laptop in her messenger bag.

Regina Mills is a fierce woman, as charming as she is aggressive. She can pretty much get anyone to do anything she wants. Emma doesn’t practice in the ways of the force, but she’s certain Regina knows a Jedi mind trick or two, and as her agent, that comes in handy.

What doesn’t come in handy is her tie to Killian. Regina’s husband Robin happens to be Killian’s cousin. Emma avoided Regina’s calls for months after the break-up, afraid she’ll have to answer the same question she’s been asking herself all afternoon. Once she finally started accepting calls again, it seemed Regina had moved on to bigger and better things: A movie deal.

“Right” she sighs. “What’s my money bringing me today?”

“This isn’t money related, so much as a word of warning.” Regina’s tone doesn’t seem as sass-filled as before, so it’s clear she’s not the one wielding the threat. She actually sounds a bit sympathetic. “Belle and I pulled straws to see who got to break this to you, and I, unfortunately, pulled short this time around.”

“There’s a point here.” Emma urges, feeling ill-fated all of a sudden.

“Killian just moved to NYC.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Emma braces herself for pain, but is met with an absence of feeling altogether. Her knees buckle and she finds purchase against her kitchen island. “Emma?”

“When?” She whispers.

“Just a couple of weeks. He took a job with the NYC public libraries, he’s actually doing really well and has just approached Belle with an idea to get the youth excited about writing. There’s a chance you’ll run into him at the office, so I just...we both thought a heads up was necessary.”

“Which library?” because Fate is a nosy bitch and has no business showing up and guiding her to the man she ran from.

“Emma?”

“Which library”

“I think...if I recall correctly, his home base is in Harlem.”

“I’ll call you back.”

-/-

She thought about leaving the country. At the very least, the state. She is overwhelmed, without a question just so damn overwhelmed. She has gotten so used to tears these days, she’s a little shocked she didn’t cry the minute she heard his name.

Her body had other ideas, because although she definitely meant to get on a train going the opposite direction, she found herself in Harlem 25 minutes later.

She sits in the middle of the library at an open table, clickity clacking as loudly as she can. Part of her really believes that maybe if she saw him, she’d remember why she left.

Another part is certain that masochism is her new favorite hobby.

He never appears.

-/- “Hey” Emma answers her phone going off for the eighth time today.

“Emma?” Belle sounds more relieved than usual. “Where have you been, I’ve been calling non-stop since 3.” Emma rolls her neck to view the time on the DVR.

7:45 pm

“Sorry, I’ve been reading all day.” she hasn’t talked to anyone for another two weeks. She does this far too often to still have a support system. Emma’s not sure she’d pour the same amount of effort into anyone who went radio silent every other week.

“We had a meeting at 2:30.”

“Sorry.” She shrugs, because honestly, nothing even matters.

“I’m coming over,” Belle says decidedly.

“No, Belle, you don’t have to do that.” Emma regrets answering on the eighth attempt. “Let’s reschedule.”

“We just did, I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Open the door.” Sure, she’s a small, sweet, meek-looking woman, but what most people don’t know about Belle is she could slay dragons with pure determination alone. In a battle of wills, she's even got Regina beat.

Emma peels herself off the sofa for the first time since noon, snuggie falling to the floor as she heads for the shower. If Bella can make the journey to her apartment, Emma can at least shower. Sure enough, 30 minutes later she’s greeting Belle at the door, a pizza in hand.

“Are you okay?” She sets the pizza on the kitchen island and wraps Emma in a hug. Emma tries to pull her head far enough to keep her hair from wetting Belle.

“Yeah, just...the creative process. Ya know.” Emma trails off as the hug ends. Of course, she’s not okay. ‘Okay’ people don’t stop answering their phones for weeks, they don’t stare at blank pages until their vision blurs. They don’t behave this way. This was her first shower in days.

“He was in the office yesterday,” Belle says after a long silence, just a full 3 minutes of her studying Emma from head to toe. Do her eyes just scream ‘Killian’ every time someone looks at her. “He said he called to congratulate you on the screenplay adaptation.”

“No, he didn’t.” She’s quick to dismiss. She scoured her missed calls for days looking for his name, he never called.

“How would you know, you never answer your phone, Emma.” She sits on a counter stool, tugging Emma to join her. “He’s going to be in every day next week, and I think…”

“No.” Emma cuts her off.

“Let me finish.” Belle opens the pizza box, sliding it toward Emma. “I think you should take a vacation. Get out of the city for a while, maybe visit Storybrooke, since you know he’s not there to run into.” Emma grabs a slice of pizza, not sure when she last ate but too preoccupied with the idea of leaving the city for a while. She ran to NYC. Now she’s running back to Storybrooke. Is he just going to chase her back and forth?

“Did he say anything else about me?” she hates the desperation gnawing at her.

“He asked me why…” Belle sighs “I told him we’ll all find out in book four.”

-/-

God only knows what compelled her to do the exact opposite of what Belle suggested and show up at the publisher’s office. Probably the same thing that led her to the Harlem library a few weeks ago. She bought a new outfit. She realizes she’s barely even worn jeans over the last eight months, and now she’s in a dress and heels like she has an interview to work here. She’s wearing makeup and perfume. She’s trying her best to cover up and signs of the wreck she’s been for months.

The office seems busier than it has ever been, many new, young faces bustling about. She keeps her features calm as she scans every inch of every room she enters for him.

“Emma?” Belle is hurried as she crosses the main floor to meet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I know.” Emma returns the hushed tone Belle is using. “I reworked some chapters, delayed the breakup, and gave more of Aly’s history.” and Belle nods, but is evidently not listening.

