#so i can get the foundations of things like bridges and stuff right away and continue through my house loans more organically

[prosebushpatch]

So I decided to restart my animal crossing new leaf for the 3ds file completely but I didn't know that Tom Nook would OFFER TO BUY the entire town and let you carry over the money to the new town and it's hysterical because the mayor basically peaces out, cashes in on 30 million bells, changes entire identity, and accidentally becomes the mayor in a new town. There's a fanfic there but I'm too lazy to write it.

[hils79]

Hils Watches Lovely Runner - Ep 4

HE SAVED HER AFTER THE CAR ACCIDENT I KNEW IT!

AND HE KNEW WHO SHE WAS WHEN THEY MET ON THE BRIDGE! Okay, that I did not see coming.

This is clearly going to be an excessive capslock episode I'm very sorry.

This whole scene hits different now that you know that he's been in love with her since he was in school, and that she's the reason he likes those sweets in the first place. I love this so much!

WAIT THAT'S JONGHO SINGING! OMG I know the song but I totally forgot it was from this drama. I am such a bad Atiny. Has this song played before and I just haven't noticed?

I am going to say that I'm going to be a bit annoyed if it turned out someone pushed him or something. It'd feel almost like saying 'we can't have a romantic lead who suffers from depression' or something like that. But I shall reserve judgement until we see how it plays out. I mean stuff keeps changing because of the time travel stuff anyway. Just a thought I had was all.

I understand the logic of trying to exactly recreate the situation that sent her back into the past last time but I'm not sure lying in a river in the middle of the night was part of the magic

Calling it now this dude killed him because Sunjae wanted to retire. I have absolutely no foundation for this theory beyond knowledge of drama tropes but that's what I think

I know that you're grieving for your best friend but why would you say something cryptic like this and then just hang up without explaining when she asks what you mean

Ah, the magic only works at midnight! That makes sense. As much as anything to do with magic makes sense. I still don't understand what caused her to come back to 2023 in the first place though. Is it because Sunjae told her he loves her even if she didn't hear it?

Oh no she remembers what happened while she was back in 2023 including rejecting Sunjae and hitting him with her bag. OH NO.

This poor boy though. The girl he likes has what seems like a total personality change, tells him to get lost, and then a week later she's back to the way she was again.

Oh, yeah, him. Love him calling her 'girlfriend' rather than her name just because Sunjae is standing right there

When you find out your 19 year old past self is totally cringe

He's handling the whole personality switch thing far better than Sunjae is

This is so funny I thought for sure she was going to be the one who inspired him to become a singer and instead she's doing whatever she can to make sure he doesn't become an idol to protect him.

Of course there's a bully. There's always a bully. He can be friends with the bitchy girl who hates Im Sol.

Oh, punch him!

Holy fuck she just headbutted him before Sunjae could even land a punch. I love her so much.

Ah, I see. She saved him from his bully and now he's going to save her from hers

Scrap that she saved herself because she's awesome

Oh that's so smart she yelled a bunch of stuff about the future so time froze and she could sneak past Sunjae's dad

I love that even though she knows Sunjae as a friend now she still goes into fangirl mode sometimes. It's so cute.

Really can't relate to what a heavy sleeper she is. This is, what, the second or third time she's been asleep while he's been there and hasn't woken up at all. I'd have been awake as soon as he opened the bedroom door.

God he's so adorable. Look at him comparing their hand sizes.

The only time he ever looks happy now that he can't swim is when he's with her. I'm fine. I'm definitely not crying.

So she gave him the advice that he gave her. Does that mean he only knew to say it to her because said it to him in the first place? My head hurts 😂

I mean they can. You just can't be friends with this particular girl because you're in love with her

This is honestly making all the cringe stuff I did as a teen seem totally sane and normal

Okay, what's with the sus taxi that was going to stop and then pulled away when the driver saw that Im Sol wasn't alone?

He's all wet again. And, hey, she's remembered that he was the one who saved her after her accident

[paintedscales]

How do they consciously realize that they like the other character? Does it take them a while?

Thank you for the ask! ; w ;

Useful / Fun Character Development Questions for Couples

Spoilers for HW, StB, ShB, and EW as a fair warning for anyone that hasn't gotten there.

--

TL;DR -> It takes a while. Four expansions worth of time. There's a whole Enemies to Lovers thing with becoming friends being a necessary mid-way point for the both of them. The realization point is in EW when Nomin refuses to let him slip through her fingers once she has that "Oh..." moment during the Sharlayan room scene.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It does take a while for Nomin to really put together the pieces that she likes Estinien more and more. Honestly, she probably never even thought of it being a possibility? (I guess that's not too much of a surprise given that she doesn't really experience strong romantic or sexual interest on sight). Especially since she did make somewhat of a plea in hopes of becoming friends after he was placed in the infirmary after the Dragonsong War had been concluded. They had been at odds with one another during nearly their entire campaign because she has more dragon-like features than anyone else in their entourage.

I don't have rose-tinted glasses about Ishgard and their views on the Au Ra people based on what we've been given. It wasn't a focal point, thankfully, but it is present. I feel like, even if Estinien may have had a respect for Nomin as the WoL (her power and ability), there are still barriers of prejudice that had to be unlearned (and successfully were over the course of HW!) to see her as more than a perceived heretical figure because of the views the people of Ishgard have born of fear and hatred of the Dravanians.

Meeting back with Estinien within her original homelands (which is one hell of a surprise to her, make no mistake) and helping him and Orn Khai allowed them to speak a little more plainly with one another and build bridges. And maybe it was for the best, because being back on the Steppe dredges up feelings and emotions that Estinien could relate with because they're similar to how he felt with Nidhogg. It offered a time for their shared experience with the Dragonsong War to be that foundation for a strong friendship. (I need to replay the StB DRG content, bear with me as I struggle with some gaps I've also yet to actually extrapolate upon for my own character stuff.)

Around that time is also the first time Nomin's true color of her scales had been revealed to Estinien. She painted them consistently till about the end of StB / start of ShB. So this was also a show of trust and the start of her finally being able to express and be herself to him.

I have a short that I'll release eventually where it does detail the tail end of the battle of Ghimlyt Dark from Estinien's point of view. As Estinien brings her back to safety, Nomin is in and out of a conscious state, a gentle questioning being done by the dragoon all the while to assess her well being, but also to get a grasp on what had happened.

Nomin, when actually conscious under Aymeric's care, dismisses the interactions that she can remember as being that of a dream. That is until Aymeric tells her that it was in fact Estinien that brought her back to safety. From there, it kind of becomes the seed that is planted, though is somewhat forgotten about during all the events of Shadowbringers (I mean, being whisked away to play the role of hero for a different star entirely does kind of take precedence).

Coming back to the Source, experiencing the Echo with Estinien and Gaius, and then being physically back in Estinien's presence is like a, "oh... right. Fuck..." moment. She's really awkward about thanking him for saving her. She's also worried about his interactions with Tiamat before her release, though definitely breathes a sigh of relief once things seem to culminate to her working with them -- and more importantly, in tandem with Estinien.

I think the turning point into romance is when, despite everything going on -- the gravity of events that surround Endwalker -- Nomin can find genuine comfort, happiness, and warmth in being with Estinien. Moments she sees him interacting with Vrtra and other Raen of Thavnair, she recognizes more that he has changed as a person, and has changed for the better. And she can see this more readily, because aside from Alphinaud, she has traveled and spent time with Estinien for the longest amount when put together out of everyone else she knows since coming to Eorzea.

So when Estinien comes and speaks to her plainly in Sharlayan with his own self-realizations and thoughts, she's just... "oh... oh..." and she won't let him just leave out the window after telling her all of that. Because she realizes that after all their growth and healing within one another's company, she's fallen in love with the person he grew into being. Fallen in love with the person who she feels understands her more than anyone else. Likewise, I like to imagine that Estinien has found comfort in their shared experiences and understanding of one another that leads into their strong, loving relationship.

[godesssiri]

So to get to the rest home from our accommodation there are 2 routes we could take. One goes along the coast road and we're allowed to use the Waitangi bridge because we are essential workers (they're really trying to limit it's use because it can only take light traffic until it's been shored up more) the other route is through the motorway and then via Pakowhai Rd. We've taken the coastal road because we wanted to avoid Pakowhai - there was really really bad flooding there, that's where my Mum's cousin and his wife almost died. This morning we couldn't take the coast road because there had been rain overnight and they closed the bridge as a precaution. So we went along the motorway. We crossed the motorway bridge and we're going 'oh this looks bad, oh look at the silt, look at the debris, look at the apples everywhere - up on that roof!'. Then we actually got to Pakowhai Rd.

It looks Post Apocalyptic.

It's so bad. You can see caravans, water tanks, sheds that have been picked up and smashed into fences and houses. We saw what had been a fence with a concrete foundation and the foundation had lifted out of the ground and was on an angle, the posts were all that was left, the actual fence panels are probably miles away. There were spray painted 'C's on all the houses and caravans and cars, I'm assuming that meant they had been checked for survivors or bodies. There is so much mud. Every house has giant heaps of ruined stuff piled outside where owners have started clearing things out.

Pakowhai isn't even close to the Tutaekuri river where the water came from, it's closer to the Clive river. But the Tutaekuri burst it's banks and the Clive banks held - Mum's cousin and his wife swam out of their property to the Clive stop-bank and walked along there to safety. From the force that the water shot at Pakowhai it must have been like when you have a hole in the garden hose and the water shoots out at a right angle, except on a much larger scale. I can totally understand how whole orchards were ripped out by their roots.

It's heartbreaking. This road that I've driven along a thousand times, this place I've known since childhood. I'm grieving. I know I'm not going to have reason to go through Esk Valley any time soon and I'm dreading the day in future that I do have reason to because I know even if I avoid it for years the scars will still be there.

[the-firebird69]

Watch "danger bike stunt || motorcycle shorts rider || motorcycle sound || short motorcycle video #shorts" on YouTube

And the guy said come on cuz her son says you should hear the light cycles and then he said but then again but those things are in the race and super bikes and they're way too fast we really are going too fast you look ridiculous you can't tell what it is it looks like a cartoon he looked said thats ridiculous that's way too fast. And Hera said it's way too fast and the guy was respectful of the bike after that and the other bikes he said are well handling and good for the street but boy that is very fast. A light cycle order is arriving in moments and Hera is watching it and others for security the max are going to receive it and just moments and they see it and they're moving out to the ocean to protect it it's about a hundred miles out and they've got ships out there billy z he has some stragglers. There's just a battle to clear them out and then some fast ones moving in and they're hitting them and it's getting bigger and they're breaking it out it's been going on all morning all over the place. Pretty soon Billy z will be out and the morlock will be following. Then it's Macs vs forgierners who are readying. What a day today will be this bridge is insane and have to have some connection points on that and he says and zigzag looked at it and said that's true it has to be a lot beefier than you made it look it has to hold it laterally so going like that cuz of wind and such so you do a calculations and it said I don't know if this will work and it's wide enough and you recalculated and said it's only 10 miles wide but it's 8 Miles high why do we have like 15 miles wide so we'll topple and then the foundation will be very significant so we design it and our son and daughter like it and we can move military stuff across and something back if need be at that size because the other side of it this way you have your own highway probably in the middle it's sort of like it and yes feel this big sale in the winds a little probably wouldn't move but the winds get up there and after a while it's not antidemic so go ahead and do that redesign and it's going to take some time but we didn't submit ours yet

Is a good example of the power difference between the bikes it's a good way to tell they don't sound different and their Asian bikes there's a couple Chinese bikes that are fast and they sound bad meaning awful the Japanese Bikes sound okay, does the Chinese place to keep up the sport bikes within a few miles an hour about 5:00 and can be souped up in the exhaust makes it sound better not that much better so people are ordering them cuz they can get away with it and they put on these massive pipes and it sounds cool. He has another idea so maybe ships can deliver containers that were holding off on that they can build a bridge way out there in the water they'll look at that later they said

Right now they're focusing on other things like getting their act together here but the bridge is giving them some hope and something to think about is to shoot for and they're going to fix the road and make a bunch of it a normal traffic road and the toll road and they're going to maintain it and do that today they said and then actually getting cruise together and tell me Allen is one of them and you don't ask Trump yet but eventually they might if he calms down on everyone. And the construction stuff is going to arrive and the light cycles just pulled in and it's a huge delivery it's like 300 million lite cycles no it's like 300,000. And the clones will be all over it and they're going to fight them. And those are flight cycles and they're not easy to get a little more luck trying than they can't so the firing are Star wars type hovercraft they look pretty fast like 3,000 miles an hour but these things go like 15,000 miles an hour it's a class A vehicle and tons of people will be studying it including iron Man who who actually makes the soup with it it's really still a turbo pack but it's much more compact and it's not really a whole suit requires it goes on any of his suits and he's like this guru after. And there are these games in Utah excuse me... And they're for strength and track and his son set it up and he's amazed he hasn't mentioned it a while but they need the football thing to have brought it up and just now in his mind and he's saying it's a great idea and since I did it's not sure what would happen and his son says I know something too you don't know what's going on with it all and she doesn't mention it it's in Utah and you don't talk much in Utah it's true too it's like a women's area they say this kind of changes it it's going well and they have a lot of challenges today from the football game and they want to wear EXO suits. And you're not sure how to respond but you can't even place without it and it's kind of a giant versus a machine thing, it's like John Henry. And for crying out loud we can call it that it probably should. And it's really starting to work out it would sell these suits and they're trying to use them they're not very powerful but they do enhance their strength and they work pretty good but they can't compete yet others are coming in with thier own and they're starting to place a little. We've had some monstrous guys come in and fail hey they're big like 20 ft was huge muscles and they can't beat us and some of them come close and it says this is incredible and they come back with more muscles and get closer but these guys with the EXO suits and place it so you saw the monster men say I'm going to get smaller and use an exo suit and exo suit and they go ahead and do it and they're coming up today for competitions and it's going to go global and everybody is going to see even versus machine and it's going to happen real soon and yeah Azog managed to get up there, nope. He will know he's been invited to join the football team and he's been invited to join the EXO suit John Henry competitions in Utah and he's signing on and she is too and his female versions of games we have a lot of stuff up there no not long jumping thank you Hulk try it. Where you going you said I'm going to beat you now that was me so it racing my Hulk of the long jump he's trying to catch up two guys go down it he's going we're going to overshoot it and we're launching right out of the facility. My husband says we probably have these zoomers in the kitchen all the time and yeah it's a hassle I hear about it. Okay I'm a zoomer but I know what they are it's not exactly right or curious but yeah we probably zooming it out faster than they can get in the way oh here comes one of them it's like a blob it's a barge and he says.

We used to have to do it in Utah and put out that stupid thing invented and that other dumb thing it's got this dumb inventions.. it says Jay Leno just figured out it sucks. He's actually smiling and yes in that case next door.

You're putting things together for today it's a big day says he has to get some rest so I'm going to try and do that and there's a lot of things happening.

It was selling vehicles but we have to make factories so it brought some in around the mega complexes answer Ford and Chevy and see you with this big banner as you start to laugh she's saying you're Bruce look at Dr varney's and you have this big banner at one of the facilities it's at the housing place and people are wearing the Chevy shirts and hats you can always memorabilia out there you're selling it no you give it out and I'm starting to my place and this is getting ugly. What is the ladies name. it all sudden I started to say something who the hell are you two people. And that was his mom sort of She-Hulk and said where are the other side this is all the big people well we're going to fight you on the football field there's some people some real entertainment and need a new sports bar with bigger screens LOL and she's laughing very loudly. The clones are falling, their areas below are being destroyed and on Australia they're fighting the molark both of their and they're fighting them in Trump's areas and it's a huge battle today they're both getting rid of each other it's gigantic

Hera

Have a different class mutant okay this is a very humbling experience I've been around for a long time down there and now I'm not going to be around baby so I got to tell you something these idiots start all this stuff but they figured out the max are doing their plan and they did a good job and he says it too the Trump held up to the money was doing the right thing it's going to be hard for a friend here are we going to be leaving and it's going to be left alone looking to orphan so I saw him like in that house kind of and somebody knows is running it and she said oh now you're going to be the orphan and he's laughing but really it's a pain and difficult he's been alone for a long time because a lot with some people but not many it's kind of tough everybody's fighting and so many damn bugs here it's a good idea to spray and it really a step up that spring there's a lot of bugs and they make people angry these bugs are so damned annoying they have a worse attitude than anybody last night was nice and cool in they hated it so I suppose if you get a job. Have to ease into it other people are too other clones

Tommy f

We're going to have a fight there in Mexico and it's over a ship that's the way it goes and everybody can see it now

Trump

[helloalycia]

my happy ending [one] // kara danvers

summary: your crush from work decides to make a move, but she keeps putting off telling you something that you don't realise is actually really important

warning/s: none

author's note: i'm still working on a bunch of stuff but here's some old stuff to tide you over as i do. this is part one to a two-parter! enjoy :)

part two | masterlist

I sketched out some designs at my desk, ideas for some new Instagram and Twitter marketing CatCo we were planning to do. I was in charge of social media marketing at CatCo Worldwide, so things like this were routine at work. What wasn't routine was the cute blonde, Kara, AKA Cat Grant's assistant, approaching my desk with a chirpy smile on her lips.

"Hey, Y/N," she greeted, before setting down a coffee cup in front of me.

I smiled automatically, Kara's presence instantly affecting my mood in a positive way. I glanced at the cup and quirked an eyebrow.

"Hey, Kara. Is this for me?"

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose adorably. "I was picking up Miss Grant's order and I remembered you said you loved the chocolate orange hot chocolates Noonan's do. So, I got you one."

I felt my cheeks heat up. "Oh, wow, er, thank you. You didn't have to do that."

She shrugged, and I was sure she looked as flustered as I felt. "No biggie."

I took a sip of the hot chocolate and smiled at how good it was, but mostly because of who got it me.

"So, what are you doing?" she asked, walking around my desk and sitting at the edge. She glanced at my sketches and added, "Is that the new fashion post for our social media accounts? They look amazing!"

"Just some sketches, but eventually they will be," I said, before nodding. "And thanks. I just need the photos so I know what I'm working with. Gotta ask the new guy, James... you met him yet?"

Kara nodded. "Yeah, I just bumped into him earlier."

"Can you believe he knows Superman?" I asked with disbelief. "How awesome is that?"

She smiled with amusement. "Extremely awesome."

"Keira!"

Kara lost her smile when Miss Grant called for her, before looking to me apologetically. "I should–"

"It's cool," I said, nodding for her to leave before Miss Grant tracked her down. "Thanks again for the drink."

Kara flashed me a smile. "Anytime. See you later."

I watched her walk away, waving as she glanced over her shoulder. I found myself biting my lip to contain my own smile, feeling butterflies in my stomach.

Kara Danvers, assistant to Cat Grant.

Ever since she began working here, I found myself crushing on the blonde and her cute mannerisms. We were friends, occasionally hanging out outside of work and doing things together. But that's all it was, sadly. I knew she was friends with Winn – best friends, I think – and I also knew that the tech guy was practically in love with her. I didn't know him as well as I knew her, but I knew enough to not want to get in between the two of them. So, Kara Danvers remained a silly little crush.

I got back to my sketches, managing to draft up some mock-ups on Photoshop before my day ended. I was more tired than I thought that evening, ending up falling asleep earlier than usual. Which meant that I missed the biggest news in National City yet – a mystery woman saving a plane from crashing, possibly a new superhero.

I woke up the next morning to a million and one calls and texts from colleagues at CatCo, all expecting me to get on social media to post about this mystery woman. By the time I got to work that morning, I was caught up with everything and in awe at this new superhero we had. It was pretty darn awesome!

The amazement I felt however was short lived, as Cat was all over me when I got to the office, claiming I should have been on top of our social media coverage as soon as it happened. Apparently me falling asleep wasn't a valid enough point to miss it, so I was put to work instantly, working with the photography and marketing department to find some sort of coverage on this mystery hero.

As I was lining up some posts with the limited images available of this hero, I felt a presence stop by my desk and saw it was Kara.

"Morning," she greeted, before glancing at my computer. "Oh, so you heard?"

I chuckled. "Kind of hard not to. It's everywhere." I nodded to the many TVs around the office that were playing reruns of the news coverage from last night.

"Pretty cool, right?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Very, but it also means I now have a lot of work to do, especially because I fell asleep when all of this went down," I said, jokingly. "Cat has been all over me about this all morning."

Kara laughed and it was literally the best thing I'd heard all day.

"So, I was actually hoping I could tell you something," she said, an excited smile on her face as she met my eyes.

I felt a little flustered under her gaze and found myself distracting myself with my computer screen momentarily.

"I actually have a lot of things to do right now,” I said regretfully. “Maybe later?”

Her smile faded as she nodded. "Right, no, yeah, that's totally fine. Sorry."

"No, no, don't apologise," I said instantly, feeling a little bad. "I just– if I don't get this done, Cat will kill me."

"I got it, you do this, it's cool," she said reassuringly, offering me a small smile.

"Sorry," I tried, a little sad that there was nothing I could do. I really needed to get this done, despite wanting to spend some more time with Kara.

"It's fine, good luck," she said, giving me a grin and thumbs up before leaving.

I sighed, before getting back to work. Unfortunately, it was a few hours before I could get away from my desk, and I managed to track down Kara at her own desk, remembering she wanted to tell me something.

"Hey," I said, earning her attention.

She looked up from her notebook, smiling when she saw me. "Hey, you manage to get that content done?"

"Just about," I said, before offering a small smile. "Sorry again for blowing you off."

She waved her hand dismissively. "It's fine, honestly."