“He’s here.” Belle looks almost frightened. “So if you want to reconsider, I would do it now. Otherwise…”

“Swan?” no one calls her Swan. She’s paralyzed. What did she think was going to happen? How did she think she was going to react? When she paced around her apartment for three hours this morning, did she think she was going to just be okay? He would be here, he would see her and suddenly everything would be okay? “Emma…” He tries softer, less shocked, more timid.

This is the moment. In every love story, angst finds its way in, rips the reader’s heart out and although they’ve been bleeding for chapters now, they can feel nothing at this moment. Time is still, the lights are dim, and all we see is Emma and him.

He looks like himself, just more professional. He’s in well-fitted gray slacks, a navy dress shirt, his hair is longer though. He’s got more scruff on his neck than normal. His eyes are too blue, truly, for anyone to notice another inch of him. They stare at her, the same shade that’s been haunting her dreams, and she still struggles to define it. Everything. They’ve always been everything, no matter if it’s more cotton candy than blue coconut.

“Killian.” She swallows. Her throat makes this awkward gurgling sound and she wants to melt into the floor. Why is she here?

It’s suddenly so quiet but so loud. She can hear her heart hammering in her eardrums. No one says anything for a long stretch of time, maybe 2 seconds, maybe 3 hours, she can’t be sure. She just knows there is so much said in the silence.

“How are you?” She asks without thought. The look on his face is devastating.

“Sorry?” He mocks a laugh. “How am I?”

She’s not completely delusional. This is a thing humans say to one another, no? Why does it feel so foreign all at once, like she’s attempting English for the first time with a local?

“Killian” she sighs, releasing the most dizzying breath.

“I’m good” he grits, suddenly covered in constrained anger. “And you?”

And now they are strangers, all dressed up and nothing to talk about.

“Me?” Her tongue drags along her lower lip to buy time. “Good.” She nods.

“I’m just pleased everyone is good.” Belle smiles sweetly. “Now, Killian and I have a brief meeting, and afterward, if you’re still available, we can go over your rewrite.”

An exit strategy. This is quite possibly the only thing she could have hoped for.

“Swan was a bright young writer once” Killian grins, wickedly. “Why don’t you attend the meeting. We’re talking about a youth writing program.” He’s obviously bating her. How dare she show up on a day he’s here and act like she didn’t destroy him…

“Sure” she agrees. Partly because she’s too stubborn to back down from a challenge, and mainly because she did destroy him and there’s that whole thing about masochism she recently discovered about herself.

Belle looks beside herself. Her eyes narrow and she puffs her chest for a moment before leading them to a meeting space. Two more individuals join them, laptops ready to jot down notes and ideas. Her meetings are only ever with Belle so, for Emma, this seems like red carpet treatment.

He has amazing ideas. He loves the idea of bringing an artistic outlet to the children of Harlem. He was always so much more than a shelfer. He was always a dreamer, with these brilliant, compassionate ideas for helping everyone feel less alone, more encouraged.

She was always a fence, holding him back from the best parts of himself.

-/-

When the meeting concludes, Belle graciously thanks Killian for coming, makes promises of action, and attempts to say goodbye.

Killian, as good-natured and kind as he can be, has always had a persistently obnoxious side. He invites himself to the next meeting.

“This is only fair, Swan.” he smiles, though his eyes are full of darkness.

They regroup in Belle’s office after a bathroom break.

As much as Emma is dying on the inside, Belle looks absolutely disturbed by this. She can’t imagine the discomfort in being the third wheel of a breakup reunion.

“So...when we uh, when we left off, you were telling me why they broke up.” Belle sighs, knowing how awful this is. Emma smiles, hoping it lets her off the hook a little. After all, Belle told her to leave town. Emma decided to torture herself.

“Right.” Emma takes a large breath in, holding it while she pulls out her folder. Only releasing once its in Belle’s hands. Killian is studying her like he has a Chemistry final to take tomorrow and she’s the only hope. “Alysandra left Atlas for his…” She’s said it to herself. She’s made hints to others, but Killian has never had a clue. “For his own good. She’s derailed him from his journey. She’s made him less of a pirate, more of a…”

“More of a what?” Killian’s breath is sharp as it floods in through his nose and out through his mouth. “What did she do to him?”

“She reduced him to a caregiver,” Belle answers from what’s written in the text. “Alysandra took over the journey of discovery. She was suddenly the main character.” Belle looks up at Emma with a look she’d only be able to classify as “delayed understanding.”

“In a story about Atlas, Aly becomes the focus. Everything he does, he does for her.” Emma can feel herself losing composure, eyes stinging with tears, throat drier than a desert. Somehow, someway, she finds her way to Killian’s eyes. “He wasn’t living for himself anymore. He had no purpose but to love her. And it was destroying everything.”

She’s not sure if it’s understanding she expects, or maybe gratitude, for saving him from the needy monster that she is. She knows neither is what she received.

“Did you ask Atlas, perhaps… perhaps that’s what made him happiest?” Killian’s eyes are drilling into her like nails, pinning her against a wall.

She is less.

Speechless, motionless, hopeless…

Less sure she did the right thing. Less firm on her decision. Just so much less than she was the day before.

There’s movement after a long pause, not by her, but Belle, gently setting the files down and moving to leave them alone.

“Aly is an orphan” Emma explains and she can see his head start to shake, but she has to be firm. “Listen. She is not the strong-willed, rebel without a cause she pretends to be. Some days the sadness from being alone for so long stunts her. She spends hours upon hours laying awake wishing she could sleep forever. She can be a wreck, a mess, an impossible woman to love.”