"I'm free now though," I said optimistically. "Maybe we could grab an early lunch? You can talk to me then?"

Kara pushed a strand of hair behind her ear as she nodded slowly. "That sounds nice actually, yeah."

I felt a little relieved when she agreed. "Great. Well, I'll let you get your things and meet you by the elevator?"

She pursed her lips, suppressing a smile. "You got it."

We ended up getting lunch, as agreed, and it was nice to make it up to her. Though, I never really noticed that she never ended up telling me whatever it was that she wanted to tell me. I was so distracted by how smoothly our lunch was going that I forgot to ask her about it. Maybe if I'd asked, she might have told me the truth. Or she might have made something up and lied. I guess I would never know.

–

Did somebody say tiny umbrella drinks? #gottalovethetinyumbrellas #CatCoFoundation [image here]

I sent yet another tweet and picture out from CatCo's Twitter account, watching as it instantly got responses from everyone. I was at an event that Cat was throwing for all CatCo employees plus special guests. It was an event to raise money for Cat's foundation – a charity for children's hospitals in National City. My job was to live-tweet the heck out of the event, hoping to boost donations online.

It was a formal event, so I was comfortably dressed in some high-waisted pants and a silk blouse, it being my best attempt at 'formal' clothes.

The event wasn't too bad. There was free food and drinks, plus I got to hang out with some of my friends from work whilst doing the bare minimum. I just wasn't an evening person, I guess.

"Hey, stranger," a voice startled me, and I turned around, surprised to see Kara Danvers stood there.

I hadn't seen much of Kara in the past few months, despite working with her. She always seemed to be caught up with Winn, and she'd gotten quite close with the not-so-new guy, James Olsen. I wasn't stalking her or anything, but I began to notice when I would try to make plans with her like we used to – little things like grabbing coffee or going to watch a film after work – and she would decline or have plans already. Then I'd see her constantly being surrounded by Winn and James, so I figured she'd just made new friends.

"Kara," I breathed out, smiling as I took in her appearance. "Hey."

I hadn't seen her at all this evening and I was sure she just showed up because I definitely would have noticed how good she looked in that fitted red dress of hers.

"You look really nice," she said, looking me up and down before meeting my eyes.

"Thanks," I said, hoping my cheeks didn't look as warm as they felt. "So do you. You liking the event?"

Kara looked around, nodding. "It's beautiful."

"You did a good job," I said, giving her a knowing smile. "I know you planned it."

"This was all Cat, I just–"

"Kara, everybody knows you plan the events around here," I told her with a chuckle. "It's okay."

She smiled to herself, looking down. "Right." It went quiet for a moment before she looked up and said, "Do you want to dance?"

I was a little taken aback by her confidence, but nonetheless, I found myself nodding. She smiled as she held out her hand. I took it, feeling goosebumps from how soft her hands were.

She led me to the dance-floor, stopping and resting a hand on my waist, the other holding my hand. I nervously rested an arm on her shoulder as I focused on swaying to the music playing rather than stepping on her toes.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in a while," she said after a moment. I looked up and saw her blue eyes staring right through me.

"Well, we've both been busy," I attempted to give a reason.

She shook her head, smiling apologetically. "No, it's not that... it's my fault. I've been hanging out with James and Winn so much lately that I've been neglecting you."

I laughed a little awkwardly. "Kara, it's okay. You don't need to feel bad for having other friends. I mean, you don't have any obligations to me. They're your best friends. Of course you're gonna hang out with them."

She pursed her lips and I admittedly felt nervous as she stared at me, her expression unreadable. She was a little taller than me which didn't help with me trying to keep my emotions in check. She was extremely close to me as we swayed to the music and I could just about focus on it as she continued to stare at me.

"What if I want to have obligations to you?" she asked, and I almost thought she was joking until I realised that she wasn't.

I wanted to understand what she meant, but I didn't get to ask because she leaned forward and closed the gap between us with her lips. I was surprised at her boldness, pinning Kara for the shy type. Nonetheless, I returned the kiss, melting into her embrace and warmth.

We pulled apart soon enough, myself a little flustered from the kiss. My lips were still tingling as she met my eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"I hope that was okay," she muttered.

I nodded slowly, still surprised. "Yeah, it was."

My stomach was doing somersaults as I mirrored her smile; the gala was merely a blur in the background as I realised Kara Danvers had just kissed me. I definitely wouldn't have thought she felt something for me other than friendship.

"I'm assuming you want this to go somewhere," I said, a little stupidly.

She laughed melodiously as she nodded, intertwining her fingers in mine. "That's the plan, yes. But actually, er..."

"Second thoughts already?" I joked, though inside I was genuinely believing she might be second-guessing her decision, judging from her sudden change of facial expression.

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "It's just, I feel like we should talk first. I have to tell you something. Before this goes any further."

She sounded quite affected by whatever it was, so I nodded, losing my smile for a moment.

"Of course, you can tell me whatever you need to," I reassured her, giving her hand a little squeeze. "Do you want to talk now or after?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but tilted her head to the side as she grew distracted. I waited patiently, expecting her to snap back into reality, but she seemed caught up with something else.

"Kara? You okay?" I asked, growing a little concerned.

"What? Yeah, sorry," she said, shaking her head before meeting my eyes with apologetic ones. "I'm sorry, I have to go for a minute. I just realised I have to check on the desserts for the party."

"Oh, okay." I nodded, giving her a small smile. "You can tell me whatever it is afterwards then?"

She smiled, nodding. "Yeah. I'll be back after, I swear."

I believed her and watched as she let go of my hand, already in a rush to leave. I wondered what was so time-sensitive about desserts, but decided not to question it as I realised the very obvious and surprising fact that Kara liked me.

As she turned to leave, she quickly turned back to me and moved forward, pressing a haste kiss to my cheek. My face heated up as she flashed me a beautiful smile, before moving to leave.

Just danced with the most beautiful girl in the room #CatCoFoundation

I looked up and saw Kara by the door, about to leave, but she stopped when her phone vibrated. After glancing at the screen, she paused and a wide smile graced her lips. Her eyes lifted and she gave me a knowing look before disappearing. I found myself smiling like an idiot the rest of the night.

I guess I should have realised, once again, that Kara never ended up telling me whatever it was that she wanted to tell me. I was so caught up in the fact that she returned my feelings that I never remembered to ask her what it was that she wanted to say. Maybe if I'd remembered, things would have ended up a little differently.

–

Kara and I went on some dates, our relationship blossoming naturally. It was the best thing to happen to me at the time – finding someone who I thought truly understood me, and vice versa. We had inside jokes, an 'our song', a favourite restaurant we frequented; we were happy and it was amazing. I was really falling for her. I thought she was perfect. Nothing could change that, I thought. She was everything I wanted.

"What are you thinking about in that pretty little head of yours?" Kara asked, tilting her head to look at me.

It was moments like this when I was in awe of her beauty, inside and out. She was comfortable, with her hair tied in a loose ponytail and her face makeup-free. Her glasses were balanced on her nose as she stared at me with an easygoing smile and sparkling eyes. I felt a sudden overwhelming flood of love for her as she waited for me to reply.

"I'm in love with you," I blurted out uncontrollably.

She raised her eyebrows slightly, mouth agape as she realised what I said.

"I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head. "That was random. And weird. Too soon, right? I freaked you out. I'm sorry."

Kara blinked several times, straightening up as she shook her head. "No, it's not, it's..." I watched her with anticipation, as she found her words. "It's fine. It's... I feel the same way."

It was my turn to be surprised now. I raised my eyebrows, a smile forming on my lips. "You do?"

Kara pursed her lips, eyes flickering up to meet mine. "Yeah."

I breathed out. "I'm really happy to hear that, especially because I thought I freaked you out, but like, I feel like something is bothering you, Kara."

Resting a hand on hers, I squeezed it gently. She offered me a small, troubled smile and I wondered what was occupying her thoughts.

"I trust you," she said gently. "I do. I love you. And I... I want you to know that I think what we have is amazing. I've never been happier."

"This sounds like a breakup," I joked, chuckling nervously. She wouldn't break up with me right after saying 'I love you', right?

"No, no, it's not!" she reassured immediately, taking any doubt from my mind. She leaned forward and cupped my cheek gently. "I'm not breaking up with you, silly."

"Good to know," I said playfully, resting my hand on hers and moving it to my lips, kissing it softly. "What is it though? What's on your mind? You can tell me anything you know."

She nodded. "I know... I can. I will. Now."

I stayed quiet, watching as she had some inner conflict going on. What was bothering her so much?

"I want to say that I–"

But she was cut off by her phone ringing. She rolled her eyes and I offered her an approving smile as she reached to answer it.

"Alex, hey, what's up?"

I sat back, keeping ahold of Kara's hand as she listened to Alex on the phone.

"Are you sure?" Kara said, concern in her voice.

I wondered what was going on, as the blonde was scrunching her brows together with worry. Her hand slipped from mine as she stood up, pacing.

"Okay, I'll be there now," she finished, before hanging up.

"Hey, that sounded serious, is everything okay?" I asked, standing up, too.

Kara nodded, already in the process of grabbing her things. "Yeah, sorry, it's just some family stuff with Alex. I should get going and help her out." She stopped moving and turned to face me, a distracted frown on her face. "I'm sorry. I know we were supposed to spend the evening together and I wanted to tell you something, but–"

"It's fine, Kara, you can just tell me another time," I cut her off, moving forward and rubbing her arm gently. "I hope everything is okay with Alex. I'll just see you at work tomorrow, yeah?"

Kara smiled tightly, nodding. "You're too understanding. It's annoyingly admirable."

I chuckled, stepping forward and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She had a few inches on me, so I had to step on my tip toes to reach, but seeing the little smile appear on her lips when I did made it worth it.

"Don't get stressed about whatever it is you wanna tell me," I added, meeting her eyes. "I'm sure it'll be fine. I love you and I'm really lucky to have you in my life. I don't think anything will ruin that. Just... remember that, okay?"

Kara nodded, her eyes flickering to the floor. "Thank you, Y/N."

"I'll leave you to it," I said, moving away to grab my coat and put on my shoes. "Good luck with whatever is up, and see you tomorrow."

As I was about to leave, her voice called out, "I love you, too."

I smiled widely at her before leaving, feeling lightweight because of all the love that was bubbling around inside of me. Once again, Kara managed to distract me from the fact that she had something big to tell me, as when I followed up the next day, she assured me that she just wanted me to know that she sometimes moved too fast in relationships and she didn't want me to feel like I was being rushed.

I believed her, blinded by what I thought was my happy ending, and that was that.

[lovejustforaday]

Sonic Youth Albums Ranked (Part 3)

6. Sister (1987)

Main Genres: Noise Rock, Alternative Rock, Post-Punk

A decent sampling of: Experimental Rock

This is the first LP in the Sonic Youth discography accessible enough to be labelled a true ‘Alternative Rock’ record. It’s still rough around the edges, but Sister is full of catchy hooks and thrilling guitar sounds. I feel like this record and Daydream Nation probably went on to spawn at least 200 new alternative rock bands by the time the 90s came around (not that I was there to see it or anything, just speculation).

Sister deserves a lot of credit for solidifying on tracks like “Catholic Block” and “Stereo Sanctity” what would become the dominant formula for the band’s sound throughout most of the rest of their discography. I think that's part of the reason why this is Sonic Youth’s second most acclaimed and beloved record. Perhaps some fans would even be downright offended that I only put this at #6 on the list, but trust me when I say that this is only because the band has made so many fantastic records. In fact, for most bands, this would easily be their greatest record.

I can still remember the first time I heard the opening to “Schizophrenia”, I had never heard anything quite like it. The guitars sound upbeat yet worn out and dejected, making me feel isolated and almost spiritually weak when I listen to this track, yet somehow also comforted. The song is partially inspired by Kim’s older brother who has schizophrenia, though the roles are reversed in this song with a brother whose sister is schizophrenic. It’s a deeply fascinating and memorable piece, and I can see why many fans consider this to be a top five Sonic Youth track.

Most of the rest of Sister is very scratchy and punkish with some very tight guitar work, like “Catholic Block” which boasts one of my favourite melodic riffs in the Sonic Youth canon. There’s also “Hot Wire My Heart”, another major highlight and a cover of the obscure British punk band Crime, where Sonic Youth takes their song and upgrades the guitars and drums while also adding a bold wall of feedback at the end.

Then there’s “Pacific Coast Highway”, a completely sickening song and one of Kim’s very finest moments as a lyricist and vocalist. This haunting noise rock jumble tells the story of either a unhinged stranger, or perhaps a resentful ex-lover, who is obsessively catcalling the listener from their car, with the not-so-subtle implication that you’re all by yourself somewhere and that this person intends to harm you. I have no idea if this was written about a personal experience, but I do know from listening to their voices that this is something many women have either gone through or live in perpetual fear of. Seriously fucked up stuff, but also one of Sonic Youth’s very best tracks.

"Cotton Crown” is an odd one out in the Sonic Youth discography; an uncharacteristically sincere but still off-kilter love song that Kim and Thurston sing as a duet. Their voices are a bit out of tune with each other, but i think that honestly fits the Sonic Youth aesthetic and it’s sweet in its own quirky way, although very bittersweet decades later with hindsight about the fate of their relationship. Sort of a noise rock lullaby almost, maybe even with hints of early shoegaze.

Sister does a really good job of taking the seemingly juxtaposing ideas of the ‘fun’ and the ‘grotesque’ and fuses them together. This album is both largely exciting and still somehow alienating and depressive. It’s textbook Sonic Youth, really. I will say that the best tracks are clustered together with a noticeably weaker middle portion, but really this is still a consistently great record throughout. Altogether, Sister is one of the many entries in the band’s discography from 1986 through 1990 where Sonic Youth could basically do no wrong. A classic record.

9/10

highlights: “Pacific Coast Highway”, “Schizophrenia”, ‘Catholic Block”, “Cotton Crown”, “Hot Wire My Heart”, “Beauty Lies in the Eye”

5. A Thousand Leaves (1998)

Main Genres: Noise Rock, Experimental Rock

A decent sampling of: Alternative Rock, Post-Rock, Neo-Psychedelia

I’m just gonna say this now: A Thousand Leaves is by far Sonic Youth’s most underrated record. It’s also the last truly amazing record that the band ever put out. Maybe it’s just the bizarre choice of an album cover that turns people off of this LP. Really, what the hell were they going for here with the minimalist hamster vibes? The beautiful title really suggests something a lot more visually stunning.

In all seriousness though, I feel like nobody talks about this one because it’s overshadowed by its predecessor Washing Machine, but if there’s one area that this record exceeds above all other Sonic Youth LPs, it’s that it perfectly captures that mellow feeling that the later Sonic Youth albums were inclined towards. Not a lot of Sonic Youth records put me at ease like this one does.

Likewise, this is maybe the most ‘feel-good’ record in their discography along with Murray Street. But where Muray Street is something you could put on in the background and enjoy pretty modestly, A Thousand Leaves is a largely experimental, out-of-body experience that pulls you into its surreal, flowery, evergreen world.

“Contre Le Sexism” is a perfect opener for this kind of record; this quiet daze of a waking dream is both dainty and delirious, alluding to Alice in Wonderland with Kim’s vocals never before sounding so gentle and bright. I swear I start to hear a door creak at the end. Maybe that’s the sound of stepping out into the rest of A Thousand Leaves.

What follows immediately after is “Sunday” which is actually one of the band’s poppiest moments, making it somewhat of an outlier on this highly avant-garde and immersive record. But the warm spring vibes of the melody fits right in. The wall of sound introduced during the bridge is a soft mesmerizing bliss more akin to a band like My Bloody Valentine, if not for the tiny distant screeches of atonality whirling around here and there. As a big fan of both bands, I’m all for this kind of sound.

“Wildflower Soul” is easily one of the best things Sonic Youth has ever written. Endless amounts of creativity are poured into this nine minute noise rock acrobatics performance along with a lyrical ode to love, nature, and childhood. The vibes of this one are really quite jaw-dropping given the fact that these are the same guys who wrote “Schizophrenia” and “Death Valley ‘69″. There’s such unison and harmony in the band’s performance here as they switch between different bpm and even time signatures, and the usage of the heavy phaser effect towards the end sounds nothing short of godlike. "Wildflower Soul” almost feels like an entire album experience in one song, and I’m beyond impressed every time I listen to it.

This makes for a hard act to follow, but A Thousand Leaves still has plenty of other highlights. “French Tickler” is a strange and satisfying track that switches back and forth between a playful melody and churning, stretchy distortion. “Karen Koltrane” is a murky but textured portrait of Lee Renaldo’s ex-girlfriend, who got addicted to hallucinogens and became heavily withdrawn from the rest of the world. “Snare, Girl” is a soothing spell where Thurston sounds like he’s trying to coax the listener into a never-ending slumber.

My only real complaint here is “Hits of Sunshine (For Allen Ginsberg)”, a lackadaisical jam session that sounds cool enough, but really overstays its welcome given the lack of development it achieves over its eleven minute run time. It’s a nice piece to vibe to, but it very noticeably disrupts the album’s flow. Take this one track away entirely, or even just edit it down severely, and this would probably be a 10/10 record for me.

Still, wow what a cool album. A Thousand Leaves is a great example of why I respect this band so much. Even this late into their career, Sonic Youth were willing to try so many new bizarre things while also building judiciously upon the foundations of their past work with great attention to detail. I wouldn’t recommend most people start with this one, it’s definitely a bit more challenging especially if you haven’t listened to some other really weird experimental rock records. But once you’re in the right headspace for it, it’s easy to get almost completely lost in A Thousand Leaves.

9/10

highlights: “Wildflower Soul”, “Sunday”, “French Tickler”, “Karen Koltrane”, “Snare, Girl”, “Contre Le Sexism”, “Heather Angel”

4. Goo (1990)

Main Genres: Noise Rock, Alternative Rock

A decent sampling of: Experimental Rock, Post-Punk

Goo was my very first Sonic Youth album, and I can definitely still feel some of the old teenage angst that I had at the time whenever I listen to this one. What probably adds to that feeling is the fact that this along with Daydream Nation is one of the two albums in the band’s discography that I’d say possesses a great deal of immediacy. Albums like Sister and A Thousand Leaves are a bit more subtle and they take a while to be fully digested. But this one, this one hit me like a brick wall.

Between “Tunic (Song For Karen)”, “Kool Thing”, and “Cinderella’s Big Score”, Goo is above all others the Sonic Youth record where Kim Gordon is really the star of the band, featuring not one but three of her most captivating songs. Likewise, I would also say that this is Sonic Youth’s most overtly feminist and socially conscious record.

I don’t know if anybody else feels this way, but to me the opener “Dirty Boots” really does sound like “Teen Age Riot” part 2. That’s not a bad thing of course, Sonic Youth making more songs like “Teen Age Riot” could never be a bad thing, and “Dirty Boots” is definitely one of the highlights of Goo with its massive build up of kinetic energy. That being said, I do have to say that I don’t think any song could do this particular kind of album opener better than “Teen Age Riot” already does it, but I still really do enjoy “Dirty Boots”.

“Tunic (Song For Karen)” is one of Sonic Youth’s most poetic and poignant songs. Kim’s sing-talking voice is even more solemn than usual as she takes on a surreal retelling of the final days of drummer/pop star pioneer Karen Carpenter from her perspective, highlighting the severity of her loneliness and the criminal negligence of many of the people around her who let her succumb to her eating disorder. Set to a backdrop of stark and droning alternative rock, I would say that this is possibly the band’s most depressing moment and certainly one of the biggest statements that they ever made.

A lot of the rest of Goo is actually pretty fun though. “Kool Thing” features Chuck D on guest vocals, and its a funny sarcastic take down of the subjugation of women’s voices in supposedly liberated spaces like the world of rock and hip hop, inspired by the time Kim interviewed L.L. Cool J and attempted to have a political conversation. The song mocks L.L.’s attitude towards women while also poking fun at Kim’s own self-perceived elitism. There’s also “Mote”, a sensational head rush that dissolves into noise rock weird-isms, sorta recreating the feeling of going from buzzed to totally black out.

“Mildred Pierce” is almost a practical joke but I kind of love the hell out of it anyway. A short track with lyrics consisting only of the song’s title, it starts with the band getting into a nice little riff before (without warning) bursting into a hardcore punk cacophony as Thurston screams the name over and over into the listener’s ears. Made me jump the first time I heard it.

And then there’s “Cinderella’s Big Score”. If “Schizophrenia” vaguely hinted at Kim’s estranged relationship with her older brother, then “Cinderella’s Big Score” confronts it dead on. Featuring some of the band’s most totally insane and disfigured guitar work ever, this song sounds harsh and militant, like the dawn of a nuclear cataclysm. It’s very hard to believe that Kim is 37 years old here; she reverts to sounding exactly like a hurt teenage little sister, rebelling against her childhood trauma and lashing out at her brother’s past bullying and now his cold indifference towards her.

The song grapples with some very painful emotions, but the experience is raw and cathartic. “Cinderella’s Big Score” is definitely somewhere in Sonic Youth’s top 10 tracks for me; it just doesn’t get any realer than this. Honestly, the record could’ve ended here. I like “Titanium Expose” enough as a closer, but this would’ve made a really powerful and lasting impression to end the album.

Despite that, Goo is an excellent Sonic Youth record that demonstrates just how much the band had mastered their craft after a decade of making all sorts of noises. Obviously I’m biased since it was my own first Sonic Youth record, but I really do feel like this is the very best place to start with the band. Goo is one of their more melodic and accessible offerings, but it’s also one of their most provocative records and it really captures the essence of Sonic Youth’s identity.

9/10

highlights: “Cinderella’s Big Score”, “Tunic (Song For Karen)”, “Mote”, “Kool Thing”, “Dirty Boots”, ‘Mildred Pierce”

3. EVOL (1986)

Main Genres: Noise Rock, Experimental Rock, Post-Punk

A decent sampling of: No Wave, Alternative Rock

If Bad Moon Rising was bleak and desolate, than EVOL is disturbed, uncanny, and deeply paranoid. Sonic Youth’s third record evokes the feeling of being all alone at midnight on a sketchy highway, complete with mental images of flickering street lights and looming shadowy figures. I mentioned earlier that I have to be in the right mood to enjoy Bad Moon Rising, but this record puts me in the right mood almost instantly whenever I put it on.

EVOL isn’t exactly a no wave album like their first two records. The highly experimental influence is still there, but the arrangements are starting to sound fuller and more intentional.

You could say that this LP marks somewhat of a transitional phase between Sonic Youth the no wave band and Sonic Youth the alternative rock band, and in many respects it has the best of both worlds. There’s a few catchy darker alternative rock songs here and there, sandwiched between tracks that could best be described as ‘mad scientist’ music, which altogether creates a varied and unique album experience.

“Tom Violence“ immediately establishes the tone of EVOL with crooked, scraping flashes of post-punk guitars. This track reminds me of heads hung low, bodies slouched uncomfortably, and the feeling of being completely wide awake at 2:00 am. There’s something very unfriendly that lurks beneath the dissonance of these sounds.

If “Tom Violence” is uneasy, then “Shadow of A Doubt” is an auditory nightmare, managing to capture something akin to the fear of being watched by an unknown stranger hiding in the shadows. Notes are gently plucked like icy cold fingers slowly crawling up the listener’s back while Kim whispers about murder plots and oneirophrenia. The “just a dream” lyrical motif is first uttered reassuringly, but eventually turns into a desperate plea as Kim begins to shout frantically and the music intensifies.

The album dials down the spook factor a few notches with “Starpower” and “In The Kingdom #19″. The former is an early example of Sonic Youth’s ability to combine melodic hooks with meandering chaos that would become refined on the next few LPs, while the latter features Lee’s first solo vocals (and one of his best performances) reciting a lucid, jet black vision of a car accident. Thurston threw firecrackers into the recording studio when they did Lee’s vocals on this track and you can hear it in the recording, and just like “Mildred Pierce” it really caught me off guard the first time I heard it.

“Secret Girl” is the scariest fucking thing in the whole Sonic Youth discography, and also just one of the scariest songs I’ve ever heard. It starts with a deep shuddering thud that sounds like it’s getting closer and closer. Then out of nowhere, a cassette-recording of an old detuned piano starts to play a simple, unnerving refrain while Kim offers a cryptic and uncomfortably suggestive spoken word piece. It feels like a scene that might play out in a horror film, where a television screen comes on by itself and the person on the screen begins to talk directly to the viewer.

Finally, there’s “Expressway To Yr Skull” (alternatively titled “Madonna, Sean, and Me”), which would be my #1 Sonic Youth album closer if not for the #1 album on this list. That being said, this song is still one of the biggest highlights of the band’s career. "Expressway To Yr Skull” starts off restless and spectacular, leading up to an utterly earth-shaking climax, and then it’s as if the song promptly dies, only to become a lingering undead entity that pulls you down with it. I still can’t get over how the ending really manages to sound like it’s dragging you down further and further into its barren depths.

To add to that, there’s actually a locked groove on the original vinyl release of this LP that plays the last little bit of “Expressway To Yr Skull”, meaning that if you let the needle sit there, it will forever loop that last little bit of droning at the end of the track. I really appreciate this little detail; it’s as if the pervasive darkness of EVOL is so encompassing that it could turn into a deep midnight that never ends.

EVOL is honestly so close to being a 10 for me, but just like Sister I find that it is decently weaker towards the middle. Still, I’m absolutely enamored with the atmosphere on this album. No gothic rock record has ever managed to sound so deeply unsettling to my ears like this little experimental record does. You really just have to experience this one for yourself. Honestly, don’t be surprised if in a year or two I’ve changed my mind and bumped this one to a 10.

9/10

highlights: “Expressway To Yr Skull”, “Shadow Of A Doubt”, “Tom Violence”, “Secret Girl”, “In The Kingdom #19″, “Starpower”

[mashiraostail]

Hi! Can I please get, Hizashi, Aizawa, Midnight and Toshinori comforting an S/O who had a really REALLY bad day? Maybe S/O comes home the door closes and they just start sobbing? How would our babes comfort them (Gender Neutral S/O please!!)

yeah!! I hope ur day wasn’t bad when u sent this omg hopefully this is helpful! ): under the cut!

Hizashi- You were just exhausted, it was one stupid mishap after another, and you were so miserable it made you physically sore. All you wanted to do was go home and go to sleep, you knew you should shower, clean up a little, you assumed like you looked as awful as you felt. But you couldn’t, it was so much all at once and all you could think about was letting it fester in bed alone in the dark where nothing could annoy or bother you for the foreseeable future.  Though you forgot about one variable, and are reminded of it the moment you open your front door.  Hizashi.  He’s just lounging around the living room, it was probably a rather quiet Thursday night to everyone but you and he seemed to be enjoying the tranquility. He was sitting on the floor by the table, he had a little keyboard synth resting in his lap, and headphones haphazardly over his ears. He looked content and comfortable and so very in his element that you realized you’d been so upset all day that you’d forgotten about him.  Now all you wanted to do was lay in the dark with him. Listen to his voice, let him comfort you, be close to him. If anyone could make you feel better it was him. Honestly, you don’t know why you start crying. But you feel the tears welling up the minute he looks up at you.  “Hey hot-...stuff.” He’s standing up and bridging the space between you the second he realizes you’re crying. Of course he’d call you some stupid silly nickname, of course he’d just be normal Hizashi, of course he would.  “Babe, what’s up?” He’s standing nervously in front of you, jittery to the point of hilarity, he clearly wanted to touch you but didn’t want to upset you more, you could tell in his face that he didn’t know if it was him you were upset with, or something else entirely. You rub at your eyes, trying and failing to ebb the flow of tears down your cheeks and when you finally look at him you actually feel sort of guilty at how upset he looks on your behalf, like his whole heart just broke.  “Zashi, please, can I just have a hug?”  The pride that had been dwindling at his uncertainty of the cause of your tears seemed to instantly swell back up again. “Yeah! Yes! Come on! Get in here babe!” He pulls you in tight, pressing your wet face into his neck. The way you hold onto him, the tightness, the hand in the back of his hair, all of it makes him wobble with affection. But for you, it just made the dam crack. You felt safe, and warm, and surrounded by him, and that comfort turned what was previously a few exhausted tears turned into full-body wracking sobs.  “Jeeze baby did you miss me that much?” He’s squeezing you, tight, pressing scattered kisses to the side of your head, face, temple and ear, whatever he can reach, the arms around his neck, your hair, it didn’t matter as long as it was kissable and to him all of you was kissable. He can feel the big blobs of salty tears against his neck and shirt collar, he can feel them smear against him as you nod, wet exhausted laughter slipping out of you.  “I did.”  “You’ll blow up my ego babe.” He warns you as he presses his nose into your hair, “I hope you didn’t really miss me so much that it made you this upset...I’m always a phone call away babe.” He pulls you out of the crook of his neck and wipes off your face with his palm, “you looked like a kicked puppy.” His eyebrows twitch up desperately, “please babe you’re breaking my heart here. What’s wrong?”  You shake your head, “I’ve just had the most...awful day. I was so miserable, and it was just one thing after another, I couldn’t catch a break, even on my break something went wrong somehow.” He’s nodding along with you, ever intent. “All I could think about all day was coming home and just going to bed. I’d been so worthless all day that I didn’t even think about how nice it would be to see you, and when I finally did and you were just sitting there and you looked so comfortable and I just wanted to be with you. I wanted to be close to you and all at once it was like I went from wanting to lock myself up alone in bed to I just wanted to be near you.” You shake your head again, harder this time, “and then when you hugged me it was just so...I was so relieved. I’ve wanted to cry like this all day but I didn’t feel like I could and now-”  “You’re gonna make me cry please-” He’s squeezing your face, “you’re so sweet. You look exhausted.” He’s pulling your face up to his peppering a few kisses to your lips. You just sigh, relieved, it felt good. “What do you want me to do?” He holds your arms, “more hugs? Kisses? We could watch a movie?” His hand goes back up to your face, wiping away the tears again, “you shouldn’t cry so much you’ll get sick, and your eyes will be all puffy and sore tomorrow.” He’s squeezing your face again, “you look cute when you cry though. Like a sweet little baby-”  “Shut up.” You snort, shoving his chest. He looks so relieved to have just made you laugh a little. “Can you just go back to what you were doing?” You ask, hands landing on his chest.  “It wasn’t anything very interesting.” He insists, “we can shower and call it an early night if you want-”  “No it’s okay, I just wanna sit with you.” He looks like he’s gonna explode. “Of course..” He starts taking off your clothes though.  “Zashi I-”  “I know, I know.” He shushes you and keeps going until you’re standing in the middle of the living room in your underwear.  “Was that fun for you?” You cross your arms to cover yourself up. Though it doesn’t last long since he shucks his own teeshirt off and pulls it over your head, “isn’t this better? Come on let's go sit down.”  You spend about an hour sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his abdomen, cheek resting against his back as he tinkered with the synth before him. When you ask to go to bed he doesn’t protest, he just says of course, you go ahead he’ll be there in a minute. 

Aizawa- Nothing else could go wrong, honestly, the last thing that could get fucked up would just be you dropping dead right there. You were supposed to be home hours ago and you were sure your trashed phone had more than a few missed calls and texts from Shouta who’d probably waited up for you. The thought of seeing him now felt like the best thing in the world. He’d listen to you talk about your shitty day for hours and just agree with you he’d just hum and nod when you said you felt like the only person walking around with a brain sometimes. What you didn’t expect though is to feel so thoroughly relieved the moment you stepped foot inside, and finally caught sight of the man. It was like a thousand pound weight just dropped off your shoulders, like for the first time all day your lungs could expand and take in a good full breath. There was a pile of papers beside Shouta, and he was looking over them with minimal interest, long hair pulled away from his neck, a pencil sticking out of it, holding the dark mass in place miraculously. Even the way he sat was inviting to you, like every time he shifted or moved it just an invitation for you to curl up and get close. “Hey, welcome back.” He pulls the back of the pen away from his lips as he looks up at you, “You’re really late today is everything-” When he gets a good look at you though he doesn’t feel the need to finish his question.  “Yeah. I’m sorry I’m late.” You don’t know why you’re biting back tears, he wouldn’t care if you cried, he’s seen it before.  “It’s okay.” He waves you over and moves the pile of papers out of the way. “You look like you were really busy.” He could see the tears welling up in your eyes, he knew the helpful thing right now would probably be to get the dam to break, you look like you really needed to cry. “You’ve got a twig in your hair.” He reaches over and pulls it out.  “Thanks-” Your voice breaks and you take deep shaky breath. He can tell he’s just about there. He can practically see your foundation creaking. “You... don’t look like you feel very good.” He squeezes your shoulders, “talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.” Yeah, that does it. There you go. Crying like a baby. He’s kind of proud of himself and how quickly he gets you to let down that wall. You practically tackle him but he accepts it, he sees it coming a mile away.  “Bad day?” His hand on the back of your head just makes you cry more. He honestly was expecting a little cry, the exhausted maybe a little petulant, ‘I just want today to be over’ sort of crying, but what he got instead was full-on bawling.  He was sort of taken aback. “Bad day feels like an understatement.” He amends and you just nod ferociously into him, the harsh scruff on his jaw was a grounding comfort whenever it scratched your skin. “I just had a really...terrible day.” You shake your head, arms coming tighter around him, “a really really terrible day. Everything just kept going wrong and it feels like it’s all always my fault like I should have known-”  “you shouldn’t blame yourself for the mistakes of other people.” He reminds you, a comforting hand between your shoulder blades, “mistakes are just mistakes anyways. There’s rarely a problem that can’t be fixed.” “I just want to be helpf-”  “I know you do. And you are.” He promises, feeling your hand fist in the back of his shirt, “you don’t give yourself enough credit, I’m sure without you around today would have been a lot worse for your colleagues. You always pick up so much slack. You work so hard just to turn a blind eye to all your effort.”  “I could have done more, I wasn’t even the last person to leave today I-”  “I bet you were the first person there.” You’re silent to that. “I’m proud of you for working so hard, you’re going to accomplish some really great things, even if you don’t feel that way right now. But you need to give yourself more credit if you beat yourself up so much all the time you’ll stop feeling passionate about your work.” You knew he was right, he was always so level headed, he always made perfect sense, he always knew what needed to be said.  “Either way though, it’s over now. The terrible day from hell can stay outside in the hall. It’s not allowed in here.” You laugh a little bit at that and the ebbing of tears is a bit of a reprieve to him. “What can I do to make you feel better?”  “I already feel a little better Sho, really.” You pull away and wipe your face off, he’s looking down at you sympathetically.  “You look miserable.” He leans down to your lips anyways, and it’s a nice kiss, relaxing, tender and soft, it’s the kind of kiss that makes you drowsy. “It’s pretty late already. To be honest I was worried when it started getting dark out and I still hadn’t heard from you. Why don’t we call it a night? I can grade this stuff later, it’s not like they’d be looking for it, and I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t notice if I never returned it.” You chuckle at that too, “I think you underestimate them sometimes.” He hums at that, “no not where it counts.” He takes your face in his hands, “how about a hot shower, some water, and a lot of sleep?” You nod at that, “that sounds good.”  “You look exhausted. He picks a leaf out of your hair, “jeez, what kind of trouble did you get yourself into today?”  “You don’t wanna know.” You groan and he replies to it with a breathy chuckle, “let’s just get you cleaned up, I bet just that alone will make you feel 100x better.”  And he was right. It did, it felt like all the shitty things from today swirled down into the shower drain with the soap and all the dirt it’d washed away. It felt like you were getting a new start. He seems pretty proud of how quickly he’d gotten you to bounce back. He sends you off to bed and promises to be there as soon as he finishes cleaning up his stuff in the living room, but by the time he gets into bed you’re already fast asleep. 

Nemuri- You had to be the only intelligent life on the planet. That’s what you were saying to yourself as you jammed your key into your front door. It was like no other being you’d crossed today even possess the capability for though and your workload practically quadrupled from it. You had no idea how you were meant to get all of this done and all you wanted to do was go home and never have to think about anyone you’d seen today again. Your inability to say no just preceded you and it felt like everyone had taken advantage like all people ever did was take advantage. It was equal parts infuriating and disheartening. You wanted to be good and helpful but people just took advantage, played dumb, and pawned all the work off to you. It was like no one on the whole planet even appreciated a single thing you did and-  “Well there you are angel, I was starting to worry you got kidnapped or something.” Nemuri is grinning at you, “you’re never this late, honestly I was starting to miss you. Are you okay? It’s not normal for you to be so late-” Nemuri did, Nemuri appreciated everything you did and she always missed you when you were apart and she sent you all sorts of funny texts and voicemails when you couldn’t see each other and Nemuri would never treat you like that. The relief of that makes your heart feel ten times lighter in your chest and all you can do is cry about it.  “You’re right..silly question.” She swings her legs off the couch and waves you over to her side, of course, you go wiping the tears as they stream down your face. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?” She frowns at you and you just shake your head and wave her off. “No not you... it’s..” You whine into your hands and she hums at you sympathetically, putting a hand on either of your arms.  “You had a bad day then? Or something else?”  “A really...really bad day.” You hiccup and let her pull you forward, she wraps her arms securely around you. “That makes me sad.” She rests her cheek in your hair, “is it salvageable?” She rubs your back, “can we fix it?” She wonders, “would talking about it help?”  “it’s just so unfair, I want to be nice, I want to help but I always take on an unfair amount and everyone takes advantage of me. I’m terrible at saying no, but why can’t people be mindful of that? I’m so mindful of everyone else I don’t see why they can’t extend the courtesy to my weakness-” She hums along and nods every few words, you feel her shift against you.  “You can’t help being a big softie can you?” She squeezes you, “you’re so cute. I just adore you.” That shouldn’t make you cry any harder but it does. You felt sort of stupid, childish even, you knew Nemuri didn’t see you like that, she’d had her fair share of bad days since meeting you and she’s acted similarly, but still.  “Oh angel I think you just need to cry it out for a little don’t you?” You just nod into her shirt. “Okay then. I’ll stay right here while you do.” You feel her lips against your head and she leans back onto the cushions of the couch. “I could talk about something else?” She offers, “do you wanna hear about my day?” You nod again, “yeah..that might- help-” You’re hiccuping helplessly and normally she’d find it to be sort of cute, but in your current state, she found it a little distressing. Either way, she talked quietly into your hair about whatever came to mind from today, some of her students, the papers they’d handed in, one of her student’s continued inability to spell ‘democracy’. After a few minutes the tears prattled off, and all you were left with was a massive headache and a puffy red face. When you finally do pick yourself up Nemuri isn’t sure if she wants to scream, cry, kiss you, or do all three in an indiscriminate order.  “You're so cute.” She takes your face in her hands, “do you feel a little better now?” Her thumbs are wiping over the wet skin, “look at you, you even look good when you’re crying. It’s like in a movie or something-”  “I’m probably a ballon-” Your laugh is quiet and tired but it’s a laugh at least.  “A very cute ballon.” Nemuri clicks her tongue at you. “It’s late isn’t it?” She reaches behind you and procures a bottle of water, though it seems like she’s taken a few sips from it and it’s not freshly cold. “You should drink some water, it’ll help your headache.” You do as she suggests because she was right, and now all you wanted was for the dull throbbing behind your eyes to stop.  “Go get into bed.” Nemuri kisses you when you pull the bottle away from your lips and you hum into it appreciatively, “I’ll bring in some aspirin for you.” She pulls back and you nod, you didn’t have it in you to protest that it wasn’t actually that late, still hardly 11. “I’ll take extra good care of you tonight.” She assures you as she stands, she takes your wrists and pulls you up, “that way when you have to go back tomorrow you won’t feel so overwhelmed.” She squeezes your face in her hands, “there’s still a whole hour left of today, I bet I can salvage it for you.” 

Toshinori- Exhausted was the understatement of the millennia. You could drop dead where you stood if you stopped thinking about staying alive, you were sure of it. You even slipped out early because you couldn’t tolerate staying any longer.  You slump against the door as you close it, just being home alone was enough to make you feel a million times safer and you can already feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You were so focused on your shifting emotions you didn’t even notice Toshinori sitting on the couch until he spoke.  “Hey.” He’s sitting up straighter at the sight of you, you’re sure you look as terrible as you feel and Toshinori was always good at picking up on your feelings. He’s standing up, crossing the room to get to you.  “Toshi-” You’ve never been so happy to see someone, to have someone pull you into the chest, he encased you in his warmth, his presence wrapped around you just like his arms did. It takes a moment, the warmth and comfort of him accosted your icy emotions, but once the two touched you felt like you were melting away, It came out in your tears.  “What’s wrong?” His voice is so quiet, and soft, physically soft, it hits you like a pillowcase full of feathers. “You look so upset.”  The way you fist up the back of his teeshirt in your hands like you were desperate to just be closer, begging him to come as close as he could, to wrap you up and melt away all the ice, like warm spring sunshine hitting a frozen pond, you wanted him to surround you like sunlight did every time you stepped outside. And he could tell, he could feel it.  “I’m right here, hey, I’m right here with you. I’m here now.” He’s holding the back of your hand with one large hand and cupping the small of your back with the other. “Whatever it is is over now. It can’t bother you anymore. I’m here. Please don’t be upset. Tell me how I can help.”   “You’re perfect-” Your voice wobbles with your tears, “Toshi please-” You warble and can’t help rubbing your face into his shirt.  “Please what?” His thumb rubs the base of your skull affectionately, “whatever you want. What do you need?”  “Just stay-” You voice cracks and you feel him lean into you at that.  “Of course I’ll stay with you...let’s sit down okay?” He pulls you away and takes your jaw in his hands, tilting your head up to see you better. “I know you’re upset, but try not to cry so hard okay? You’ll get sick..” He leans down enough to press a kiss to your forehead, “and seeing you cry so hard makes me really upset, that’s probably selfish of me to say but I can’t help it. I just wanna help you feel better.”  He walks you to the couch and you’re more than happy to fall into his lap.  “I just had a really bad day.” You scrub your face, “terrible, long, awful day.” One of your hands absently curls a few blonde strands around your finger and Toshinori hums at your explanation.  “Well it’s over now.” He holds the base of your skull when he kisses your forehead, “it’s just me and you.” You were holding his free hands with yours and you nod.  “Do you wanna talk about it?” He offers, murmuring it into your forehead.  You shake your head, “it was just a bad day..”  “Why don’t you get comfy here and go to sleep for a little?” He pulls you into closer still and you wrap your arms around him, maybe you will. Exhaustion was seeping into your vision and the kiss he leans down into doesn’t do anything to help. It makes your stomach and chest buzz warm, all you want is to get closer and then even closer, to kiss and kiss and kiss until you couldn’t open your eyes in between them and you dozed off into a comfortable sleep against him. He was happy to oblige you. 