Does it make it easier to talk about herself as if she’s someone else? She’s been doing it for so long, all the catharsis from writing herself into stories, just to unpack the things that plague her? Maybe she can have sympathy for anyone but her, maybe its the only way she can recognize how her behavior impacts others. Maybe the book is why she left in the first place.

“You make it impossible to love you, Emma.” She’s never seen his jaw trembling like this before. “And against all odds, through resilience and patience, I’ve found a way to do the bloody impossible. You can cover it up in characters you’ve based off of us, but this isn’t fiction. I was real. What we had...what we had was real. It wasn’t easy, but when you finally let me in, it was simple. We were happy.”

“You were happy?” She brushes tears from her cheeks as she shakes her head in disagreement. “Was it simple? To come home and find I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch? Was that the ideal relationship you dreamt of, to see all of your energy, love, and time wasted on someone who couldn’t get themselves off the couch?”

“So you got yourself off the couch now.” Killian stands, eyes frantically scanning Emma from head to toe. “Well done, it only took the motivation of ending a relationship to do it.”

“I did it for you.” and she believes that, with everything in her, she left for his own good.

“Did you now?” He seems so out of breath for standing still. “Or could you have possibly woken up one day and realized the weight of a relationship was what was pinning you to the couch. Was it that Atlas cared for Aly too much, or was it the expectation that Aly would have cared for him in return? Was breaking my heart easier than just trusting me with yours?”

And all at once in the middle of the ocean, she can see Aly waking up all alone in the captain’s quarters, searching the whole damn ship for a man who did what the men she loves always do.

“Maybe there were days you thought I was miserable” he kneels before her as the ocean finds its way to this office. His eyes are ocean blue, always changing hues depending on if the sun is shining, or a storm is brewing or they’re in the deep. “But you weren’t afraid I’d die that way, always miserable, no...some part of you thought I’d leave before I let that happen. That’s the orphan I loved. You were never a mess. You were a survivalist.”

So maybe that’s their story. Aly watched Atlas change his life for her, and realized he’s going to live to regret it. Did the last seven months hurt less because it was her choice? If he would have pulled the trigger, would the bullet do that much more damage?

“I would have died miserable.”

-/-

The history she’s writing is hers and hers alone. When she was younger, when her heart was stolen and broken, when she always ended up alone. She was writing an escape plan.

This was the first time she was the one who left, and to quell the guilt of being her own worst nightmare, she forced herself to believe she was doing it for him. How many people have left her for her own good? How many times did she think that they were doing her a favor?

She’s been sitting motionless for who knows how long when Belle comes back. Killian is long gone but his words linger like those dizzy stars after a concussion. Her head is throbbing trying to make sense of it. This wasn’t just seven months spent believing the lie. Now she’s searching for the truth.

She gets anxious in monotony, like a stench in stagnant water, she is repulsed by the concept. She’s never wanted to do the same thing every day. She doesn’t want a picket fence, she wants…She does like a cute cottagey feel with a nice picket fence, she could…she could deal with a picket fence.

She definitely does not want a husband though, or to be barefoot and pregnant, or…

There were times, she’d look at him fresh out of the shower, or in his sleep and he’d look so much younger, she’d wonder what their kids would look like. There have been times she’s searched her fingers as they moved across her keyboard and realized her ring finger would look nice with a natural stone set in some brass band. It was never anything he did that scared her. It was that she thought about more. The concept of more scared her, and the fact that she was greedy and foolish enough to want it.

Four years is a long time to not talk about marriage, but after they moved past her initial anxiety attacks over having a boyfriend, he never really pushed for much again. Moving in together was her idea. He kept enough stuff at her place and with Elsa moving abroad, it made sense to do it. That’s as far as she was going to take it. Another few years piled up and she was busy writing and he was busy being supportive of that, she recognized she was his sun. When he made sure she ate during the weeks she barely left the house, when he kept her house plants alive, when he did her laundry, reminded her to shower, and told her he’s proud of her too often to quantify, she knew she was his ship. An inanimate object, something someone can love so much and not receive the love back in return, and sure, he’s as silly as a pirate to believe a ship that holds itself together while he’s sailing on her loves him, and that’s just her role.

Hold yourself together Emma, that’s always been your role.

She started to get bitter and insecure. What is she contributing to this relationship? How is she making him any better? Has he even written many songs since they moved in together, has she gone to see him perform, has he performed? Some days she was so enthralled in her writing, she didn’t realize he wasn’t home all day. It was his day off and he was gone for longer than a workday. He could have been having an affair for all she knew. For all he did, he deserved to be having an affair, falling in love with someone who would be there for him, encouraging his dreams, and dedicating herself to him.

After that day, she started her drafts. Killian, you’re so much more than I deserved…Or Killian, your life paused the day you met me. And finally, after months, she left him with I need this to be over.

She’s a writer, a published author, an English major and an avid reader yet, through years and years of literature and just terrible romcoms, she never learned how to break up with someone. She never knew the words to say to him, so she said nothing. He called for three-five days, she’s not sure as she was in a sobbing-induced coma. He sent texts, he sent freaking carrier pigeons, and she locked herself in a hotel room with her laptop and her broken heart. Finally, an email came in.

Emma, I’ve moved out. Everything I’ve left is yours…among the worn t-shirts you liked to sleep in and the novels we’ve collected over the years is my heart. Goodbye Love.

“Emma,” Belle brings her back to the present after a very long, painful trip into her past. “Are you okay?”