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (5/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 10K — canon had to catch up, and stuff had to happen, and happily ever after requires some adjectives AN: Guys! This is a completed story! One I had absolutely no intention whatsoever of writing. For that am even more grateful than usual that you all clicked and read and said very nice things. It’s always an absolute joy to write about these two idiots falling in love. I hope your holidays were fantastic, and January is very kind to you, and I am taking suggestions as to what I should write in 2021. (Or: if I should just post a bunch of fic I’ve already written, there’s so much fic already written)

Ao3 links in the reblog, because Tumblr’s tagging system is something of a colossal joke. 

————

She’s got no idea where Killian went.

Especially impressive since they haven’t left the house yet, but the house is also fairly massive and there are a lot of people and some of them have magic, and most of them have weapons, and one of Emma’s knees cracks when she crouches in front of Hope.

Who is wearing pajamas that match Lucy’s, and holding a stuffed animal whose right arm appears to be holding on by a quite literal thread, and has absolutely no idea what’s going on.

It’s a strangely positive thing.

“You’re going to be ok,” Emma tells her daughter, which she hopes isn’t the lie it feels like. “Everything’s going to be ok. We’re just—we’ll be back soon, alright?” That’s not really a lie, either. Depending on how the next ten minutes or so, go. And part of Emma expects impatience — from the other adults nearby, magical or otherwise, but a quick glance over her shoulder only shows Mary Margaret wiping away tears, and Regina’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth, and the overall tightness of David’s jaw cannot possibly good for any of his teeth.

Taking a deep breath is an exceptional challenge.

“For presents?” Hope asks, and it takes Emma a moment to understand the question. Nodding hurts her neck. And, like, her heart.

No one turns off their Christmas tree in this future, it seems. Colors splash across one of Hope’s cheeks, what feels like several thousand emotions and at least a dozen internal organs twisting in Emma’s center and she barely manages to rasp out, “yeah, of course,” before there’s moisture in her eyes and her vision is going blurry and at the very least it’s comforting to know that one of the steps in her parent’s house creaks too.

“Emma,” Regina murmurs, and she’s nodding again. Hair brushes the hand that’s landed on her shoulder, as warm as ever, but there’s tension in the move as well and Killian’s lips don’t shift when Emma tilts her head up.

Something’s going on. More than the obvious. And she wants to ask, she does — but the worry churning in her gut moves to the center of her throat, and makes it impossible to voice questions or demand anything more than what he’s already given, and they’ve got no idea how to get her back. Except for—

Killian’s eyebrows lift. Ever so slightly, barely enough movement that it should even count, but Emma’s become something of an expert on his face in the last few days, and she can’t blink away the tears fast enough. Mourning something that’s happened and hasn’t, and absolutely needs to.

She can’t ruin this.

Plastering a wholly unnatural smile on her face, Ruby lets out a huff of air as she marches forward and scoops Hope into her arms. “For presents,” she repeats, “Mom wouldn’t miss that, would she?” Emma shakes her head. Seriously, every inch of her aches. With those pesky emotions and magic, and she cannot fathom how she manages to stand back up without falling over, but then there are fingers tangled up with hers and she’s brushing strands of hair away from Hope’s eyes, and leaning forward to kiss the bridge of her nose and—

“I love you.”

Whispers flood her ears, soft enough that for a second Emma truly believes she imagines them, but none of this has been the dream she’d convinced herself it had to be, and the sound isn’t as terrifying as it should be. Is like the excitement borne of picturesque Christmas mornings, and a ridiculous number of cookies, and magically-maintained snowmen.

Killian’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. Part two.

“Dor and I’ll stay here,” Ruby says, seemingly unconcerned with whatever’s happening between Emma’s ears, but Killian’s staring again and Emma’s barely breathing and she probably nods if the movement of her hair is any indication.

More instructions are doled out, plans Emma only half listens to while also trying to stay conscious and it’s only after the screen door slams behind them that she realize she doesn’t actually have a weapon. She’s fairly certain she won’t need it.

Because she’s absolutely positive this is going to work.

Well, she hopes at least.

“Don’t let go, ok?” she mumbles, mostly into Killian’s shirt and he kisses her hair. More than once, like he’s trying to reach a quota and that’s only kind of depressing, but then there’s magic stretching around them and inching up the back of Emma’s calves and she hopes she hears what she thinks she hears.

When he mutters “never” in her ear.

If there were any doubts that they were dealing with the disintegrating fabric of reality, they’re all immediately dismissed as soon as Emma opens her eyes. Trees bend in the middle of their trunks, broken branches littering the ground as what feels like genuine electricity crackles in the air, sending sparks that occasionally rain down like they believe they’re drops of water and allowed to do that.

Clouds that look suspiciously familiar, but lack that hint of magically-induced purple, blot out any sort of light in the sky. They’re puffier than they should be — the clouds, and also Emma’s eyes because she might be crying again, and she’s not particularly knowledgeable about meteorology. Still, she’s seen more than one curse broken and this isn’t quite the same. The lack of color dries out her mouth, although that may also be because she suddenly can’t catch her breath.

Magic tugs at her brain and her muscles, rising up in defense and something that isn’t really bravery. More like fear, at what the clouds can do and what they’ve already done, and the soft whoosh of Killian’s sword leaving its scabbard is far more comforting than it should be.

Wearing those pants with the sword belt is something Emma doesn’t want to forget. “Kinda looks like they’re eating everything in their way, doesn’t it?” she breathes. “Like, it’s—pulling everything up out of the ground, wrecking it at the foundation.”

“Not exactly ideal, is it?”

“You’re making jokes.” “If I don’t know, I’m fairly certain I’ll fall over.”

Scoffing, Emma licks her lips, and that doesn’t do anything except momentarily wet her lips, but her heart’s also trying to explode and the pop of Regina’s teleporting ability is loud enough to make both of them flinch.

“Oh shit,” Henry mutters, wielding his own sword. Both of those things are going to take Emma some time to get used to. Which she doesn’t have.

Not when tiny whirlwinds explode around her ankles, caking her jeans with leaves and dirt-filled snow, and she briefly wonders if that’s because of her or just bad timing on their arrival. Feels like an insult all the same.

“So, uh,” David says slowly, “what do we do about this, then?” Rolling her whole head seems like an entirely excessive response, but Emma supposes Regina’s never been one for subtlety and it is still kind of impressive when she does the flame thing. Fire jumps between her fingers, like one of those bouncing balls on sing-along VHS tapes, and really the answer is pretty simple. “Emma needs to leave. Weeks ago, if we’re being frank, but—” “—We’re not being frank, are we, Your Majesty?” Killian interrupts, low and a little more pirate than he’s been since Emma woke up here. Regina tilts her head. Her neck muscles don’t appear to be dealing with the same limitations Emma’s are.

“How do we do that, though?” Ella asks. “We’ve—I mean, we’ve tried just about everything haven’t we? Zelena’s spell didn’t work.” Regina hums. Looks a little smug, but with a hint of worry that’s also oddly comforting in a slightly vindictive way and there’s no warning before Tinker Bell appears in front of them. Smaller than usual, with wings that move as quickly as a hummingbirds and Emma’s eyes widen so quickly they manage to water even more and it’s easier to hear Killian’s soft laugh when he pulls her against his side.

What looks like sparkles, but may actually be pixie dust floats in the air, Regina’s sigh of impatience barely passing her lips before Tinker Bell is a full-sized person again and that full-sized person looks as terrified as the situation demands and— “Wonderland’s gone too,” she announces. “I only just got out.” Emma’s eyes are going to fall out of her face. It will be gross and undoubtedly uncomfortable. “Out. What does—what does that mean, exactly?” “What it sounds like. It was—” Shuddering, Tinker Bell wraps both arms around her middle, as if she’s trying to ensure she doesn’t fall apart either, and guilt appears to be the prevailing emotion threatening to sever Emma’s spleen at the moment. She’s only partially confident as to where her spleen even is. “Those,” Tinker Bell continues, pointing up at the clouds advancing on them, “they’re…cannibalized versions of magic.” “Oh,” Henry says, “gross.” Mary Margaret sniffles before she kisses him on the cheek. He’s holding Ella’s hand very tightly.

“It is,” Tinker Bell agrees, “because it’s all wrong. Broken, even. The opposite of what you’ve created here. Anything unified is gone, shattered from the inside out and—” “—That won’t stop, will it?” Emma asks, already knowing the answer. It’s been the same since the start, but it was so easy to fall into this start and live this life and she’s hardly noticed Regina. Lifting her hands towards the clouds like she could fight them, or stop them and her electricity metaphor had been almost accurate before.

Lightning explodes from Regina’s palms, feet a bit wider than usual while a muscle jumps in her temple, and the first brush of Killian’s thumb against Emma’s wrist makes her flinch again.

The clouds pause. For a moment.

Seem to shudder against the force of Regina’s power and strength, but there’s another crack and a branch that slams into the ground with an alarming speed, shaking the ground under yet a different pair of Emma’s boots, and, well—

That’s that, as they say.

Only they don’t ever mention the shadow-type vines that also explode from the ground. And for a breath, Emma’s not there. She’s sitting on different ground, in an entirely different realm, while her sword half hangs from the makeshift belt on her back and lights dance in front of her eyes. Blinking doesn’t do anything. Breathing heavily only makes the sound echo in her ears and air heave out of her lungs, and Emma can’t get her bearings. Is being twisted and torn until she’s certain she’ll be ripped apart. Right there, in the in-between, and—

No.

Giving in isn’t an option. She’s got people to save, and a kid to get back and a life to live. And the hand squeezing hers is tight enough to pull her back from a variety of edges. In any version of reality, she’s sure.

Head falling forward, Emma slams into something solid and that’s probably not another metaphor. Blades flash at the edge of her vision, both David and Henry moving quicker than she’s ever seen, while Mary Margaret slings arrow after arrow at something that isn’t entirely substantial and Killian’s hook moves under Emma’s chin.

At one point she might have thought that was a threat. She’s the world’s biggest idiot, obviously.

“No,” Tinker Bell replies, far later than is conversationally acceptable, honestly. “It won’t. Nothing will last if you don’t go back, Emma. It all hinges on you. That’s why Pan did this in the first place. He knew what you meant, to the whole world.” She groans. Like a goddamn hero.

“That might be a little heavy, Tink,” Killian mutters, and Emma makes another noise. Disbelief and charmed and wholly endeared, plus that other thing that she knows will make all the difference and at least eight of her knuckles crack. When she curls them into his shirt.

Patterned, naturally.

“Are you quoting things?” He nods. “You think it’s very cute.” “I’m not sure you could ever really be cute.”

“Is this honestly happening right now?” Regina snarls, sweat dotting her brow and Emma barely notices. Can’t really pull her eyes away from Killian when he’s smirking at her like that. “Flirting at the end of the world?” “Seems as good a time as any, doesn’t it?” Emma challenges. More pixie dust falls on the forest floor, shining brightly for a few prolonged seconds. That’s something of a confidence boost.

For Emma. And her feelings. And her plan, half-cocked as it may be.

“Expand on that for me,” Killian grins.

Keeping her head lifted is one of Emma’s more major successes. At least recently, and while her muscles don’t entirely appreciate it, the jut of her chin makes it easier for Killian’s fingers to ghost over the edge of her mouth and push into her hair and—

“Your eyelashes are unnaturally long,” she says, and the grin widens. “It drives me nuts.” “Does it just?” “Yeah, from like—the get, really. At first I thought it was a fairytale thing, y’know…have to be painfully attractive to be part of the story, but—” “—You end up in the book eventually.”

Heart explosion is not nearly as painful as Emma assumed it would be. If anything, it just makes her feel like she’s floating a bit and her magic gives her a buoyancy that leaves her lighter and softer and she turns into the palm cupping her cheek. “Spoilers,” she chides. “What do you—what do you think happens?” “When you go back, you mean?” Emma nods. Doesn’t really want the answer. Might actually be terrified of the answer, because the timeline is as knotted as it’s ever been and time travel is way more trouble than it’s worth. She’ll probably kick Peter Pan too, just to cover all her bases. “Will you,” she whispers, and holding Killian’s gaze is something of a rather disappointing miracle, “will you all—” “—I don’t think so.” “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

One side of his mouth tilts up, eyeing her with passing amusement and that other emotion and his fingers trail towards the chain hanging around her neck. “Between the vaguely twisted compliments and the actual insults, I’m not entirely sure this is going to work, love.” “What isn’t going to work?” Henry asks sharply, swinging his sword through a shadow.

Grunting, one of Regina’s knees buckles as she continues to fight against the cloud and Ella’s back pressed against hers only just manages to keep her standing. “Get on with it, already,” she hisses. “Or at least try it.”

Nerves explode under Emma’s skin, racing up her arms and threatening to drown out the magic that’s as strong as it’s ever been because the magic is clearly smarter than her, and it’s unreasonable to think she’d be able to deal with that exact shade of blue in Killian’s eyes.

“You make sure I’m alright.”

He blinks. Fair, honestly. Words keep tumbling out of Emma without much thought, but she needs him to know this and this might be the crux of everything else and she’s nodding again. “Over and over,” she continues, “when we’re on the Jolly, and I’m—” “—In the crew’s quarters doing pull-ups.” “You remember that?”

“I’m rather attracted to you, you know that right?”

Laughing with tears in her eyes is as patently absurd as it is nice, and the shadows inch closer. “Could probably do with some reminding every now and then,” Emma admits, “but I, uh—that’s what happened before, too. Sitting outside the Echo Caves and you were supposed to be asleep. Showed up anyway, to make sure I was alright. You always do that.” “Something of a habit.” “So you’ve mentioned.” Humming, there’s not really any way for Killian to get closer to her, but he certainly tries and Emma hopes she doesn’t forget that either. She’s not entirely sure how her memories will deal with everything they’ve been through in the last few weeks. And, like—her life, but that sounds kind of melodramatic. “You don’t need me to take care of you,” Killian says softly, “but it’s—making sure you’re alright is like…making sure we’re following the right course.” “Am I the star in this analogy?” “Several times over,” he replies, “and it’s easy to follow.” “Oh, what was that about backhanded insults?”

Warm air brushes her face when he exhales, nosing at the tear stains her over-abundant emotions have left behind. “I have no idea what will happen,” Killian whispers, as if he’s speaking only for Emma and she supposes that’s at least partially true. “I doubt we’ll disappear, not when it appears time’s much less of a straight line than I originally anticipated, but Her Majesty was right. Nothing’s set in stone, love. That’s half the fun.” “Sounds like a hell of a gamble too.” “Aye, but you’ve also got a pirate who’s rather willing to cheat on your behalf.” “Did you use weighted dice?” He kisses her hair. The edges of her eyes. Down the bridge of her nose and just above her mouth, which is really a very cruel tease, but if they were running out of time earlier, then they’re operating on borrowed minutes now, and Emma’s calves almost audibly object when she pushes up on her toes.

“Just sleight of hand,” he says, “it’s very impressive, I know.” “Something like that, yeah.” “This wasn’t fair to you, Swan. To—to be thrown into this, and I can’t…”

Shaking her head, she’s never actually let go of his shirt, so Emma doesn’t have an excuse for how much her fingers tremble. “No, no, no, if you apologize I will step on your foot, I swear to any God you can come up with.” “Several, actually.” “Nerd,” she insults, and it’s as far away from that as it’s possible for a four-letter word to be. Killian’s eyes have gone glossy. “This wasn’t what he thought it’d be. Pan, I mean. He—he thought he’d take me off the board, keep me locked here because I’d be so tempted to stay and I—” A tree branch falls dangerously close to her right foot. “Well, obviously I was, but…” “But?” Emma presses her lips together. Ignores the ache in her legs and the area directly around her heart, taking more pleasure than she should in the overall circumference of Killian’s eyes while her magic practically sings. Soars out of her, until the ends of her hair light and the shadows don’t retreat, but they freeze for a second and that’s all she really needs. “Seeing it all,” Emma starts, “living it, that’s why I can go back. Because I want to live it. No cheating, no advancing to Go. God, fuck—am I really making Monopoly jokes right now?”

He beams. Stares at her like she’s that star, and a few other constellations for good measure. Possibly the Sun too, but Emma’s the one who’s all too willing to orbit around the whole lot of them, and she kisses him before she can think better of it.

“You make sure I’m alright,” she repeats, “ten-thousand times over, until I end up here. And it’s just not better, babe, it’s—it’s a life, a real one. The kind I used to think was some great, big joke, but that house is so big and our kids are so good, and it’s—” Killian wipes away the tears. For the best, really. Since Emma isn’t entirely sure she can unclench her fingers. “I love it,” she breathes, “I love—”

In any other situation, she’d almost resent being interrupted. As it is, being interrupted with the press of Killian’s mouth against hers is one of the better things that’s happened to her. Like, ever. And she’s already pressed up on her toes, so really the whole thing is pretty practical.

Tilting her head, Emma’s grip threatens to rip his shirt and her spine isn’t all that pleased at the arch she’s put it in, but his hand is flat against her back, the kind of steady presence she’s sure she could build everything around. They’ve gotten better at this, she thinks — less frenzied than it was in Neverland, but somehow even better, like they’re sitting on simmer, a low heat that simply exists and isn’t as overwhelming. She’s not sweating, at least. She’s wrapped in cashmere blankets, and comfort and some other word that starts with ‘c’ because Emma’s ability to linger on the alliterative in times of heightened feeling is actually pretty impressive.

At least until Killian’s tongue swipes the seam of her mouth, and they drift a hint closer to frenzied, and somewhere in the realm of desperate and she genuinely does not notice the first band of light.

Or the second, quite frankly.

It isn’t until the colors arch over them, and several people gasp, that Emma realizes they’ve done something fairly tremendous. Beams of glistening magic curl around them, some hanging from the bend of Emma’s elbow and the curve of Killian’s hook, draping either one of their shoulders and falling off the sleeves of their respective leather jackets.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes, fully expecting Killian’s smile and hoping for his laugh and she’s done more hoping now than she has in the first twenty-nine years of her life.

Henry clicks his tongue. “Oh you can say it, huh?” “I’m your mom, that’s how it works.” More laughter, as out of place as ever, but the light doesn’t disappear immediately and Killian’s jaw has gone slack. “Has that not happened before, then?” Emma asks him.

“You called me babe.” Regina groans again. Henry snickers, ducking his head into Ella’s shoulder, and Emma’s not sure what her parents do, but her mom is definitely crying and she’s crying and there’s something shimmering on the other side of Tinker Bell.

“Told you it’d work,” she says with a knowing smile. “She just needed to get there. And, y’know, be willing to walk away. Which doesn’t sound as romantic as it is, now that I think about it, but might be kind of in the spirit of Christmas.”

Killian rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” Emma nods, “that’s—” She cuts herself off that time, Killian’s fingers lacing through hers so he can give her hand three quick squeezes and that number was probably random. Maybe. True Love’s goddamn Kiss.

“Falling in love with you probably isn’t very easy, is it?”

The tears fall. Drop from the corners of his eyes onto cheeks, one of which has a scar on it and Emma wants to know how that happened. Wants to learn every single thing about him, and them and collective pronouns don’t quite terrify her anymore.

“Not always,” Killian agrees, another strange way of doing it, “but I do always think it’s worth it. For everything we get.” “This?” He nods. “And then some. Because you’re the single most stubborn lass I know, and Pan’s an absolute fool.” “Call me lass again, and see if I kiss you anymore.” “I’m almost confident on that front.”

Smiling doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t affect the muscles in her face, or the overall state of her heart, and that may have something to do with its exploding tendencies from earlier, but Emma’s eyes keep flickering towards that portal and everything ahead of her, and the wave of determination that crests her consciousness doesn’t take her by surprise.

She’s going to get this all back.

Like a Christmas present, waiting under the tree to be opened, and another promise and Killian squeezes her hand again. Before kissing her once more, in a way that doesn’t feel like a farewell, but has a hint of promise and expectation and Emma hugs Henry. And her parents. Glances at Regina, and goddamn Tinker Bell, and hugging Henry again simply makes sense. “Come save me, huh?” he murmurs into her hair. “That’s the plan,” Emma promises. Twisting her neck, Killian’s not more than an inch behind her, but the shadows threaten again, making it difficult to see him and eventually she’ll argue that’s why she doesn’t entirely notice when his hand moves, darting towards her pocket and back so quickly it’s not much more than a blur, and her lips barely brush his before they’re pulling away from each other.

To get back to each other.

“I’m going to love you an absolutely ridiculous amount,” Emma promises, and Killian’s eyes brighten. Brand themselves on all those memories, and even more feelings. “More than I do now, even.” “I look forward to it.”

Bumping her chin against her chest when she nods, Emma’s next inhale is shaky at best, but her steps are sure and she doesn’t feel anything when she falls backwards, or notice the way Regina’s hand shifts ever so slightly.

Her feet slam into the ground. Ground that hasn’t exploded with glowing, vaguely evil plants yet and that’s all it takes to set her plan into motion. He hadn’t remembered, after all. And Emma can only sort of remember now.

Smoke on the water, her thoughts drift through a haze that’s far more metaphorical than she entirely appreciates, and she makes it all of eight larger-than-usual steps before those same feet land on boots and she barely stops herself before she collides with Killian.

A Killian who looks at her like he’s surprised to find her there, but not entirely opposed to it, and whatever thoughts continue to cling to the forefront of Emma’s brain know what else he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to, and that’s not bad, might even be good and great and she can’t remember why her lips feel like they’re tingling. That’s—

Strange, that’s strange. As is the number of times she blinks, and his hook flies to her waist. To keep her steady. Or something. Magnets, maybe. “Swan, are you—” “—Fine, fine,” she breathes, only just able to keep from kissing him. Hard. His lips part slightly when she keeps staring at him, eyes tracing across his face like she’s recommitting it to memory, and she supposes she is, and he was coming to find her. All over again. “You’re here though, right? This isn’t…this is real?” Hair threatens to fall into his eyes, head at an angle that Emma is sure simply exists to torment her. “Why wouldn’t it be?” “I—I don’t know,” she admits, and it only sort of sounds like a lie. Emma shakes her head. That doesn’t help, really. “Is my mom still ignoring my dad?” “Very much so. You shouldn’t be out here, you know.” “Neal’s not dead, though?” “No,” Killian says, lips forming a perfect circle on the second letter. Emma’s staring at his lips. Again, or always. Or whatever, honestly.

“Ok, ok, that’s—that’s good, well maybe not the ignoring part, but we’ll figure that out and we’re going to figure this out.” “Wasn’t a question.” “No it wasn’t.” His eyes narrow, neck remaining at that angle. “Good. It shouldn’t be.” “Awfully confident of you.” “No, no, I’m only confident in you, love.” Something flutters at the back of Emma’s brain — part memory and even more desire, and this feels like something they’ve done already, but that can’t possibly be true and those particular words in that particular order are as honest as Emma’s heard. She must have fallen asleep.

“C’mon,” Killian continues, hand reaching for hers and she doesn’t pull away. She lets his fingers tangle with hers, and every squeeze against her palm is enough to settle her pulse and her magic, and he doesn’t let go of her until they get back to camp. Neither one of them mention how she doesn’t pull away, either.

They plan. Plot, and discuss and Neal’s something of an issue — as is her mother’s pointed and unnecessary romantic advice, but Emma knows her objections fall on deaf ears, especially when that same mother keeps ignoring her father, and she’s not sure she’s ever known fear like she feels in Dark Hollow.

If asked — and Emma can’t imagine why she would be, but she’s at war with her own thoughts and some sadistic childlike-monster who’s already fucked with her more than he should be capable of — she’d argue it was because of what Killian tells her. When I win your heart plays on loop in Emma’s brain, but it’s also because, somehow, she knows he will and does, and fire bursts out of her in the middle of yet another shadow attack.

“How did you do that?” Neal asks, sounding far more surprised than he should and something in Emma’s center recoils at the tone. “Regina. She’s teaching me magic.” Not entirely a lie, not really. But Killian’s eyes snap towards her, and she’s apparently just as good at ignoring things as her mother. “She’s teaching you magic?”

“Yeah,” Emma nods, gripping the coconut in her hand a little tighter. Six months ago, that would have felt like the most absurd sentence in the world. Now it just pisses her off. “I guess she is.”

There’s more, because of course there is. Wendy Darling and Neal are something of old friends, and she’s somehow an even worse liar than Emma, but the truth means Henry’s death and she can’t breathe. Can hardly stand, but is also standing closer to Killian and she keeps calling him Killian. In her head.

His hand squeezes hers; exactly three times.

“It’ll be fine, love,” Killian murmurs. Naturally, it’s not.

Watching Henry hand over his heart is a nightmare Emma will see for the rest of her life, wholly unprepared for the way her kid drops to the ground and the strength of her ensuing magic threatens to blind her.

Regina’s not much better, honestly. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out and then there’s magic and a wave of her hand, and—“He’s not dead yet,” she tells Emma, like that’s acceptable, but she’s got no idea what else to do and the growing feeling that she’s forgotten something very important.

Preservation spells are as freaky their name implies, it turns out.

Henry doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, but he also isn’t dead and Emma figures that’s at least one positive. While she’s attacked by a tree, and taunted by Pan and Regina’s admission leaves her reeling just a bit. That is until it turns out Peter Pan is also Gold’s father, and the absurdity of it all makes Emma want to scream and cry and they somehow save Henry’s heart.

In Pandora’s Box.

Really, the rest is a blur — adrenaline mixing with magic and an above-average amount of gasping, and Killian offers Henry the captain’s quarters. Emma doesn’t think before she walks, leading the pair of them towards the door, and there’s a shadow trapped in the sail and they’re on a flying pirate ship, so honestly her knowledge of that pirate ship’s layout should be the least of their worries, but something, something…open book.

“You want to tell me what’s going on, now?” Killian asks, finding Emma what feels like a lifetime later. Hours, actually. Most of which she’s spent leaning against the railing, while trying to breathe in as much salt air as possible and Regina’s still in the cabin with Henry.

“Aside from the obvious?” “Whatever’s got you staring so intently at the horizon.” “It’s calming,” Emma reasons, and there’s some truth to that as well. There’s also something in her back pocket, a piece of clothing that miraculously isn’t totally destroyed with mud and the after-effects of fighting for their collective lives.

“It often is, although you’re thinking so loudly, I can’t help but—” “—Do you think you’ll stay in Storybrooke?”

Killian tenses. He’s close enough that Emma can practically feel the way his muscles tighten, but there’s more to it than proximity, and it’s got to be nearly his turn at the helm. Neal can’t stay up there forever.

“If you think that would be a good idea.”

Rolling her eyes makes her head hurt. She might also be dehydrated. The knowledge that there’s a flask of rum stashed somewhere under the cot in Killian’s cabin is one of the few things keeping Emma conscious. Captain’s cabin. Semantics. She has no idea how she knows that. “That’s not really what I asked,” Emma argues. “Do you—is that something you’d like?”

She shouldn’t be as nervous as she is.

The future is suddenly blurry, and not entirely uncertain, but she fought like hell for it and now there’s this growing sense of optimism taking root in her. Like it’s the foundation for everything else, strong and certain and that’s a rather daunting change of pace for her. The certainty, not the adjective choices. Gold made it so David could come home too. They all get to go home. So, Emma doesn’t move very quickly when she turns, just presses her lips together and—

Hopes.

Pixie dust requires a certain amount of belief to work, after all.

“I would,” Killian breathes. He leans forward, or Emma leans forward, and it genuinely does not matter because there are mouths and hands and it’s over before it really begins, the rail of a flying pirate ship threatening to dig into her back. She’s never been more comfortable. “Ok,” Emma says, footsteps coming towards them, “that’s good.”

“You saved him, you know.”

“Motivation’s a funny thing like that.”

“Certainly is,” Killian agrees, “and you had that in spades. I just—” He smirks. The bastard. “Telling you I knew you would makes me a bit of a cad, doesn’t it?” “More than a bit, maybe.” He chuckles, letting his head drop closer to hers. “Why’d you know where the blankets were in that cabin?” “Far too perceptive for your own good.” “I prefer to see it as an acute observation.” “And you’re more than just a pretty face, huh?”

“Sounds suspiciously like you think I’m pretty.”

“Occasionally,” Emma says, standing on wobbly knees again and they’re dancing without music. “I don’t know, really, but we’ll get there, I think.”

Leaning back, Killian’s eyebrows shift and his thoughts practically come with cymbals, but he doesn’t press her anymore and Emma doesn’t actually believe she fell asleep. Outside the Echo Caves, but all of those thoughts feel like dreams now, and Neal doesn’t ask any questions — which is either a victory or a crushing disappointment, depending on which way you look at it, but Emma can’t bring herself to leave the railing, even when the wind picks up and goosebumps prickle her arms and the something in her back pocket is a tiny slip of paper.

Torn at the edges, like the person who grabbed it was pressed for time and flush with determination and she’s never actually seen his handwriting before. It doesn’t make an ounce of difference. Swooping letters linger on the looseleaf, no matter how many times Emma blinks, the words the same and she tries very hard not to rip it. Holding it as tightly as she is makes that easier said than done.

Still, it doesn’t change.

I love you.

As clear as the tears that return to her eyes will allow, and Emma’s not surprised to find him already looking in her direction. She smiles, and goes below deck.

They don’t make it very long before something else gets fucked up.

They barely make it like—two weeks. Pan isn’t dead, and Henry’s not Henry and the whole thing is a disaster that frequently ends with Emma slumped against the nearest wall she can find, the hand gripping hers squeezing at regular intervals, like Killian is trying to remind her of something, but she might just be hoarding every touch and every feeling and it figures.

Standing at the town line, Emma’s not sure how she’s going to get in that car and drive away from this town and these people and her mother kisses her forehead. Softly and almost reverently, and David’s hand finds the back of her head, holding her as tightly as he had in Neverland and Emma knows he’d like to do that forever, but that won’t be possible in five minutes and she’s not going to remember.

Any of them. At any point.

She’s still not sure why the timing of it all seems so important.

“That’s quite a vessel you captain there, Swan.”

Smiling is the only way she stops herself from kicking him, or possibly kissing him and she’s not prepared for what Killian says next. If she ever gets to remember this, that will seem vaguely ridiculous. All things considered.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you.” He means it. Emma knows that, too. As much as she knows she should have said something — a string of words that’s still a little overwhelming, but the sheet of paper basically lives in her jacket pocket now, and for someone who feels as if she keeps bouncing around time, or at least realms, she also continues to run out of it.

“Good,” she says, and one side of his mouth moves. Tugs up while he stares at her, and struggles to step back and everything disappears. Behind a cloud of purple smoke, and a line that’s brushed away as easily as if it had never been there at all, and Emma forgets.

Most of it, at least.

Some guy knocks on her door, knows her name, and immediately tries to kiss her. It’s not the strangest thing Emma’s ever encountered, but that’s because bail bond’s a weird gig, and he keeps showing up. Gives her a note with handwriting that looks suspiciously familiar, and proves even more than that and her hand shakes. While pulling a weather-stained piece of paper from the folds of her wallet, and she’s got no rational reason for keeping it. Not when she’s got no idea why she has it in the first place, but every time she considers throwing it away, something tugs between her ribs and flutters at the back of her brain and the swoop on the top of his ‘o’ is exactly the same.

She doesn’t mention that before she drinks the potion. And she only balks slightly at the word potion , so that’s another victory and— “Killian,” she breathes, memories flying back. Some arrive quicker than others, while a few hang in the shadows and she knows there’s more to the sheet of paper than she’s willing to admit. Magic fights with her, trying to piece together things that don’t entirely make sense, and she can remember things that don’t make sense. Pirate ships, and flashing swords, and a house with enough windows that it likely sets a record.

And a hand slipping a sheet of paper into her back pocket.

“Miss me?”

It’s a joke. A bad one, at that. Especially coupled with a smile that barely reaches his eyes, but Emma finds herself nodding all the same and he doesn’t stumble backwards when she launches herself at him, hugging as tightly as she can.

The paper goes back in her wallet before they leave for Storybrooke.

She’s going to leave. Get back in her car and go back to New York, and raise Henry like a normal kid, but Emma can’t shake the feeling that there’s something inherently wrong with that plan, and it doesn’t have anything to do with wicked witches or newborn brothers, but maybe deja vu for something she hasn’t lived yet, and Killian’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. When she does the unthinkable.

“Come with us, then.” “You’re not serious,” he challenges.

“Like a heart attack, maybe. I just…none of this is safe, and New York was, I mean…you could be part of—” “False memories, based on magical nonsense.”

Shoulders slumping, Emma can’t come up with an argument to that. Only kind of wants to, but she’s not in the book, and Henry doesn’t want to leave. The dreams she keeps having make sleep something of a pipe dream. And she’s something of a mess, but Killian’s a much better dancer than she expected him to be.

And she’s not surprised to find him rounding the corner of Regina’s dungeon, although it’s nice to be saved, even when she’s perfectly capable of doing it herself. But then his arms threaten to crack several of her ribs ten minutes later, and Emma has a few theories about that. None of which she voices, far too busy memorizing the way his thumb feels when it brushes her cheek, and her mother’s not dead.

Doesn’t remember her, but time travel beggars can’t be choosers. Another burst of deja vu rattles through her, and there’s no magic to jump in her veins, but Killian glances her direction all the same and the wand is heavy in her hand. One that’s magical again, a portal home because it is home and you trade your ship for me isn’t much more than a whisper on warmer-than-usual wind. He doesn’t blink when he answers. She’ll think about that for quite some time.

After she stops thinking about how good they are at kissing, because they are exceptional at kissing and it’s very simple. To fall into this head first, the feeling and the emotion and Killian chuckles when Emma’s magic begins to thrum under her skin.

She tells her parents about Neal.

About what he did, and how he did it and their eyes widen so often she wonders if they’ll get stuck like that. Killian’s hand doesn’t leave her shoulder.

They announce the change two days later. Prince Neal is Prince Leo and he’s still as cute as ever, with a tendency to spit up on whoever holds him.

“Are you alright?” “You’ve asked me that like ten times.” Nodding, Killian doesn’t move and Emma can’t imagine what kind of damage this is doing to his knees, but he doesn’t seem inclined to stand up either and she’s finally starting to get some feeling back in her toes. Fingers, too. Which makes it easier to drag the tips of them over his cheek, and his eyelids fluttering shut is a jolt of confidence she’s going to cling to. “And yet,” he drawls, “I’m still very curious.”

“I’m fine,” Emma says, not for the first time and she knows it won’t be the last. He shifts the blanket draped across her legs, tucking it under her side like—“A mother hen pirate.” “That’s rude, love.” “You’re going to give yourself a coronary.” “I don’t know what that means.” Laughing softly, her lips are still a bit chilly when she presses them to Killian’s skin. Warm, like always. Some joke about her own personal sun, and something else about walls made of ice and she doesn’t think before she mumbles, “you want to lay down, or something?” “Your father might challenge me to a duel.” “Not confident in your own sword skills?” “I’m very confident in my skills, but—” “—C’mon,” Emma interrupts, ignoring Killian’s protest when she pulls her arms out of the mountain of fabric covering her, “you’re warm, anyway.”

She realizes she loves him before she says it.

Well before, honestly. And she wonders why that feels inevitable, almost like it’s already happened, somehow but that’s—well, that’s impossible. She should rid that word from her vocabulary. And the inevitability of telling Killian everything she’s feeling isn’t totally surprising, either. Has been coming on so gradually that don’t you know, Emma, it’s you doesn’t knock her entirely off course. Might right her, actually. Direct her back towards some star or something else nautical and decidedly sentimental, and she cannot rationalize how quiet she is when he falls.

Dies, really.

This alternate version of him that still managed to rescue her, and she couldn’t save him and that’s not right. Two-way streets operate in both directions, but she didn’t tell him and everything feels like it stops. Not long enough. Time refuses to linger the way Emma needs it to, lungs threatening to disintegrate, and this isn’t real, can’t possibly be real and Henry’s pulling on her sleeve, telling her they have to go. He’s right. They’ve got to get out of here. Fix it, and give Emma more time, and she doesn’t spend any of it thinking before she rushes up the loft stairs and clings to him tightly enough that they fall over.

That will feel poetic later.

Standing in the center of Main Street, with a dagger in her hand and magic in the air and it’s familiar all over again, another burst of deja vu, and the exact opposite. Wrong, on a fundamental sort of level that she still can’t ignore and she closes her eyes. Thinks of what could be, or what she hopes will still happen, and then she tilts her head up and meets eyes that are far too blue to be fair and it’s easy to give voice to the words she hadn’t before.

That’s nice, she supposes.

Being as consistently confused by her own thoughts is one of Emma’s biggest pet peeves. “I love you.”

“Getting more and more difficult not to tell him. Isn’t it, dearie?” Sighing, Emma doesn’t bother glancing up from the half-finished dream catcher in her hands and Killian’s not going to be happy that he fell asleep. He likes to think he can protect her better while he’s conscious. As if he could protect her from her own mind.

“Do you even remember it?” Rumplestilskin continues, and it’s not really him. She has to keep reminding herself that. “Can see into your thoughts, y’know. And I don’t think you do.” “Shut up.” He doesn’t, of course. “The Queen did something. Changed something, somehow. Can feel the dregs of her magic, clinging to your memories and—” He leans forward. “—So can you, can’t you? Wonder why those scenes that appear behind your eyes every time you blink, feel so real. All that fairy tale fodder, and another thing you’ll miss out on. Strange how that version of your personal prince charming never mentioned what happens to you, isn’t it? Almost as if he’s keeping secrets. Maybe that’s a sign.” “Shut up.” She doesn’t mean to say anything. Responding only ever eggs the apparition on, and Emma’s head feels as if it will split in two. It might help if it did.

Every one of Rumplestilskin’s teeth is on display when he smiles. Like a goddamn crocodile.

“You could likely get your memories back. If you wanted. All that power surging through your veins. Or maybe,” he continues slowly, “part of what you’re feeling isn’t anything more than fate."

"No, that’s not true."

"Sure of that? Absolutely positive? Anything is possible, after all."

And the idea takes Emma by sudden and overwhelming surprise, part of her hating even the thought, but her feet are already moving and she might be running if the stretch of her legs is any sign, and Merlin doesn’t look up. When she slams open his door.

“You know, don’t you?” “Everything you’ve forgotten?” he asks lightly. “Yes, I do.” “What do I do about it?” “Would you like to do something about it?” “Did Regina do something to my memories?” Emma presses, leaning against the door as soon as it shuts behind her. One of his shoulders lifts. “He—the voice in my head…keeps taunting me about it, and I don’t—is any of that possible? That life?” Finally lifting his gaze, Merlin looks exactly as he did in that movie theater Emma only half believes she actually remembers, and time travel continues to be one of her least favorite things. “Depends,” he replies, “on you, and your next question.”

“I shouldn’t know. Right? Shouldn’t remember, I—he was looking at the house. The one I remember us living in sometimes, and I don’t…it’s impossible. To get back to that.” “He already told you it wasn’t,” Merlin argues.

I’ll never stop fighting for us.

Emma licks her lips. Coming up with anything else to say is difficult, and she’s still holding the goddamn dreamcatcher. That makes it easier. To give into instinct, and she’s broken. At her most basic level. Ripped apart and stitched back with pieces that don’t entirely belong to her, and remembering any of it feels like a cruel trick.

Lifting her arm, the whole thing only takes a few moments. Nothing more than a soft pull, and what feels like a soap bubble popping.

“Feel better?” Merlin asks, gaze dropping back to his table and his task and Emma nearly growls at him.

“What are you talking about?” “That’s what I thought. It won’t all disappear, though. Magic’s got a way of leaving a mark, especially magic like that.”

She leaves before he can make any other cryptic announcements, and Dark Ones don’t really need sleep. Emma sits on the bed for the rest of the night.

Dreams happen occasionally.

In the few days between — after the blade broke apart in her hand, and the decision that she won’t take this lying down, fuck whatever the world says about death and Dark Ones — visions start to creep into Emma’s subconscious. Sometimes they aren’t good, are a startling reminder of how it felt to fall to the ground, and the exact way dew soaked through her jeans, or how cold he was when his hand fell away from hers. And then sometimes they’re…not that.

They’re bright, and laughter rings out in the space Emma can’t quite define. Like it’s somewhere she’s been before, lived in even. Happily so. Scents hang in the air, a mix of salt and sweet and there’s almost always an arm curled around her waist, whispers in her ear and the steady press of kisses along her neck. Soft footsteps echo down carpeted hallways, and there’s garland wrapped around the staircase railing. Lining their ridiculous number of windows, and draped across branches of a tree.

For Christmas.

Emma isn’t sure how she knows that, but the snow outside is a good clue and it’s that — the growing desire to make this dream something closer to a reality, and no one questions her decision. To go to the Underworld. The same way she doesn’t second guess her steps as she races towards Killian, blood on his cheeks and nothing at the end of his left arm and he’s heavier than she remembered. Slumped against her chest with his breath in her ear, and it’s not quite the same as the dream, but they’ll get there.

They’ll get there.

Emma repeats the phrase — over and over, stumbling down a path she’s only passably confident will lead them outside, and he squeezes her hand. Three times.

Sometimes they dance.

In the kitchen. In the living room. She’s got this habit of hoarding records, and Killian’s far more interested in antiquing than he’d ever be willing to admit. Emma makes pirate jokes about it.

If only because it inevitably guarantees that spark in his eyes.

The one that makes her shiver, and reminds her of something she can’t quite remember and—she gasps, a hand spinning her on the kitchen floor. Away from the sink of dirty dishes and anything remotely responsible.

“I’m going to get your shirt all wet,” Emma grumbles, but that doesn’t appear to concern him very much. Or at all.

“Good.” “Good?” “Was that confusing?” Killian challenges, metal already working under the hem of her shirt. There are flowers on it.

“You think you’re very funny.” “I think I’ve got fantastic rhythm, and I can hear you thinking from across the room. What’s got your magic so loud?” Without stopping, Emma’s magic responds in kind — a symphony of possibility, and the growing sense of want that sits like a nearly-comfortable weight in the pit of her stomach, and sometimes she tells him. About the dreams, and the scenes that feel like she’s lived them before, and Killian never tells her she’s crazy. Even when Emma wonders if she might be. Instead, there’s simply this look of his own want, crinkling the skin near his eyes and she kisses away the pinch between his brow. Which makes it easier for her to ask— “Why this one?”

“Excuse me?” “This house,” Emma clarifies, and the conversation’s a little late. They’ve been here for years. Watched Henry grow up, and taught him how to use a sword, and watched movies until they could quote them back without a single mistake. So, really she should have figured it out before, but Emma’s had her suspicions. It’s only now that she’s greedy enough to ask about them.

“You know why.” “Would love to hear you say it.” “Pirate,” Killian accuses, without any insult and Emma giggles when he pulls her back to his chest. “And I—well, it’d be nice, don’t you think?” “Yeah, it would,” Emma says. The agreement tumbles out of her with ease, partially because of that aforementioned greed and the memories she can’t shake and Merlin said something to her. About magic’s tendency to leave something behind.

There’s a sheet of paper still hidden in her wallet.