Why is that word even used to describe how ‘good’ something or someone is?

“No.” She glances over at Belle, she thinks to ask if she talked to him in the hall after he left, if he said anything, if he seemed ‘Okay’ himself but she settles back to a business mindset. Work is the only constant. “Aly left because she didn’t want to get left again.”

“And that’s how it ends?” Belle hands her the folder back. “You can do better.”

-/-

“The concept of fiction isn’t a lack of reality, it just hasn’t happened exactly that way yet.”

She hears his voice cascading down the ramp she’s sitting at the bottom of. It's been a week since Belle’s meeting and she made her way back to the library. Back to their roots. There’s so much history in this building, but the history she’s looking for lives within her. There’s a group of teenagers huddled together like they’re on a tour. Her fingers shake as she looks back down at her laptop.

“Don’t be afraid to use your own daily vernacular. It’s just as likely as any well-researched, powered by thesaurus dialogue, but it will come to you much more easily. That’s your voice.”

His voice sounds increasingly close. She wants to look but if they lock eyes now, while he’s busy, she’s back to being the center of attention. Why did she come here? Does she want to get back to being the center of his attention?

“Swan?” her stomach flips violently. She really didn’t think this through. Her neck trembles as she cranes to look up at him. “Hi.” He clears his throat, the group of teenagers studying them closely from behind him.

“Hi” she breathes. “Uhm…”

“Do you want to meet my junior author group?” He cuts in quickly.

“Hi.” She repeats, only this time her eyes travel across the young faces. “I’m Emma.”

“Emma Swan?” A young girl in the back pipes up. “You write Cap Zeph.” ‘Cap Zeph’ is a very popular Tumblr tag, Emma’s been told. She is now a mild-day D list celebrity with the news of the screenplay adaptation. She never published under her real name until this one, Killian’s idea.

“That I do.” Emma feigns a smile.

“Emma Swan” Killian begins, chest swelling “came up with the idea in a small town library.”

“Really?” another girl with wavy blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders asks.

“Yes, and Killian Jones worked there. He’s…evidently the inspiration. Hair as dark as night, eyes as blue as the sea he sails upon.” Every girl and one boy in the group glance at Killian, amorously. Still handsome as ever. He looks down, scratching behind his ear and chuckling dryly. She wonders if his throat burns the same way her eyes do or if this feels so natural he’s happy to fall back into it.

“Why don’t you all find some books to research personal voice from in the YA section, hmm?” He dismisses the group quickly. They share assuming glances and move to leave in pairs, surely gossiping on the way.

Being alone again is terrifying. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Why does she always go looking for him? What does she want? How can they come out of this okay? What is okay?

“What brings you?” Killian starts. He isn’t looking anywhere but her and the look in his eyes leaves frost on her flesh. His expression is so blank. She has no idea if he even wants her here after their last conversation.

“I was just looking for inspiration.” He nods.

“There are study rooms.” He adds, motioning in the direction she may find them. “My office is actually at a different location, or I’d…suggest…”

“Do you hate me?” it comes out without warning.

“No.” He winces. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s lying or because he wishes he were lying.

“Why not?” She asks. He flinches.

“Christ, Swan. Stop it.” He grabs a seat across from her at the small bistro-style table she’s been working on. She closes her laptop to remove barriers between them. “I hated myself for a while. I thought maybe I should have never lost sight of who you were. You’ve always been guarded. I thought I had broken down some of your walls. I should have never assumed I tore them all down.”

This voice within her tells her that it's no man’s job to do the work for her. Her walls are her own to remove.

“What about your walls?” Emma counters. She didn’t come for an argument, but Killian had trauma, he was damaged in theory, but always presented himself as such a well-adjusted, forgiving, kind, loving man. “Maybe you had to go brick by brick, but you knew they were there. I just watched you for years never act like anything troubled you.”

He laughs, loudly.

She’s startled more that she laughs in return than questions it.

“Emma, my love...of course I was troubled. I still am. I drink far too much and try to solve all of my problems myself without anyone’s help.” He’s still smiling as he confesses.”Hell, I didn’t tell anyone we broke up for months and it wasn’t because I thought you were coming back. I just knew I wasn’t going to let anyone worry about me.”

“You’re not troubled” she shakes her head but thinks back to every time he came home frustrated and sealed himself up before she could get a good glimpse of it. “Are you?”

“I spent an entire day at the marina grieving my dead brother, over a decade after losing him. Every time I went to leave and come home to you, I’d get upset again. I used to stay away until I could pull myself together.” His smile slips into something dark and Emma realizes all the ways they failed at communicating. “I loved you just enough to only show you my best parts. I never trusted our love enough to show you everything. And it’s not because you were sad every now and then.”

And she sees the orphan in him the moment she realizes being left behind were his worst fears, too.

“You thought I’d leave…”

“I think the term is ‘best-laid plans.’” His smile is back “Convince an author to fall in love with you, live forever. Only, with my luck, I get to read my heart get broken in the exact same way whenever I’d like. I was looking forward to your book, knowing I’d get to see us in love again.” She considers the part about him looking forward to her book.

“It’s as much my book as yours.” She means that. When she first wrote the Cap Zeph short stories, she had no plan of publishing. Killian pushed for her to immortalize this, to believe in herself and sell it. When the first went well, he convinced her to meet with Regina. “I mean, you are the entire series, after all.” He shakes his head and sighs.

She doesn’t have a response and the seconds tick by. It only takes a few before they reach an awkward silence where one person makes an excuse to leave. And then when do they see each other again?

“I should get back to my writers.” He moves to stand and she wants to jump up, but she doesn’t know what words follow that. She writes fiction. It's why this book has been so damn difficult. Writing their personalities into a fantasy of pirates and fairies, that's one thing. Writing history is another. She can build on what has already happened. This in-the-moment dichotomy, will they? Won’t they? Can they make it work? It’s disturbing.

He’s the quick thinker. Always a come-back, a pun, a literary quote…

“The only thing worse than a boy who hates you…” She opens her laptop nonchalantly, as if it won’t wound her for him to leave. “...a boy who loves you.”

Among the many novels they shared, “The Book Thief” was one of Killian’s most treasured.

He stares at her with wonder glazing his face. “If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.”

Maybe she’d burn every book in this library, for a chance to experience falling in love with Killian all over again, as if it weren’t a moment in history.

The screenplay would read ‘They share a look of longing’ and she’s not sure that’s how she’d describe it. ‘Longing’ seems more cliche and not nearly as descriptive as her quickening pulse would use.

This feels like a pivotal moment where she realizes that they don’t necessarily have to not be in love anymore. They could take a slow pace, like windchimes waiting for a breeze to bring them together. That’s all a Zephyr is.

“My number hasn’t changed.”

-/-

His number has. She gets a text around 1am. Are you up? It's odd, because Killian isn’t a booty-call kind of guy, but who knows what a breakup can do to a man.

I rarely sleep before 2. Her phone rings moments later.

“Hello?” her tone sounds like a question, but she knows it’s him.

“Swan, it’s Killian.”

“Yes, Grandpa, I’m aware.” She can’t help but chuckle. Almost too elated that he’s on the other end. She can hear him laugh on the other end.

“Do you remember the first time we started speaking on the phone? You wouldn’t give me your number until maybe the 18th date.” She didn’t trust herself then. They took things so slowly.

“You know I like a clean getaway.” Is it too soon to joke about always having one foot out the door?

“What's the escape plan this time?”

“Probably the West Coast since you chased me here”

“I did not!” His laugh is vibrating against her ribs, setting the tempo for her heart.

Could it be easy all over again? One quote and he’s calling her? One call and they go see a movie? One date and…

And thinking about the end is how she got there, isn’t it?

“Did you plan on seeing me again? Knowing you were moving here?”

“Of course. I planned on seeing you no matter where I lived...I prepared for you to come into focus and the rest of my world to blur.” He sighs and she can hear his mattress settle as he moves. “I didn’t plan on seeing you in my library again.”

“Where else would I get inspiration. You’re my muse.”

They talk til 4am. She’s rethought every word she’s said these last seven months. She rarely moves without tension tugging at the back of her neck. Her thoughts are never clear and simple, not since she left. And here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with nothing but a familiar voice on the other end, she hasn’t second-guessed a word.

-/- She’s not sure if she should call it a date. He invites her to a scholarship meeting and sure, they’re dressed up, but because it's a business meeting. He talks to the team, Belle is in attendance, and she barely says a word.

But he asks her out for drinks afterward and suddenly she’s all he’s focused on, laughing about old times, discussing the interesting twist in literature they’ve both read recently. She asks him if he’s written any songs and he beams brightly when he tells her ‘only recently, Love.’

Sometimes love is familiar, like a book you’ve read a dozen times. There’s comfort in knowing everything and loving it anyway.

-/-

“Are you dating him?” Belle watches her from the doorway as Killian moves down the hall to his meeting. They came to the office together this time, maybe a peck on the cheek occurred before his departure, and maybe Belle witnessed it.

“I don’t know.” Emma tries not to think logistically about what’s going on. It’s been 4 weeks, she’s written 8 chapters and Aly is about to find Atlas again. “For the first time since I started, I know how book 4 will end.”

They go over the recent chapters and Belle seems subtly impressed but she’s holding back. Emma knows it's Killian-related. She just knows she can’t pry without being pried open in return.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it's beautiful. From tragedy to triumph is the Captain Zephyr way.” Belle hands the work back to Emma with a sad smile. “What makes it different this time? True love always finds its way back to one another, but how do we know they won’t split up again?” Emma knows this isn’t about the novel. They haven’t yet gotten back together to split up.

Does she know they’ll never separate again? Of course not. Killian is dedicated, devoted like a priest to the cloth. She is very aware that his heart is not yet healed, but eager to love her all over again. A few dates and late-night phone calls don’t make forever a promise anyone could keep.

“We don’t.”

-/- He’s walking her home after another fun night at a bar near her apartment. They’ve been casually seeing each other but nothing more than a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodnight has occurred. They get to her building in record time, too preoccupied by the conversation on who in Hollywood would make a handsome Captain Zeph. “Johnny Depp doesn’t have blue eyes.” Emma laughs. “You can’t just pick the most popular actors, and he’s already a pirate in another franchise.” They’re at the doors of her building and his eyes are boring into her. “Do you want to come up?”

And maybe it's because they haven’t had a real kiss in what’s very close to being a year now, but he seems almost nervous.

“I’m afraid I miss you too much.” he scratches behind his ear and looks down the road. When he looks back at her he seems shy.

“Chris Wood,” she comments. She liked him on Supergirl. “Come upstairs.”

It's the look on his face when he studies her apartment that makes her remember they broke up. As if she had forgotten months of trying to hold herself together, he reminds her that she broke him when his face floods with that loneliness.

“Killian...”

“This is a very nice place you have.” his eyes are darting from one corner to the next, lingering on the most significant differences. “So ‘New York’ it's almost as if you’ve never lived anywhere else.”