“So,” she continues, “great big house, with lots of rooms and—” “—It’s your choice, Swan.” “That’s not how it works, and you know it. A combined team of planning and feeling and—” He dips her, she tries very hard not to giggle again. Fails miserably. “—Self-proclaimed rhythm. We just…this isn’t just about me, this is an us thing.” The music doesn’t stop. They only kind of do, Killian leaning back with a glint in his eyes that’s different than it normally is and Emma’s not sure when she started breathing through her mouth, but it’s drying out her lips and that’s not the first time she’s said that.

She doesn’t think so, at least.

“I’m a rather large fan of that string of words,” Killian says. “And you.” “Seems like a requirement of marriage.” “And parenting?” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

Kissing him is really the only reasonable option. And Emma considers herself fairly reasonable, although her magic nearly makes a light bulb explode a few hours later and it’s difficult to be annoyed by the smug look on Killian’s face when he’s not wearing any clothing.

“What about Regina?”

Half a dozen heads snap towards Emma, some of them sporting bemused expressions, while others wear flat out disbelief and she doesn’t blink. Her fingers tighten, under the table where she’s gripping Killian’s hand and she can’t seem to get comfortable.

There’s way more of her than she’s used to, and the books claim she’s in some stage called nesting. Which Killian uses as an excuse to make Swan jokes at every opportunity. It might be driving her insane.

So, Emma will use that as an excuse. “What do you mean, Your Highness?” Grumpy asks her, and Killian can’t quite mask his laugh. Even with his teeth pressed distractingly into his lower lip.

“I mean,” Emma starts, “that if we’re going to combine all the realms, maybe having Regina in charge might not be the worst idea. She’s got queenly experience.” “Wow,” Regina says slowly, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “No it is not!” “Top five, at least.” “You’re ruining this.”

Scrunching her nose is not a normal Regina reaction, but Emma figures it makes sense considering the circumstances and it’s a lot of responsibility. Uniting all the realms is a pretty daunting prospect, that will require enough of her own magic that Killian’s already freaking out just a bit, and somehow Emma can’t bring herself to be frustrated with that. Endeared, maybe.

And absolutely certain this will work.

She doesn’t know why. She looks at the slip of paper in her wallet, like four times a day.

“You’re sure?” Regina asks, Emma nods. “Alright, then I’d uh—it’d be my honor.”

They buy too many gifts. Hope is a baby. One who won’t have any memory of her first Christmas in this absolutely massive house, with a tree that Anton gave them a discount on.

“For milestones,” he reasoned, and Emma resolutely refuses to admit that she cried. But Killian brings it up more than once, and that gets her to roll her eyes and smile against his mouth when he ducks his head to kiss her and Snow White went above and beyond this year. Decorations line Main Street, cookies shared from every business and every person and all those people keep smiling. At her, and them and their kid is way cuter than her brother was.

Emma doesn’t mention that.

Killian does, at least when he whispers it to her while Leo tears apart another paper-covered box, and Hope gurgles in the crook of his arm. And Emma figures this is as good a time as any. To tug the folded envelope out of her pocket, flipping her wrist at the expectant and slightly confused look on Killian’s face. “What’s this?” “A gift,” Emma snarks, barely twisting out of the way to avoid him nipping at her nose. Like some twisted and very attractive Jack Frost. There’s some silver in his hair now.

He uses his hook to open it.

Emma clicks her tongue. So as not to push into his mouth. That might scar the kid.

“I don’t—” Killian says, pulling the scrap of paper out of. He holds it like it’s precious, and it is for Emma, but she also doesn’t entirely understand it and it’s kind of a selfish gift. “This is my hand writing. Why…I don’t remember writing this.” “And I don’t know when I got it. But I have it.” “I can see that.” “No, no, you don’t understand. It’s—I’ve had that for as long as I can remember. Since before New York, at least.” Killian’s eyes flash. To her and possibly through her, and Emma’s shrug is half-hearted at best. “Memories don’t always stick in this town,” he reasons, but it sounds like an excuse. For something she still doesn’t entirely understand.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s been there. Was in my wallet, and I had it in Camelot, babe. Used to pull it out sometimes, when you were—” “—Dead?” “God bless us, every one.” His laugh lacks any real amusement. It’s not very festive. “I’m going to ask you something,” Emma says, fully prepared for the way his lips curl.

“Eventually you’ll bypass the proclamations, Your Highness.” “Why do you squeeze my hand? You do it all the time.” “Do I?” Blotches of pink appear on his cheeks and he might want to lie, but his ears can’t and that’s not as weird a sentence as it should be. “Only three times, you realize?” “Don’t insult me like that.” That laugh is better. Purer, more like him and Emma’s magic flickers when he kisses her cheek. He’s constantly kissing her cheek. And her hair. Temple. Anywhere he can reach, like he’s always looking for a reminder and proof, until Emma knows she depends on it just as much as he does.

“Made it easier,” he says, “saying it without actually using words.” “And the words were…” He doesn’t really glare — that’s against the rules at Christmas, Emma’s sure, but his head lolls and his lips quirk and magic jumps. In her. To him. Whatever, really. “I love you,” Killian says, easy as some other cliche and Hope squirms between them. When they start kissing.

To suggest that what happens next happens suddenly, also makes it seem like Emma is paying attention to anything outside the little bubble of family and feeling, and neither one of those things is true. So she can’t say that. Her mother can.

Gasping and yelping, and there’s color everywhere — rivaling the lights that hang all over, because no one does holidays and milestones better than Her Royal Highness Snow White of Storybrooke. Emma curses.

Like a goddamn princess.

Remembering something that hasn’t technically happened yet threatens to make Emma topple over, but she’s really good at standing now and Killian’s arm is around her anyway. That helps. Perpetually.

“What the hell was that?” David demands, with as little grace as any of them can exude.

Emma shakes her head, refusing to blink. Despite the moisture there, and the feelings and she remembers. Has this whole time, kind of. The semantics probably aren’t important, at least not as much as the light is and was and will be.

Perpetually.

She doesn’t answer. Not her dad, anyway.

“I love you,” Emma tells Killian instead, and it takes some time to explain it all later. True Love and its somewhat inconsistent if not equally wonderful tendencies, and while that future in the past may not happen exactly as it had, this is somehow better and Emma was right.

They got here, eventually.

[alpacaparkaseok]

Where you should be

Chapter 3: Nemesism

Genre: Hobi x oc

Warnings: this series contains stalking, blackmail, and similar stressful/fear inducing situations. Also unrequited love, which is perhaps the most terrifying of all.

Word Count: 3.8k

Guys! Last chapter was a bit of a downer lol. I wish I could say that all of this gets resolved quickly and easily, but that’s no fun. So enjoy!

Nemesism (n.) frustration or anger directed against oneself

The next morning I hardly see Hobi. He eats early, making me a smoothie and leaving it on the counter with my name.

Well, with a sticky note that says ‘Sunny’.

I can hear his music blasting from his room where he’s getting ready, it’s loud enough that he doesn't hear my loud breathing as I close my eyes and try to focus on just getting through this morning.

When it’s time for us to leave Hobi walks out into the living room to find me standing awkwardly before the window, staring out of it like I just might flee the scene before he can see me.

“Do-yun sent a car for you, it should be outside.”

They’re the first words he says to me all morning, and they have me turning around from where I stand before the window, the meaning behind his words enough to rake through my already shredded heart.

“Hobi-”

Just as I begin to speak he turns away, starting to walk from the room. A heartbeat later finds me striding toward him, throwing caution to the wind.

“Jung Hoseok, don’t you dare do this to me. Don’t you dare,” I jump in front of him, putting a stop to his escape. He keeps his eyes trained on the hallway beyond. “You’re going to start being all weird and distant, and I can’t...I can’t-”

My voice breaks a little until I’m suddenly drowning in tears. I’m just as shocked as Hobi is, and I bring my hands up to my face, trying to stop the flow.

“I- Ha-rin, I didn’t mean to-”

My face is burning with embarrassment as I realize that I have no right to be bawling like a baby in front of the man that just confessed his love to me last night. He has every right to be distant and angry, yet here I am sobbing before him.

But I want him.

I want him so bad. And he’s standing less than a foot away, that sad expression swimming in his eyes as he brings me into his arms, his cheek resting atop my head.

Don’t ever let me go.

“We’re a mess, aren’t we?” Hobi mumbles.

I laugh through the tears, melting into his embrace as Hobi laughs along. How can we still be laughing even after we’ve put our hearts through so much pain?

Standing there with my face pressed up against his shoulder, crying and laughing at the same time, the realization of my feelings for him hit me hard and fast. Sure, the foundation has been laid for a while now, but standing here with my heart in pieces and completely unable to pick up Hoseok’s shattered heart, I know what I feel.

There’s a difference between wanting someone and loving someone.

If I just wanted Hoseok, I would have bailed out on any sort of integrity I have left and told him right then and there that I was an idiot. That I couldn’t stand not being around him. That I want to be his, and I want him to be mine.

Yet, I love him.

Which is exactly what has me extracting myself from his arms, apologizing, and heading straight out the door.

I only allow myself to look back once as I close the door, clutching my things in my arms. There he stands, still facing the hallway. Clinging to his sweatshirt in his fists as though it’s the only thing keeping him on the earth.

Sitting in the back of the black SUV, I wonder how I can feel such different emotions at once. There’s peace knowing I did what I had to do.

And there’s loneliness, cursing my name for throwing away what was sure to be a cure.

♟

June 2019

“That sounds great,” I say into the mic. “Come out here and listen to it, then we’ll go from there.”

Soobin, Hueningkai, and Beomgyu exit the recording booth and head into the studio. They crowd around me, leaning in to listen to the latest version of the song.

We’ve been in here for about an hour now, going over a rough version of a new song for them. It’s been nice to have them around, I’m usually pretty alone in my studio. Other than the occasional visit from Dohyeong or Pdogg, I tend to have my space.

Space is...good.

We’ve just started listening to the recording when there’s a knock on my door. Swiveling around in my chair, I grin as I see who the visitor is.

“Well well,” I muse. “Look who decided to drop in.”

Dohyeong smiles back at me, saying hello to the other boys. “How’s it going?”

I shrug. “Good. We’re just working on some stuff. What’s up?”

“I was actually coming to steal you away for a bit. I need a second opinion on something. Unless you’re busy…?”

Glancing at the other boys, they wave me away. “Will it take long?”

“No, not too long.”

Getting up from my seat, I laugh as Hueningkai immediately takes the vacant seat. “Take your time,” he croons, enjoying the seat of power. The other two boys instantly start bickering over the chair, making me roll my eyes endearingly at them.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t delete anything.”

I follow Dohyeong out the door, taking the stairs as we head up to the next floor where his studio is.

“So how’s it been going?”

Dohyeong is one of the only people I ever really see around the Bighit building these days. Other than TXT and a handful of other producers, it’s a ghost town on my floor of the building.

I guess I never noticed how little traffic there was on my floor before. I always had one visitor popping in.

Ever since February, Hoseok has been scarce. While he didn’t seem to be angry anymore, he certainly hasn’t gone out of his way to seek me out. I can’t say I blame him.

It’s made it a little easier, I think. Not seeing him everywhere I go has allowed me to buckle down and get to work without feeling sorry for myself.

“It’s been good. Pretty steady. What are you working on that you wanted me to look at?”

We’re just entering his studio as I finish my question, and I nearly fall flat on my face as we walk through the door.

It would appear that Dohyeong was not working alone. In fact, the entire rapline is here with Pdogg.

Namjoon paces back and forth on one side of the room, hardly even noticing my presence when I walk through the door. Yoongi sits in a chair beside Pdogg, chatting with him about the track.

Hoseok sits on the sofa in the back of the room, his elbows on his knees as he stares forward, lost in thought.

His hair is black now, so different from those honey-brown highlights I swooned over a few months ago. Now he looks much sharper, like a force to be reckoned with.

He looks dangerous.

“Really Dohyeong?” I try to keep my tone light as everyone in the room turns to look at me. “Second opinion?”

Dohyeong shrugs, moving to sit before his computer. “If I told you I needed your opinion, you would’ve told me to ask Pdogg or something.”

Pdogg chuckles, nodding along knowingly. “Nice to see you, Sunny. You never come around anymore. Too cool for us now?”

It takes every fiber of my being for me to not look at Hoseok.

“Just been busy,” I mumble, coming to stand beside Dohyeong’s chair. “How’ve you been?”

Pdogg shrugs. “Same old same old.”

Namjoon strides forward, never one to get bogged down with awkward small talk. Not when there’s work to be done. “Hey, Sunny. Would you mind listening to this for us? I think we’ve all been listening to it for so long that we can’t get a fresh perspective on it.”

I nod, settling down into the chair beside Dohyeong and slipping a pair of headphones on. “Anything I need to know going into it?”

Yoongi chuckles from behind me, causing me to turn about in my chair. In the process, I can’t help but peek over at Hoseok.

He’s looking right at me already, every bit of his attention honed in on me. My eyes graze his, and the momentary eye contact leaves me sparking with electricity.

“Well, Hoseok wrote most of this, so it’s his fault if it sucks.” Yoongi smirks at his friend, earning himself a glare in return.

I force myself to laugh along with everyone else, wincing internally as Hoseok leans back against the sofa and crosses his ankle over his knee.

Has he somehow become better looking over the past few months?

“Good to know,” I mumble, turning back to the screen. Dohyeong nods at me, starting the track.

From the corner of my eye I can see that everyone else has gone back to pacing or chatting, so I take the time to lean back against my chair and close my eyes, really taking it in.

I can definitely tell that Hoseok inspired a lot of this track, it sounds like him. RM starts it off, his voice gruff as he delivers the lyrics, painting a picture in the way that only he can.

Suga joins in on the chorus, and I frown. His voice is nearly drowned out from the heavy drums in the background. I make a mental note to tell them as much.

It’s not until the bridge that J-hope makes an appearance.

My heart begins to pound in my chest, and my eyes fly open as I stare at the monitor. I watch the small numbers counting down until the end of the song, begging them to pick up the pace. Hoseok’s voice lodges itself into my mind, and for a moment the words end it before it can begin are replaced by the phrase he keeps spitting out again and again.

You moved on before I could move you.

You moved on before I could move you.

You moved on before I had a chance to move-

My knee hits the bottom of the desk as I rip the headphones off my head, tossing them onto the desk before launching out of my chair. Everyone freezes where they sit, looking at me with various levels of confusion.

Hoseok is the only one in the entire room that has yet to react to my sudden actions. He keeps his eyes down, picking at something on his sleeve. His chest doesn’t move as he refuses to breathe.

“Drums are too loud in the chorus, Yoongi.” I bite out the words, ripping my attention away from Hoseok. “They’re drowning out your voice.”

Yoongi nods slowly, his mouth hanging open as he stares at me. “Ok.”

Namjoon steps forward, hands outstretched as though trying to grasp the situation. “You didn’t even finish the song, though. Isn’t there anything else?”

I’ve already taken several steps toward the door, Hoseok’s voice ringing through my mind unceasingly. Turning to shake my head at Namjoon, I feel as though somebody set me on fire. “No. Sounds great. Sorry,” I lie, I really couldn’t care less. I have to get out of here. “I’ve got to go check on the boys.”

The door gives way and I’m out into the hallway, striding toward the elevator like my life depends on it. I decide against it once I get there, heading into the stairwell beside the elevator and making it down a total of five steps before I collapse and sit with my head between my legs.

You moved on before I could move you.

The walls are caving in on me as I sit in the stairwell, and I close my eyes tight against them. Eventually it becomes too much to handle, and I find myself launching up and climbing up the stairs.

I’m not completely sure how tall the Bighit building is, but it’s definitely tall enough that I’m a panting, sweaty mess by the time I clear the final floor. Staring at the door, I push through it and find myself in an empty hallway.

The sound of music coming from what I assume are training rooms at the end of the hallway meet my ears, and as though in a trance I gravitate toward the sound.

The music gets louder and louder as I approach the room. The door is closed, so whoever is inside must be blasting it. Leaning up against the wall just outside the room, I close my eyes for just a moment.

The bass vibrates through the floor, accompanied by the persistent music that seems to know just how horrible I’m feeling inside.

For the first time in my life, I understand why people say that there’s only a thin line between love and hate.

Standing here with my back pressed against the wall, I feel so much hate. It’s overwhelming, overtaking my senses as I clench my fingers into fists. If my eyes were open, I’m sure I would be seeing red.

Instead, I’m picturing my contract in my mind. The music swells as I picture signing that contract over and over again, laughing at the thought of ever getting to know any idols past a purely professional level.

There’s so much anger in me as I think over the past few months, remembering all those hours spent alone in the studio. Staring at my monitor, the same scene from Hoseok’s apartment playing over and over again in my mind as I try to pretend like nothing happened. The way I held my breath every time I heard footsteps coming down my hallway, some pathetic piece of my praying that it would be Hobi, coming with a bag of food and a sheepish smile, telling me that being friends was enough for him.

I should know better by now; I live in a world where Hoseok is a stranger to me now and I’m back to taking the bus.

Still, in those slower hours in the studio I find myself wondering what it would be like if I could tell him that I do love him. I love him still, four months later. That all of this was some horrible rule I had to follow in order to save us both.

But even in this world how could I look him in the eyes that once gazed at me so softly and tell him that he’ll move on? That he’ll find someone that is free to love him?

Hate is an addicting feeling, I realize. Hate is so much safer than love. Love requires you to make the right decision, even if it means you’ll come out lacking.

The music stopped.

My eyes open to find myself almost in another world. The hallway hasn’t changed at all, but the absence of the booming music almost makes it easier to breathe. Suddenly I’m no longer drowning in my feelings, but rather observing them.

The sound of someone nearly hyperventilating has me pushing off the wall, rushing over to the closed training room and throwing it open before another thought can cross my mind.

Even though the door flying open should have alerted the occupant to my presence, they don’t notice me as I stand in the doorway.

Hoseok sits with his back against the far wall, his knees pulled up to his chest as he runs his hands through his hair and over his face. He’s still wearing the same clothes as he was less than fifteen minutes ago in the studio downstairs, but it’s clear he was just working out in them. Most likely dancing, if I’m going to make a guess.

How did he get up here so fast?

Frozen in the doorway, I go over my options. They’re quite simple, seeing as there’s really only two.

First, turn and leave. Run away before he sees me. It’s tempting, especially because it already looks like I’m invading his privacy.

And second.... “The song wasn’t that bad.”

Hoseok’s head shoots up so fast that I’m afraid he hit it against the wall. His eyes are wide and he looks quite frankly exhausted. I wince at the look he gives me.

“What...” his voice is raw and I wonder how it got like that. He shakes his head, looking down at the floor.

I take one step forward, then one step back. Hoseok’s eyes shutter as he watches my uncertainty, but he makes no move to say anything else.

So tired.

He looks so drained. Like someone took a giant spoon and ladled out all of his leftover emotions, leaving him a drained well that is just waiting for another rain.

Suddenly the thought of me hiding in my studio and replaying this entire awkward experience in my head seems more horrible to me than talking to Hoseok, so I take another step inside the room. His eyes never leave the floor.

“Is everything...” I shake my head, trying to gain some courage. Did my heart always beat this hard around him before? “Is everything alright?”

Hoseok chews on the inside of his cheek as he ponders my stupid question. Then, almost as if changing clothes, his expression changes. Brightens, almost.

I can still see the dark storm clouds hovering over his head, though. No matter how brightly he smiles at me now, those rain clouds aren’t far behind.

“Fine.” He brushes his hair away from his face, reverting back to the meticulous Hoseok I know. “Did you see...?”

I frantically shake my head, earning a look of profound relief on Hoseok’s part. “No! No, I was just-” I pause, not entirely sure of what to say. Running from my undying love for you and the hate of what we’ve become doesn’t seem very appropriate.

Hoseok raises his brows, rising to his feet but remaining on the opposite side of the room. “Just what?”

“Just...going for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yep.”

I cringe as Hoseok takes a long look at me before turning away and heading toward the speaker system in the corner. “Do you have a tendency to take walks to the top floor?”

Is that worry I’m sensing? I realize with a start that perhaps Hoseok spends a lot of time up here, and I think that the lack of visitors on this floor might have something to do with that.

“...no.” Watching Hoseok’s back, which remains visibly tense, I take a step backward. “I should probably get going.”

He nods once. “Ok.”

“I…” Why can’t I form a proper sentence around this man? “Sorry. Bye.” Turning on my heel, I stride out of the room as quickly as possible, keeping my eyes ahead of me as my heart nearly pounds out of my chest. Throwing the door to the stairwell open, I don’t stop moving until I’ve returned to my studio.

Beomgyu jumps out of my chair when he sees me come in, his smug victory smile wiped off his face.

“Is everything alright?”

Well isn’t that the question of the day. “Yep. Did you guys listen to the track?”

Soobin steps up. “Yeah, it sounds great. We were just going to pass it along-”

“Perfect. I’ll export it to your project manager right now.”

In my peripheral I can see the three boys exchanging glances, but I pay them no mind. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be mortified and apologize, but right now I would really like for them to leave.

They shuffle out, mumbling their farewells. Hueningkai turns around at the last moment. “Do you want me to leave the door open or close it?”

Swiveling in my chair, wave him off. “Closed, please.” He does just as I ask, and suddenly I’m alone in the studio listening to their retreating footsteps.

Closing my eyes, I gather the strength to get up and lock the door. Something tells me that I won’t want to be interrupted for a while.

I’ve just risen from my chair when an envelope slides under my door, making my breath catch in my throat. Hurried footsteps rush down the hallway, but I don’t bother to open the door to see who it is.

Picking up the envelope from off the floor, I frown when it isn’t labeled. It’s simply a white, blank envelope. Ripping it open, I unfold a piece of notebook paper.

I know who you are, but do you know who I am?

Bighit can’t save you now, Jung Ha-rin.

Instantly my heart rate kicks up as I read those words over and over again. Rushing to my door, I pull it open to see who left this horrible note only to find the hallway empty. Standing there in the middle of the corridor, I fight the urge to rip the note to shreds and cry in a corner.

The sound of me barging back into my studio and slamming the door shut reverberates throughout the entire floor, but the sound of my heart pounding drowns out the noise. I hold the note back up to my eyes, practically panting as I read it again.

“What is happening?” I whisper.

♟

When I leave later that night, I still have no idea what’s going on. I leave earlier than usual, although it’s still dark. Mentally cursing myself, I decide to just hope for the best. With my luck today, I’ll be kidnapped or something before I can even make it to my apartment. 

I sent a picture of the note to Bang PD along with a short explanation of what happened. He told me that he would review the security cameras to get a look at who it was that delivered the message, but advised me to catch a ride with someone rather than taking the bus.

So naturally I’m taking the bus.

Sulking at the bus stop while keep my eyes and ears open for any suspicious activity, I can’t help but laugh a little.

Today sucked.

Just as the bus pulls up, I feel my phone vibrate. Scrambling onto the bus and sitting in the first available seat, I pull my phone out and nearly choke when I see what message I just received.

I can’t help the sound that comes out of me upon seeing his message - it’s a mixture of a groan and a sharp intake of breath, resulting in a coughing fit. The people closest to me glare and scoot farther away but I don’t care.

Staring down at his message, I have to breathe slowly and deeply in order to stop myself. As much as all of this is a dream...the note I carry in my pocket reminds me of all that’s at stake here.

Bang PD’s words accompany the note, repeating themselves over and over again in my mind as I punch out a reply. 

End it before it can begin. 

Shoving my phone back into my pocket before I give into temptation, I jump off the bus as my apartment complex comes into view. Keeping my head down, I hurry up to my apartment. 

As soon as I enter the apartment I’m rushing to my room, grabbing a box from under my bed and rummaging through it until I find what I’m searching for. 

“There you are.” Holding up a staff photo from when I first started at Source entertainment, my eyes zone in on one of the male staff members on the far end. 

Now just add a hood, a bit of scruff, and crazy eyes. What is my old co-worker doing hanging around my apartment complex? And if my hunch is correct, what was he doing in the Bighit building today?

Previous - Next

taglist is open! 

taglist: @taylorroe3​ @dreamcatcherjiah @diorhoba @eusticenatalie @ddaeng-i-need-help

[ladylee13]

All right, y'all, I've had enough with shitty society. I say we start a cult called "Actual Inclusivity."

Instead of the center of the cult's teachings being some manipulative bullshit, it's literally just love, acceptance, and respect.

We buy some land and start a communal living situation but instead of the money going up to whoever is on top and making them rich, all the money goes toward upkeep and improvement for the whole community. The finances are transparent and available for anyone to see and anyone shown to be corrupt or messing with the money gets kicked out.

We keep a farm to feed everyone. We have high speed wi-fi and some apartments (maybe with communal kitchens, maybe with private ones, idk logistics aren't my strong suit but I wouldn't be the only one running this, so we'd work out the kinks)

Everyone gets to do what they enjoy. Artists make art (and they could do commissions and freelance work and stuff like that to help raise money for the community in addition to art for art's sake), scientists can do their science thing, people who enjoy gardening can tend the farm. Tech people can do tech stuff (idk, I don't do much stem stuff, but we wouldn't be amish, so there'd be upkeep for tech stuff needed, so y'know). Whatever else. Autistic people can spend loads of time focused on their special interests. Non-verbals are not expected to talk. Depressed people or people with anxiety are not expected to work on days when getting out of bed is too difficult. Anyone having a panic attack or PTSD episode while working immediately gets to put down their work, walk away, and come back when they are again capable of giving their work their attention, be that in an hour or not until the next morning. Everyone uses whatever pronouns they prefer, and everyone else uses the appropriate pronouns when addressing or referring to them. If swearing makes someone uncomfortable, people will be expected to respect that and filter their language around them. Everyone gets to love whoever they want with zero societal repercussions. If two people want to get married, they get to. If two people want to live together without getting married, no prob (living together pre-marriage is against my religious beliefs, so I wouldn't do so, but that doesn't mean no one is allowed to. Live according to your own beliefs as long as they don't hurt anyone else. The goal here isn't to make everyone believe same thing or act the same way. It's to respect each other, and hopefully foster more understanding for others and lower discrimination and hate). In that vein, polygamy makes me feel weird, (admittedly, I don't really understand it,) but if some people in a polygamous marriage wanted to join us and were willing to follow the rules, great! Hop in! Let's even have a talk about it. You can help me be more understanding. No one is allowed to force their beliefs into anyone else and if someone feels pressured by someone else, all they have to do is say so and the other person will stop. I've had enlightening and wonderful conversations about religion with people of other religions/also atheists (once even with a drunk atheists and that was great). And all those conversations were great because in no way did they expect me to change my beliefs and vice versa. There was just a sharing of perspectives. And afterward, I felt like I understood them better and they understood me better. And that's what I'm aiming for here.

We can have a few sensory deprivation tanks and weighted blankets available for people with anxiety/PTSD. We can have tons of fidget toys for anyone who needs them to help them focus. We can have anything people need to function their best (I don't know much about what people with neurological disorders that I don't also have need, but whatever they need we'd have). Everything written is also written in braile. There's elevators and ramps in every building. Guide dogs and ESAs are accepted anywhere except in the space of people with animal allergies (Like, the communal areas are regularly cleaned to prevent hair causing allergic reactions and such and there are signs designating pet-free zones). We could maybe have like an animal shelter in a nearby town that anyone can come into to help with and spend time with animals. There would be a prayer room for quiet meditation (with whatever anyone needs for their best prayer environment, like I know Muslims pray toward Mecca and I don't know if there's any ornamentations or anything that they would prefer to have, but if so, it would be there). There'd be a gym to give people access to exercise equipment. There'd be a big old clock tower with bells to indicate prayer times for anyone who needs them. There would be a church building for use by any religious denomination. There'd be regular community activities to give people the chance to have leisurely social interaction and also sometimes exercise in small or large groups, but no one is expected to take part. Everyone with any form of neurodiversity or from any minority group gets to be treated fairly and have their needs accommodated.

No proving you have a disability like you have to to get accommodations from colleges. No one telling you it's all in your head or it's not natural or you should try harder or you just haven't met the right person yet or treating you as being under them for your gender or skin color or anything else you have no control over. Just actual acceptance on every front.

Basically, you'd pretty much be able to live your best life under the principle I learned as a kid: "your agency ends where the next person begins." As long as your actions do not harm anyone, you are free to do as you like.

The rules for living here? Everyone will be expected to contribute however they can (no punching a time clock, but contribute to the best of your ability). There will be no discrimination or hatred toward others. That's pretty much it. It's not that complicated. You will be expected to respect others and they will be expected to respect you. Any crime of any kind would be punished (and I mean things like theft, which I expect would be far less likely to happen given that everyone would have their basic needs fulfilled, and not like things like drug addiction because criminalizing addicts doesn't really prevent people getting addicted and just makes the problem worse.)

I figure the system would be run by committee. Any issues would be put to a vote, and given the size of the group, everyone would get a vote and everyone's vote counts. There would be no one person in charge of the community. Not me, not anyone. Everyone is equally in charge. Issues of things like accusations of discrimination would be handled by a court type situation where a mediator is chosen and both people get to explain what happened (in case of false accusations, which hopefully wouldn't happen, but y'know), and if the problem is based on a misunderstanding or an unchecked or unevaluated privilege, maybe the discussion alone could help the two people work it out, and if not, they get a big meeting with everyone there, and they get a chance to give their side to the group and the group votes on whether or not the accusation is solid and if the accused person will be punished (idk 100% how the punishment would work, but I figure depending on the severity it could be like a first offense would get community service and some kind of lesson in bridging cultural differences or something and a second offense would get something harsher and a third offense would be getting booted from the community. And then something like rape would get an immediate boot.).

Straight/white/cis/NT/any other non-minority people would also be accepted and welcomed so long as they treat everyone there with respect.

And anyone who says or does something homophobic or misogynistic or racist or ableist or anything else along those lines gets first a gentle warning and a chance to re-evaluate their prejudice and if they refuse to check themselves they get kicked out with whatever money they came in with.

I know that no matter what system is in use, there will always be someone ready and willing to find holes and take advantage. So we'd run on a spirit-of-the-law system instead of a letter-of-the-law system, and with everyone getting a say and everyone basing their decisions on that foundation of respect, it would be easier to enforce.

And sure, maybe this is just a fantasy-land-pipe-dream, but come on. How cool would it be? No more forcing our triangle or star or pentagon or splatter-shaped peg asses into circular holes? I don't believe in humanity at large to implement large-scale actual acceptance, but a little mini-society? That seems a little less impossible, right?

This is all spitballing, but the more I think about it, the more I love it. Feel free to add on.

[turning-the-frigging-frogs-gay]

Underneath The Spotlight- A Sanders Sides Fic

Taglist: @sophiexteresa (ask to be added!)

Chapter 13: Memory

Read chapter 1 here! / Read here on ao3!

Warnings for this chapter: none I think, just one extremely mushy moment!

Logan adjusted his sparkling navy blue bowtie as he drew one last firm tick on his spreadsheet. The musical theatre number was over, as had been signalled by Patton and Roman skipping back into the dressing room arm in arm, still joyfully singing ‘You Can’t Stop the Beat’, which had been the concluding song of the Hairspray medley they had just performed. This was it. For all of them, just one dance remained. They were dressed in their ballroom suits once again, as the teachers loved the bright colours and felt these dazzling outfits were perfect for the six dancers to take their final bow.

“How did the dance go?” Logan asked.

“Brilliant!” Roman beamed.

“Yeah it was amazing!” Patton piped up. “I love Hairspray so much, and Roman was amazing as the lead!”

“You were incredible too, Patton!”

The shortest giggled. “Let’s just agree that we’ve all been great!”

“I can drink to that!” Remus said from the corner, cracking open his 3rd can of Coca Cola, bought on his second very-not-allowed trip to the foyer a few minutes prior. Patton and Roman were soon out of their Hairspray outfits and back into their ballroom suits. Patton’s bright blue outfit shone like a summer’s sky, while Roman’s royal red looked sophisticated and charming, truly able to highlight the elegance of his dancing. The final dance would begin soon and the younger children were already beginning to queue backstage, so before it got too crowded the boys decided to make their way to the front wing where they would enter from, however on their way they were stopped by none other than Mr Thomas Sanders, the Principal and main teacher of the dance school, a camera around his neck.

“Boys, hi! I feel like I’ve barely gotten to speak to you during all this. I’ve been so busy trying to organise these damn kids...” he looked around at the chaos that was ensuing as about fifty small children tried to line up in the right order. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Anyways, I watched what I could from in the wings and you were all fantastic. I mean it. You’re all so unique and perform in you’re own ways but... you always look like you’re in it together. You six make the perfect team.”

The boys were practically glowing with pride at such high praise from the man who’d started all of this, the man who’d taught them all, given them the very foundations of their dance ability.

“And you all look so amazing in these outfits, I’m so glad we chose these... could I take a quick picture of you all? I’ve tried to get photos of everyone in their costumes but you six have all been so busy, I guess we just couldn’t find the time! Better now than never!” he chuckled.

Virgil groaned as Thomas held up the camera, hiding his face in Remus’ shoulder.

“Virgil,” Janus sighed. “You do realise all the dances you just did were filmed, right?”

Virgil’s response was muffled, his face still buried in his boyfriend’s jacket.

Janus fondly rolled his eyes. “Come on, you emo nightmare. Show the camera that award-winning smile of yours.”

Virgil finally showed his face again and looked reluctantly at the camera as all six of them beamed. Patton rose up onto his tiptoes in order to put his arms around Logan and Roman, who were next to him. Roman gladly reciprocated, putting his arm around Janus, who put his arm around Virgil, who put his arm around Remus. They heard the click of the camera, and the memory was captured. A tiny snapshot of this massive experience, but despite that, it was a good summary. All six of them together, supporting each other, like they always had, and always would.

The six of them made it through the chaos backstage with relative ease, Patton dealing with the kids, politely asking them to move out of the way and congratulating them on how well they had danced. It was what he would’ve wanted when he was just a toddler, the littlest of the group by far, doing his first shows. They made it into the downstage left wing as Logan took the lead, being the only one who was sure of their cue.

“So...” he whispered, looking at the faces of his friends, only slightly illuminated by the stage lights. “We did it.”

“Do not say that yet,” Virgil warned. “This is still a dance, stuff could still go wrong, you know?”

“While that is... not impossible, statistically it is very unlikely, as the routine has been made extremely easy so the youngest dancers can keep up. I think... you all may as well accept my congratulations now. It has truly been an honour to dance alongside all of you.”

Roman smiled at him. “Right back at ya, teach. You are all incredible people who all dance in your own ways... that show the audience a piece of who you are. Perhaps Patton’s energy and beaming smile, or Janus’ dramatic finesse, or Logan’s technical and rhythmical precision, or Remus’ boldness and confidence and his own spin on the routines, inspired someone in that audience tonight. And even if not... you all inspire me, every day. Never stop being yourselves, and leaving your hearts and souls on that stage. Because without all of you, I don’t know what I’d be.”

He wrapped his arm around Logan who, in a rare show of affection, nuzzled his side. Roman swore he melted on the spot there and then.

As everyone nodded in agreement of Roman’s statement, Janus looked at Patton, who he swore was tearing up. The shortest ran up to Roman and buried his face in his other side, wrapping his arms around the boys in red and navy, two of his oldest friends.

“I love you all so much, thank you for getting me through this because I swear I couldn’t have done it without you. You all make me stronger, so I’m able to do things I never thought I could do. You all make the impossible possible. I’ll never, ever forget tonight, because I feel like I’ve found myself. I’ve been able to do what I love, surrounded by the people I love... is there really any greater gift than that?”

Roman gently patted his hair as he nodded in agreement. “I love you too, Patton,” he said, beaming as he looked down at his friend. The one in light blue extended an arm out to Janus, who came and placed his hands gently on his friends’ shoulders.

“You’ve all made me so proud,” he said. “I really never thought I’d say this, but... Remus is right. On the surface, technique seems to matter, but in the end, you won’t remember if you did every heel lead, or if your posture was perfect, or if your leg was fully stretched on a high kick. You’ll take away from this experience the skills and traits you picked up, the things you accomplished, the bonds you made. This is something to look back upon and be monumentally proud of, whether you’re an extremely talented dancer who could maybe even become professional...” he glanced at Roman, who smiled and blushed a little. “Or whether you’re just trying your best, giving it your all, doing what you love...” he looked down at Patton, who was now beaming wider than Janus thought was humanly possible.

“Hey, let me get in here!” Remus said, wrapping his arms around Janus and Patton.

“Well what can I say to add to that? You four aren’t just dancers, apparently you’re poets as well! But... for real... I wanna thank you all for believing in me. I may not do all the fancy technique, but I do love coming here and dancing and just... being myself. I love being a part of this truly incredible thing, no one ever judges you here. And I will absolutely remind you of what you just said next time you try and correct my technique in rehearsals, Jan Jan.”

He stuck his tongue out at the one in yellow, who merely sighed fondly.

Virgil wordlessly joined the cuddle pile, and as the stage lights faded to black and audience applause signalled the start of the final dance, all six of them stood together in the wing, holding each other. Friends for life. Ready to give their all on that stage, one last time.

One last time.

Next chapter

[redantsunderneath]

On Analysis, Aside 1 - Duality

“If you're studying geology, which is all facts, as soon as you get out of school you forget it all, but philosophy you remember just enough to screw you up for the rest of your life.” - Steve Martin

In college, I was a physics major with a minor in math and philosophy, but I really walked away from this stuff when I went to med school/got married (Luthor from the Warriors voice, “I was busy”).  The one part I couldn’t shake from all those all nighters was phenomenology.  I was kind of obsessed with the hard problem a decade before before it was called that and dwelling on Descartes and my hate boner for George Santayana lingered through the salad days. I started thinking about the question as one of the relationship between (I wasn’t really tuned in to the proper language of this) subject and object. This wound up being helpful to me in understanding film, notably “late Lynch” (all David Lynch directed work from the roadhouse/killer reveal scene in the Lonely Hears episode of Twin Peaks on) in which the abjection of the subject in relation to a state of “objecthood” is a reliable motif.  More on this later.

This has some superficial homology to physics, notably the measurement problem in quantum mechanics and whether the thing itself is “actualized” by “observance.” This is not quite right, and physicists will stab me, but it was quite popular in pop physics books of my undergrad time, e.g. the Dancing Wu Li Masters and the Tao of Physics.  This is not solipsism but, rather, elevating consciousness to at least an equal partner in bringing reality (whatever that is) into existence, the other partner being some pretty based equations which define a waveform determining probability.

It wasn’t till Tumblr woke me up to physics again (remember, in the late 80s when I was in physics they didn’t have inflation yet and they taught off of calculus and linear algebra, so I was not only behind the curve I was flat out wrong about many things, and I don’t like being wrong on the internet) that I started to learn about group theory and how to construct the standard model mathematically.  The thing that struck me off the bat is the way all the math is non-commutative.  In all of these constructions, you build things like spinors with building blocks of asymmetrical math - it matters, when two of the basic terms interact ,who is doing what to whom. Yeah, there’s the S word.

The metaphor of symmetry breaking is powerful.  That the nature of the big bang is some perfectly symmetrical situation that begins immediately to break down due to energy decrease/entropy into sub symmetries until we get (waves around) this but that interact to form space, time, matter, etc because they are asymmetrical to each other.  This is powerful in a first 4 chapters of Genesis way: from in the beginning down to Cain and Abel it’s all about divisions into 2 with natures in opposition.  What haunts my mind, though, is the recapitulation of this idea, the idea of broken symmetry, of directed relationships of from/to manifested as an emergent feature at all levels of study.

Bohm’s idea of implicate order, that there is unmanifested order handed down from more fundamental to emergent structures, that can “come out” in the right circumstances, applies to a seemingly foundational asymmetric relationship between dyads that results in a surprisingly durable pattern of duality at all levels, that of the organizing actor and the mercurial acted upon: Boson/fermion, heavens/earth, light/dark, conscious/subconscious, Yin/Yang, subject/object, masculine/feminine (the properties), left/right brain, all the MBTIs, mind/world, order/chaos, etc. This type of configuration will come up a lot in the subsequent posts.  It’s more complicated, sure - the dots in that Yin/Yang symbol indicate an undercurrent in these relationships, an instability in the polarity.  This containing of the opposite is significant for construction of the self and has an almost mythic connotation that we will see in the coming material on Jung.

The verb part of what happens looks a lot like Hegel’s dialectic.  Thesis meets antithesis coming through the rye and produces antithesis.  A subject beholds an object or a relation and constitutes it, iteratively. We will talk about this more when we take off into narrative art specifically (see upcoming structure posts). This could be considered the rudimentary structural grammar of the universe, and specifically of art and story. The basic math determines emergent structures that recapitulate a sense of lopsided relationships that reflect a broken balance, and impetus for unbalanced action (mental or physical) that attempts to restore a whole but instead leaves a remainder.  

There is a gap, a separateness that creates a tension, and an action to relieve this (although ultimate “solution” is not possible because demiurge) and a satisfaction but renewal of the gap.  If there is no gap, there is no tension, and there is no life, no existence, no interest.  But the gap is painful, we want the gap bridged, the tension released.  Well being, happiness, whatever, is this constant encountering and closure of gaps, often an ugly process even when we achieve it. But there must always be another gap.  On some level we know this, and the attempt to organize it under logos is the great motivator in all areas of human striving, though the object of this study is just there in everything we are and do  all the time.

What does this have to do with art and story?  We’ll try to get there.

[offtopicoverload]

Ten Years Later

I did it again.

Here's a oneshot based on @bubblybabynailpolish's list of hcs of where the Season 2 Islanders are by the ten year reunion because I love it. This is pretty cheesy, but it’s what I’m here for

Marisol x MC (Dahlia)

~6k words I got carried away

Marisol left the Villa in near tears, everything she worked for and everyone she’d grown to care about gone in a single terrible instant, and it hadn’t even been her fault that time. She hadn’t been unwilling to commit or said something stupid, she hadn’t gotten distant or broken it off because she got nervous. She had been on her best behaviour, been the best partner she could be just to prevent something awful from happening.

But it still did. It still happened and it still ripped her heart from her chest and stomped on it mercilessly, crushing the mass of muscle and tissue into a pulp on the Villa’s lawn. She tried not to break down, to lose herself when cameras were trained on her, but the second she was free, she snapped and sobbed and drenched her sleeves in tears and snot while Bobby tried to calm her down.

They were sitting in her hotel room, drinking all the alcohol in the minibar and mourning their failures in the Villa. Mourning Bobby’s inability to find a relationship that wasn’t platonic and mourning Marisol’s failed, shattered, disastrous relationship. A relationship she actually thought would work out, thought had a bright future, thought was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. But she also thought it would all turn out to be a crazy, unbelievable dream that’d disappear as she woke up alone in her flat like any other day.

Only it wasn’t just a happy-go-lucky dream, it was a nightmare, a horror movie that took forever to get to the action, a slowly building fire that hit something important and sparked it to life, blowing up an entire complex in one go. It was her worst nightmare come to life, and just as horrifying as she always imagined.