“Your apartment isn’t ‘New York?’” it's so weird that they’ve never seen each other's place when they’ve seen each other's souls.

“It’s just a place to lay my head.” He glances back at her with something almost accusatory when he says “You’ve gone ahead and made yourself a home.” And it has never felt like that, not once, when she was hiding away, when she would run home to it.

This place, this city has always been a foster home she feels like she’ll get kicked out of if she gets too comfortable. It wasn’t like their home together. Their home felt like roots. Here she feels like an implant that won’t take to the soil.

“The designer furnishings don’t mean shit to me.” Emma moves to the bookshelf, all new and shiny but it's just a box to keep what matters most. “Only what I’ve come here with is all I care to take. She pulls out a few books, “Wuthering Heights,” “The Book Thief,” and “Emma.” She hands them to him knowing they were always his.

“I wanted you to keep them.” He starts to give them back when she waves her hand.

“What do you need to not resent this place? To know I have everything you left tucked away in all these new places?” she motions for him to follow her to the bedroom and he slowly drifts behind, setting the novels on the coffee table. Her bed is covered in pillows dressed in his t-shirts instead of pillowcases. She keeps his cologne on the bedside table as if it were some expensive aromatherapy pillow spray. The blanket Granny from the local diner in Storybrooke made them lay at the foot of the bed, an anchor crocheted into the loops.

“I only drink whiskey you like. I only sleep in your t-shirts.” she sits on her bed, reaching for his hand to pull him down with her. “I don’t know what we are, and I can’t promise you I’m not a tragedy waiting to happen. I just know that I haven’t been able to erase an inch of you.”

He kisses her then. It's not on her terms, and he has only ever waited for everything to be on her terms. So when he pulls her in, hand cupping the back of her head, mouth open and adventurous, she gasps.

His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer to him, her hands pressed flat against his chest as his tongue enters her mouth with desperation. She fists his shirt in her hands, pressing even closer to him as her tongue reacts in kind. It has been the longest year without him and he’s kissing her like they’re running out of time.

All at once they’re falling as he lays her down on her back, continuing to claim her mouth as his property. Her hands start moving, tugging and fumbling with buttons and zippers and just much too much fabric for her liking. When she moves for his briefs he tugs back from her lips.

“Is this what you want?” Her response is to slip her dress over her head. Any questions to follow are puffed out in a husky tone against her ear.

Sometimes love is erotica, so she catalogs every second of it because nothing has ever happened quite like this before.

-/-

They spend the next few months together and she bangs out the rest of the book in record time. Regina and Belle throw her a submission party. She dodges questions about their future and tries to focus on the book.

“So Aly and Atlas together again,” Robin questions her as Killian returns with a drink for the both of them. She knows he’s not talking about the story. Killian has been very careful to not assume much about their status. Both of them have just stuck to ‘seeing where it goes.’

But it's not like they just met six months ago. They have history, they have four years of standing together at parties and being a couple. Do they have the luxury of casually dating? If all happiness is fleeting, do they dive face-first in it or wade in the shallow end.

“I love Killian.” She says firmly. It’s never not been true from the moment she realized it, in a foreign library miles and miles away from home. He is not easily erased, and it has become glaringly obvious it will only destroy her to try. “I always have and I always will.” Killian’s eyes have never been so doe-like. She’s never been so bold.

“I…” Robin’s face flushes, certainly not expecting her to speak so proudly.

“And I love Emma, if it isn’t ardently clear. She’s everything to me and I’m happy just to exist in her life.” He raises his whiskey to her and she follows suit like a gentlemen’s agreement has just been formed: To love one another without concern of what it means. As she takes a sip she realizes what everything means. He hasn’t pushed aside his dreams in the slightest this go around. He’s been focused and driven, ambitious and busy. Somehow, he’s still considering her ‘everything.’ Maybe what she thought was sacrifice all that time ago was really just love.

So they stay in love.

-/-

Another year goes by and the first film is set to release. Although Emma and Killian still pay rent at their separate apartments, they spend every night together. Sometimes it's downtown in Killian’s studio, and other nights it's in the heart of the city at Emma’s. Commitment isn’t measured by who gave what up. It has shifted to who stays. They both do, and every day they make the decision to stay, when it's 5 months since Killian has slept alone or 10 months since Emma had dinner without him. They stay together with one promise in mind. They love each other. And for as long as Love is Present, they will choose each other.

Love is History

“Art imitates Life right?” Belle closes the folder encasing a rough draft of her first few chapters.

“All good things come to an end.” Emma shrugs as if the concept of him being just a ‘good’ thing ending doesn’t devastate her. He was the best thing.

She thought she’d never write their break up.

“You read book 3: “Wind’s Ally”” Emma leans back in her chair, studying Belle right back. “You know their history.”

-/-

The sun is setting over the Manhattan skyline when she gets back to her apartment. She doesn’t know where she went after the meeting but her mind just got back to the present and she’s pissed.

“Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

-/-

Congratulations, Emma, you saved him...from ever having to care about you again.

-/-

She thinks of his face.

Three hours pass and all she has in a google doc is ‘why?’

-/-

Despite the first failure to launch, she finds she quite likes that library. She’s giving herself a pep talk this time, before she finds herself staring at a blank screen wondering why again.

The sound of the empire striking back stirs her from her thoughts. Regina gets the Darth Vader theme as a ringtone so Emma never forgets who really owns her career.

“Hey,” Emma answers as she reaches her apartment door.

“Right” she sighs. “What’s my money bringing me today?”

“There’s a point here.” Emma urges, feeling ill-fated all of a sudden.

“When?” She whispers.

“Which library?” because Fate is a nosy bitch and has no business showing up and guiding her to the man she ran from.

“Emma?”

“Which library”

“I think...if I recall correctly, his home base is in Harlem.”

“I’ll call you back.”

-/-

Her body had other ideas, because although she definitely meant to get on a train going the opposite direction, she found herself in Harlem 25 minutes later.

She sits in the middle of the library at an open table, clickity clacking as loudly as she can. Part of her really believes that maybe if she saw him, she’d remember why she left.

Another part is certain that masochism is her new favorite hobby.

He never appears.

-/-

“Hey” Emma answers her phone going off for the eighth time today.

“Emma?” Belle sounds more relieved than usual. “Where have you been, I’ve been calling non-stop since 3.” Emma rolls her neck to view the time on the DVR.

7:45 pm

“We had a meeting at 2:30.”

“Sorry.” She shrugs, because honestly, nothing even matters.

“I’m coming over,” Belle says decidedly.

“No, Belle, you don’t have to do that.” Emma regrets answering on the eighth attempt. “Let’s reschedule.”

“Are you okay?” She sets the pizza on the kitchen island and wraps Emma in a hug. Emma tries to pull her head far enough to keep her hair from wetting Belle.

“No, he didn’t.” She’s quick to dismiss. She scoured her missed calls for days looking for his name, he never called.

“How would you know, you never answer your phone, Emma.” She sits on a counter stool, tugging Emma to join her. “He’s going to be in every day next week, and I think…”

“No.” Emma cuts her off.

“Did he say anything else about me?” she hates the desperation gnawing at her.

“He asked me why…” Belle sighs “I told him we’ll all find out in book four.”

-/-

The office seems busier than it has ever been, many new, young faces bustling about. She keeps her features calm as she scans every inch of every room she enters for him.

“Emma?” Belle is hurried as she crosses the main floor to meet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I know.” Emma returns the hushed tone Belle is using. “I reworked some chapters, delayed the breakup, and gave more of Aly’s history.” and Belle nods, but is evidently not listening.

“He’s here.” Belle looks almost frightened. “So if you want to reconsider, I would do it now. Otherwise…”

“Killian.” She swallows. Her throat makes this awkward gurgling sound and she wants to melt into the floor. Why is she here?

“How are you?” She asks without thought. The look on his face is devastating.

“Sorry?” He mocks a laugh. “How am I?”

She’s not completely delusional. This is a thing humans say to one another, no? Why does it feel so foreign all at once, like she’s attempting English for the first time with a local?

“Killian” she sighs, releasing the most dizzying breath.

“I’m good” he grits, suddenly covered in constrained anger. “And you?”

And now they are strangers, all dressed up and nothing to talk about.

“Me?” Her tongue drags along her lower lip to buy time. “Good.” She nods.

“I’m just pleased everyone is good.” Belle smiles sweetly. “Now, Killian and I have a brief meeting, and afterward, if you’re still available, we can go over your rewrite.”

An exit strategy. This is quite possibly the only thing she could have hoped for.

She was always a fence, holding him back from the best parts of himself.

-/-

When the meeting concludes, Belle graciously thanks Killian for coming, makes promises of action, and attempts to say goodbye.

Killian, as good-natured and kind as he can be, has always had a persistently obnoxious side. He invites himself to the next meeting.

“This is only fair, Swan.” he smiles, though his eyes are full of darkness.

They regroup in Belle’s office after a bathroom break.

As much as Emma is dying on the inside, Belle looks absolutely disturbed by this. She can’t imagine the discomfort in being the third wheel of a breakup reunion.

“More of a what?” Killian’s breath is sharp as it floods in through his nose and out through his mouth. “What did she do to him?”

She’s not sure if it’s understanding she expects, or maybe gratitude, for saving him from the needy monster that she is. She knows neither is what she received.

“Did you ask Atlas, perhaps… perhaps that’s what made him happiest?” Killian’s eyes are drilling into her like nails, pinning her against a wall.

She is less.

Speechless, motionless, hopeless…

Less sure she did the right thing. Less firm on her decision. Just so much less than she was the day before.

There’s movement after a long pause, not by her, but Belle, gently setting the files down and moving to leave them alone.

“So you got yourself off the couch now.” Killian stands, eyes frantically scanning Emma from head to toe. “Well done, it only took the motivation of ending a relationship to do it.”

“I did it for you.” and she believes that, with everything in her, she left for his own good.

And all at once in the middle of the ocean, she can see Aly waking up all alone in the captain’s quarters, searching the whole damn ship for a man who did what the men she loves always do.

“I would have died miserable.”

-/-

The history she’s writing is hers and hers alone. When she was younger, when her heart was stolen and broken, when she always ended up alone. She was writing an escape plan.

She definitely does not want a husband though, or to be barefoot and pregnant, or…

Hold yourself together Emma, that’s always been your role.

Finally, an email came in.

Emma,

I’ve moved out. Everything I’ve left is yours…among the worn t-shirts you liked to sleep in and the novels we’ve collected over the years is my heart.

Goodbye Love.

“Emma,” Belle brings her back to the present after a very long, painful trip into her past. “Are you okay?”

Why is that word even used to describe how ‘good’ something or someone is?

“And that’s how it ends?” Belle hands her the folder back. “You can do better.”

-/-

“The concept of fiction isn’t a lack of reality, it just hasn’t happened exactly that way yet.”

“Don’t be afraid to use your own daily vernacular. It’s just as likely as any well-researched, powered by thesaurus dialogue, but it will come to you much more easily. That’s your voice.”

“Hi” she breathes. “Uhm…”

“Do you want to meet my junior author group?” He cuts in quickly.

“Hi.” She repeats, only this time her eyes travel across the young faces. “I’m Emma.”

“That I do.” Emma feigns a smile.

“Emma Swan” Killian begins, chest swelling “came up with the idea in a small town library.”

“Really?” another girl with wavy blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders asks.

Being alone again is terrifying. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Why does she always go looking for him? What does she want? How can they come out of this okay? What is okay?

“I was just looking for inspiration.” He nods.

“There are study rooms.” He adds, motioning in the direction she may find them. “My office is actually at a different location, or I’d…suggest…”

“Do you hate me?” it comes out without warning.

“No.” He winces. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s lying or because he wishes he were lying.

“Why not?” She asks. He flinches.

This voice within her tells her that it's no man’s job to do the work for her. Her walls are her own to remove.

He laughs, loudly.

She’s startled more that she laughs in return than questions it.

“You’re not troubled” she shakes her head but thinks back to every time he came home frustrated and sealed himself up before she could get a good glimpse of it. “Are you?”

And she sees the orphan in him the moment she realizes being left behind were his worst fears, too.

“You thought I’d leave…”

She considers the part about him looking forward to her book.

She doesn’t have a response and the seconds tick by. It only takes a few before they reach an awkward silence where one person makes an excuse to leave. And then when do they see each other again?

He’s the quick thinker. Always a come-back, a pun, a literary quote…

“The only thing worse than a boy who hates you…” She opens her laptop nonchalantly, as if it won’t wound her for him to leave. “...a boy who loves you.”

Among the many novels they shared, “The Book Thief” was one of Killian’s most treasured.

He stares at her with wonder glazing his face. “If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.”

Maybe she’d burn every book in this library, for a chance to experience falling in love with Killian all over again, as if it weren’t a moment in history.

“My number hasn’t changed.”

-/-

His number has. She gets a text around 1am.

Are you up?

It's odd, because Killian isn’t a booty-call kind of guy, but who knows what a breakup can do to a man.

I rarely sleep before 2. Her phone rings moments later.

“Hello?” her tone sounds like a question, but she knows it’s him.

“Swan, it’s Killian.”

“Yes, Grandpa, I’m aware.” She can’t help but chuckle. Almost too elated that he’s on the other end. She can hear him laugh on the other end.

“Do you remember the first time we started speaking on the phone? You wouldn’t give me your number until maybe the 18th date.” She didn’t trust herself then. They took things so slowly.

“You know I like a clean getaway.” Is it too soon to joke about always having one foot out the door?

“What's the escape plan this time?”

“Probably the West Coast since you chased me here”

“I did not!” His laugh is vibrating against her ribs, setting the tempo for her heart.

Could it be easy all over again? One quote and he’s calling her? One call and they go see a movie? One date and…

And thinking about the end is how she got there, isn’t it?

“Did you plan on seeing me again? Knowing you were moving here?”

“Where else would I get inspiration. You’re my muse.”

-/-

She’s not sure if she should call it a date. He invites her to a scholarship meeting and sure, they’re dressed up, but because it's a business meeting. He talks to the team, Belle is in attendance, and she barely says a word.

Sometimes love is familiar, like a book you’ve read a dozen times. There’s comfort in knowing everything and loving it anyway.

-/-

They go over the recent chapters and Belle seems subtly impressed but she’s holding back. Emma knows it's Killian-related. She just knows she can’t pry without being pried open in return.

“You don’t like it?”

“We don’t.”

-/-

He’s walking her home after another fun night at a bar near her apartment. They’ve been casually seeing each other but nothing more than a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodnight has occurred. They get to her building in record time, too preoccupied by the conversation on who in Hollywood would make a handsome Captain Zeph.

“Johnny Depp doesn’t have blue eyes.” Emma laughs. “You can’t just pick the most popular actors, and he’s already a pirate in another franchise.” They’re at the doors of her building and his eyes are boring into her. “Do you want to come up?”

And maybe it's because they haven’t had a real kiss in what’s very close to being a year now, but he seems almost nervous.

“I’m afraid I miss you too much.” he scratches behind his ear and looks down the road. When he looks back at her he seems shy.

“Chris Wood,” she comments. She liked him on Supergirl. “Come upstairs.”

“Killian...”

“Your apartment isn’t ‘New York?’” it's so weird that they’ve never seen each other's place when they’ve seen each other's souls.

“I wanted you to keep them.” He starts to give them back when she waves her hand.

Her bed is covered in pillows dressed in his t-shirts instead of pillowcases. She keeps his cologne on the bedside table as if it were some expensive aromatherapy pillow spray. The blanket Granny from the local diner in Storybrooke made them lay at the foot of the bed, an anchor crocheted into the loops.

“Is this what you want?” Her response is to slip her dress over her head. Any questions to follow are puffed out in a husky tone against her ear.

Sometimes love is erotica, so she catalogs every second of it because nothing has ever happened quite like this before.

-/-

“I…” Robin’s face flushes, certainly not expecting her to speak so proudly.

So they stay in love.

-/-

#kenya writes #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #one shot #love is fiction #love is history #honestly #i forgot how to tag #I forgot everything #but I really plan on writing again #and I need to put myself out there #300 notes is a lot #oh this is definitely not beta'd #I own like ALL the mistakes and you know what #this might be one big mistake

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