Dahlia had cheated on her.

Dahlia had cheated on her with Elisa. She kissed her on the roof terrace and almost broke down when she told Marisol that night. Her voice cracked and her eyes sparkled with tears as Marisol stared blankly, not a single coherent thought in her head as everything fell apart in her hands, everything that was so close to being perfect.

Then the anger came, the frustration. It wasn’t even Marisol’s fault this time, there was nothing she did wrong, so how could it just collapse like this? That wasn’t fair, she’d done everything right, she didn’t do anything major so horribly wrong that Dahlia needed to escape. Which left the only answer: she just was wrong. She was wrong for Dahlia, she was wrong for Graham, she was wrong for Rocco. Even if the latter two took her some time to figure out why she’d run from them so quickly, she soon understood that she was wrong for all of them. She was wrong, in general.

She wasn’t Elisa, with her followers and confidence. She didn’t like stupid jokes, she didn’t like boats, she didn’t like travelling, she didn’t like cranes, she didn’t like golf, she didn’t like anything they did. And she didn’t pretend she did, she didn’t care to humour them, she didn’t want to waste her time on pointless conversations and discussions.

And so, they drank. And drank and drank until Bobby was delirious and Marisol’s heart was too numb to hurt for a little while, and then they drank some more. Marisol thought her skull was going to split in half the next day, but she didn’t care. She had to get through the plane home before she could waste more time caring.

---

Ten years later, and Marisol gets an invite she really wants to decline. Not necessarily because she doesn’t want to go - although, she doesn’t - but because she’s got work to do and Saturdays are date night and she doesn’t like travelling and she’s supposed to take her nephew to see a movie he’s been excited about for months that Sunday and - okay, she just doesn’t want to go.

It’s not like she even kept in touch with everybody. At most, she’ll chat with Bobby when he reaches out, or catch up with Priya if she’s in Manchester, maybe FaceTime with Chelsea when the blonde’s on one of her kicks to chat with someone random.

She was too caught up in school and work to bother with most of them after the finale, and the rest she wasn’t exactly on good terms with. She’d gotten in fights with most of the girls, dumped Graham, moved on from Rocco maybe too quickly, never even clicked with Gary or Ibrahim, and Dahlia… Dahlia had cheated on her.

So not the best terms, no. And Marisol isn’t very eager to reopen old wounds just to see people that are all happier and better off than her. Hope’s absolutely loaded, Lottie’s an actual celebrity, Gary somehow has a bunch of kids, and Dahlia? Dahlia’s actually not done much, stayed at the foundation and hasn’t managed to hold onto a relationship, but she never wanted to do much in the first place, so maybe that does count as wildly successful.

Marisol drops her phone to the counter, the email still open on the screen and frowns at the device, her foot tapping against the kitchen tile. She huffs, turns away from the counter, and yanks open the fridge, scavenging for something to eat; it’s why she came in the kitchen in the first place.

“Everything all right?” James’ voice calls into the kitchen, his head peeking around the corner with furrowed eyebrows.

Marisol turns, meeting his bright blue eyes, “Yep,” she forces a smile. “Everything’s fine.”

He forces a smile back, she can tell he either doesn’t believe her or isn’t that interested, “Alright, then,” and turns, disappearing further into the flat.

Marisol sighs, her eyes falling shut as she pulls in a steadying breath. She grabs yoghurt out of the fridge, turns and drops it on the counter and pulls out a spoon from the silverware drawer. She slides into a kitchen stool, pulling her phone closer and staring at the invitation again.

She really doesn’t want to go.

---

She went. She’s here. At the reunion. With the other ex-Islanders. And their families. In London.

She’s here in the closest replica she could find to the outfit she wore at her second to last recoupling, the one where she picked - actually, that doesn’t matter. It’s just one of her favourites, a sharp suit with nothing underneath the blazer.

She steps inside all on her lonesome, feeling out of place as the other early guests chat and drink and mingle. She fidgets with her outfit, fixes her hair neurotically, pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She starts reaching for her phone to give her something to do just as she’s accosted, arms slipping around her neck from the side.

Chelsea chatters excitedly in her ear, hugging her tightly before pulling her further into the venue before Marisol can even get a word in, her grip on Marisol’s arm like a bear trap, biting and tearing her skin apart as her nerves simultaneously destroy her organs. Chelsea drags her over to Lottie, Hannah, and Priya mingling together near the bar before striding over to it, Hannah’s arm looped through Lottie’s as she beams goofily at something the goth said.

“Hey, babes!” Priya chirps, wrapping her arms around Marisol and squeezing tight, air-kissing her cheeks as she pulls away with a wide grin. “Ohmigod, I missed you! It’s been too long since you came up to Manchester!”

“Yeah, definitely,” Marisol smiles back, whiplash shaking her as she finally finds her voice, her hands gripping Priya’s forearms as she meets her eyes.

“So… you’ve been up to some stuff, huh?” Lottie’s voice draws their eyes, a warm smile on her lips as she glances to the ring on Marisol’s finger.

She raises her hand with a blush, an extravagant engagement ring sitting below her knuckle, “Oh, uh, yeah.”

Chelsea returns and passes Marisol a drink, still bouncing on her toes as she glances around the group excitedly. “Is he your prince charming?” Hannah chimes, smiling wide as Lottie chuckles beside her.

Marisol laughs, “I guess so. Don’t really believe in that, though,” she shrugs.

“Tell us about him, babes, you’ve barely told me anything,” Priya encourages, nudging Marisol’s shoulder with her own.

She laughs again, “Alright, okay. His name is James and he’s in law, too. He’s really nice and all that, and I kind of hated him at first but, y’know, here we are,” she forces an amused smile. She really did hate him back then.

“Is he coming tonight?” Hannah leans forward, eager to learn. That first day in the Villa may have been ten years ago, with countless triumphs and failures scattered throughout the decade, but Hannah’s somehow gotten right back to her wide-eyed, excitable self. It’s kind of nice, Marisol decides, that she was able to find herself again.

She smiles gently at the excited redhead, “He didn’t come. He’s still in Portsmouth.”

“Aw, boo,” Lottie jeers. “Should’ve dragged him along,” she sips her drink.

Marisol’s dark hair shifts, glinting in the light with a halo reflecting off her as she shakes her head, “He had some work to do this weekend and he hates putting it off.”

Lottie’s features shift in sympathy, “Don’t tell me you just found a male you, Marisol.”

She laughs again, already feeling like she’s laughed more since she got here than in months, maybe years. She just works too much, but she loves it, she rationalises. “Okay, we’re a little similar, but it’s not that bad.”

Lottie doesn’t appear convinced, but she doesn’t get the chance to comment further, “What did I miss?” Shannon steps up to the group with a smile, a drink already in her hand.

“Marisol was just telling us about her fiancé,” Lottie winks to the woman in question, urging her to spill.

“Not that much to say, honestly, we’re pretty basic,” she shrugs her shoulders and sips her drink.

“I’m sure Marisol’s life is plenty eventful,” Hannah grins at her, Lottie pulling her arm from Hannah’s to wrap it around her waist. Hannah beams at her, leaning into her side happily, now 31 but as bright-eyed and content as 21 year old Hannah. Marisol really likes seeing her like that; Lottie’s good for her.

Shannon clears her throat, “Well, if anyone ever wants a vacation, I’m still playing and can hook you guys up with a break,” she looks around the group, earnestly meeting everyone’s eyes.

“I might have to take you up on that offer,” Priya sighs, Marisol placing a hand on her arm in concern. She smiles, “Kids are just… so exhausting,” her eyes are wide as she shakes her head in faux exasperation.

Chelsea bounces on her toes excitedly, “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, how is the little guy?!” She looks like she might explode from cuteness that isn’t even in front of her.

Priya pats her shoulder to try and calm her, “Ri’s doing well. Not much going on outside of daycare. Benny’s been home with him since last night so I could come, and I really hope they haven’t burnt the house down.”

Laughter ripples through the group, but Chelsea seems oblivious to it, “Do you have pictures?!” she claps her hands eagerly.

Priya laughs and pulls out her phone, “Of course!” She pulls up her camera roll, Chelsea leaning over her shoulder to watch her flick through pictures, squealing every few seconds.

“So the engagement’s new, right?” Shannon addresses Marisol as she takes a drink.

Marisol hurries to swallow, “Oh, yeah! Uh, two? No, three months ago he asked,” she nods.

“What’s the ring look like?” Shannon prompts. Marisol obliges, lifting her hand to show her the massive diamond that she thinks cost too much. Shannon nods approvingly, “Nice. Expensive. He must make bank,” she smirks, popping her eyebrows.

Marisol laughs once again, a sound that feels oddly unfamiliar nowadays, “Lawyer, remember?”

Shannon whoops, “Smart woman.” Marisol chuckles, sipping her drink as a shout rips her eardrums.

“Hope!” Priya shouts, tearing the group from their smaller clusters as she embraces the woman, a well dressed man beside her as she laughs in Priya’s ear, the others looking on curiously.

Hannah stiffens next to Lottie, glancing between the two nervously, “Um, don’t you guys, uh, hate each other?” she asks cautiously.

Priya laughs, Hope chuckling lightly with her, “Not anymore!” Priya grins when her breath is caught, “We’re both bad bitches, and bad bitches gotta stick together!” she throws her arm over Hope’s shoulders to emphasise their newfound camaraderie.

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t pull away, “She’s just a gold digger.”

“Does this mean you’re finally on board with being my sugar mama? I swear it’s worth your while,” Priya winks, bumping her hip into Hope’s. “I won’t even say anything about Isaiah,” she winks at Hope’s husband, too, who appears to be properly confused.

Hope shakes her head at Priya with an amused smile on her lips, exhaling through her nose. She glances over to her husband, slipping her hand into his larger one until he relaxes at her side.

“Hey, if Hope won’t treat you right, I’ll happily volunteer,” Shannon joins, smiling at the antics.

Priya removes her arm from Hope’s shoulder quickly, skipping across the gathered circle to loop her arm in Shannon’s, “I’ll take it!” Shannon laughs, throwing her head back as the women dissolve into tipsy giggles, Isaiah stilled at Hope’s side.

Another shout disrupts the group, “Dahlia!” Chelsea shrieks like a banshee, already sprinting for the woman in question, tackling her in the tightest hug she can. Dahlia hugs her back eagerly, lifting Chelsea off the ground with a laugh and swings the blonde around lightly, Chelsea giggling into her shoulder as she does. She sets her down, Chelsea immediately dragging her over to the gathered crowd by the bar, ignoring the trepidation sparking in Dahlia as she gently resists.

Marisol watches the entire interaction, dread settling in her stomach, swirling and mashing her insides as panic explodes in Dahlia’s eyes as she draws nearer and nearer. Chelsea tugs her to a stop beside Priya, the older woman immediately wrapping her in another hug.

She moves through the group, sharing greetings with Hannah, Lottie, Shannon, Hope, even Isaiah, before skipping over Marisol with a nervous glance. She lands beside Chelsea again and accepts a drink from her, sipping it as the group restarts. Marisol can tell that the conversation’s continued, but she doesn’t hear any of the words, all she can hear is her heartbeat pounding against her eardrums like fists on the bars of a jail cell. She can see their lips moving whenever she glances at them, can see them laughing and smiling, even Isaiah chuckling along to a few jokes.

But Marisol doesn’t know what they’re laughing and smiling at, doesn’t understand what could be funny right now, with Dahlia right there. Dahlia right there smiling along, draining her drink, answering questions that Lottie the Interrogator proposes. Dahlia right there, the lights playing off her hair and her green eyes crinkling as Chelsea says something to her. Dahlia right there, with the group’s recent addition of Lucas’s arm slung around her shoulders affectionately.

Ugh, Marisol feels gross, like black sludge is filling her veins and lungs, weighing her down as she turns in a daze, walking across the venue to the washroom. They’re at the start of a long hallway, but Marisol doesn’t step into the women’s room. She keeps walking down the hallway until there’s a bend, and she follows it, turning the corner and hitting an exit door, red letters indicating as such.

She throws it open and retreats into the cool night, walking a few steps away and slumps against the brick wall as her head falls back to meet it. Dahlia had cheated and broken her heart, yet Marisol can tell that she still holds a few of the shards. Which is exactly why Marisol shouldn’t have come. This was stupid, this was a mistake. She could have stayed home and just made dinner with James and watched a movie, why did she have to come? Why couldn’t she do something simple and basic, like she has for a decade now? Why did she have to submit herself to this?

She huffs, drags a hand through her hazelnut locks, and stands straight, intent on removing the sludge from her system. She turns to the door and tugs on the handle, but it doesn’t budge, and she feels frustrated tears building behind her eyes as she collapses against the wall again, sinking to the ground this time. She stares into the dark night, a few street lights lighting up the alley she’s found herself in. She’s angry and frustrated with every decision she’s ever made, every step she’s ever taken, every bit of progress she’s ever accomplished.

She spins her ridiculously sized engagement ring on her finger, fidgeting and slipping it on and off as she maps out an escape from this house of horrors. She should just call a cab and go back to her hotel, pack her bag and find a train to Portsmouth; she can sleep at the station if she needs to.

‘You doing okay out here?’ shatters her bubble, freezes her in place, short circuits her nervous system as that familiar voice she somehow hasn’t forgotten in a decade rings in her ears, an alarm telling her to run as far and as fast as she can.

“Y - Yeah,” she stammers. “I’m okay,” she dips her head, circles her outrageous ring on her finger, and stares at the pavement beneath her as footsteps draw near.

Dahlia stops beside her along the wall, eyes focused on the part of the street they can see from their position as she faces forward, “You sure? You kinda, um, bolted. But er - you know what?” she steps away from Marisol, backing away carefully, “I’m gonna leave you alone.”

Marisol finally glances at her, finding Dahlia retreating back to the reunion that she’s now locked out of, “Why?” she utters without realising, somehow hurt by the instantaneous change in Dahlia.

She seems taken aback by the question, “Um, It’s really not my place…” she backs away further, fingers tapping her hand held in front of her chest.

“Why not?” Marisol pursues, intent on hearing her say it, hearing her say it’s her fault, not Marisol’s. Maybe if she says what she did again, Marisol can finally forget it, let Dahlia keep those shards and move on. Yeah, that’ll fix things, won’t it?

Dahlia halts in her tracks, “I -” she glances to the ground beneath her heels, “Well, I cheated and we broke up and it’s not my place to be in my ex’s business, so…” she states matter-of-factly, that bluntness that got her in so much trouble in the Villa shining through.

Marisol doesn’t feel better hearing her say it, she doesn’t feel like she got closure, she doesn’t feel content and pleased, it just feels like those shards are bigger than she thought, more than a few scraps, closer to a heavy chunk than tiny crumbs, a gaping whole in her chest. All right, new plan. “We don’t have to be exes, right? Can’t we be friends or something?” Marisol proposes. Nothing else has worked, time to take a risk, she internally reasons.

Hopeful green eyes land on Marisol’s, “Can we? Do you want to be? Can we?” she takes a step forward, eyes boring into Marisol’s as they unconsciously plead for the affirmative.

“Yeah,” Marisol shrugs and shifts her weight, “Why not? We’ve both grown and it’s been a long time. Might as well bury the hatchet.”

Dahlia nods ferociously, “Yeah. Yeah,” she forces her excitement down, “Might as well.” She sinks to the pavement beside Marisol, knees bent as she sits on her heels, hands still clasped together.

“So… what have you been up to?” Marisol asks awkwardly, spinning her ring incessantly.

Dahlia laughs, the tension in her shoulders disappearing as Marisol’s heart lightens at the melody, “Not much, honestly. I think I’m kind of on a date with Lucas, but he met up with Henrik earlier and I had to come alone,” she frowns, her lips twisting.

Marisol’s head falls back to the brick behind her, “Sounds like they’re on a date instead.”

“...Yeah.”

Marisol glances over to her, finding her features fraught and elects to correct that, “What about your job? Are you still at the foundation?”

She beams, “Yep! You’re looking at the Director of Finance!” she announces proudly, and Marisol can’t help but smile.

“I thought you hated maths.”

“I do. But I don’t hate being the boss,” she winks with a grin.

Marisol laughs, “Fair enough. So you’re still in Sheffield, then?”

Dahlia nods again, “Yeah. Hard to leave, y’know? And I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“Would you? If you had somewhere to go, I mean.”

Her brow furrows as she considers, “I’d need a good reason.”

“What counts as a good reason?” Marisol presses.

“A good person.”

Marisol’s suddenly aware of just how close they’ve gotten in such a short time, just how little space is between them as Dahlia leans against the wall, meeting Marisol’s coffee eyes with her own sparkling emeralds. Marisol’s breath hitches as the distance seems to be getting smaller and smaller, those emeralds getting closer and closer. And Marisol knows she should pull back, knows those precious gems need to be as far from her as possible, but she just can’t.

Their lips brush, tender and sweet, a shiver running through Marisol at the contact. Marisol’s hand rises to cup her cheek, and she can feel her diamond ring on her finger, brushing the skin beneath her hand, but she doesn’t care about it, not in this moment.

Dahlia pulls away quickly, eyes flicking open as she immediately begins freaking out, “Oh god, I’m doing it again, oh god, oh god,” she groans, her face buried in her hands as she pulls away, stumbling to her feet to put as much cold space as possible between herself and Marisol.

Speaking of, Marisol’s absolutely panicking, eyes bugged out of her head as she reaches for Dahlia, struggling to her feet as well, “What? What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Her hand lands on Dahlia’s shoulder, but the other woman pulls away even farther, retreating towards the shadows of the alley.

“I can’t -” her breathing’s turned shallow as she rubs her temples, turning away and slowly sinking back to her knees, “I can’t - keep doing this. I - I did it in the Villa and I’m doing it now and it’s not fair and it always hurts and I’m supposed to be with him but he’s not even with me and it’s you but this is so messy and oh god, it’s happening again and it’s going to mess everything up again but - but this is different, right? But oh god, it’s not, it’s so not, it’s all the same again and I can’t do this and I’m so sorry,” her words trail off as she sucks in her first breath since she started rambling.

“Hey. Dahls,” Marisol urges softly, working to pull Dahlia’s gaze on her as she draws nearer, “Calm down, okay? Calm down.”

Dahlia shakes her head, “No. No, I can’t, I keep doing this, I’m always ruining things and I hate it and you hate me and I’m so sorry, and oh god,” she rasps a heavy breath, her back quivering with it.

“I don’t hate you,” Marisol finally reaches her and squeezes her shoulder, “I’ve never hated you. I don’t think I ever could,” Marisol murmurs, settling back beside a panicked Dahlia as calmly as she can, her own anxiety still skyrocketing.

Her eyes find Marisol’s coffee ones, earnest with a war within them, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that I - you’re engaged. I’m so sorry, that was so stupid and you -”

Marisol cuts her off with a wave of her hand, “I did it as much as you,” she reasons, Dahlia quieting at her words.

Her eyes drop to the ground, piercing into the dark pavement, the smallest amount of street lights reaching them, “Why’d you do it? I - I know I have a history of kissing people I shouldn’t, but… But you’re engaged,” she emphasises the word every time, like she still can’t believe it to be true.

Marisol glances to the silver on her ring finger, glinting in the low light, the egregious stone that James thought would impress her sparkling, somehow reminiscent of the emeralds beside her. “I don’t know. I just… it felt right, I guess. It made sense.”

Dahlia’s quiet for a long time, her index finger circling a point on her thigh as she thinks. “Does it feel right… right now?” she finally asks.

Now Marisol pauses, considering the question, considering her answer, considering the fallout, considering the buildup, considering anything and everything. “Yes.”

Dahlia nods slowly, her mind audibly whirring, “Does James feel right?”

Marisol sighs, her head dipping low and settling in her hands, face in her palms. Gentle fingers scratch along her scalp and tucks loose locks of hair behind her ears without prompting or hesitation. And that’s why it feels right. Because Dahlia never has to force herself to be kind and affectionate and patient, she just is, even if she gets caught up in her emotions, too. She doesn’t fight with Marisol for hours and hours until one of them gives up and leaves. She doesn’t set ultimatums and strict boundaries. She doesn’t tell white lies to avoid making things worse, she just accepts the consequences. She doesn’t get frustrated when Marisol drags up the past, because odds are she never forgot it in the first place.

She let Marisol be Marisol, let her take her time, let Marisol hurt her sometimes, a cut on her hand as opposed to breaking every bone in Marisol’s. She’s honest to a fault, she’s obnoxiously self-aware and apologetic, she even sometimes gave Marisol too much space. But Marisol likes all those things about her. She likes that she didn’t have to guess or sacrifice her freedoms. She just likes Dahlia, good and bad.

Unfortunately, she can’t say the same for James. She hates how much he forces himself to hold her hand or grits his teeth when searching for something to compliment her on, even if she knows he’s trying. She hates how argumentative he is, even if she knows how hypocritical she’s being. She hates how structured everything is with him, how it has to follow his specific schedule, even if she knows it’s hard for him to budge. She hates how red his face gets when she brings up a past fight, even if she knows it’s not in his nature to keep track of every squabble.

She doesn’t hate him, not by a long shot. She loves him, she really does, she just hates some things about him. She can’t bring herself to like everything about him, the good and the bad. She can’t bring herself to love his faults, not the same way she adored Dahlia’s without any effort.

“Sometimes,” she answers truthfully, the word stinging her mouth as it spills off her tongue.

Dahlia nods slowly, hand retracting and going back to tracing an invisible point on her thigh as Marisol lifts her head, “Um, good luck on the wedding?” she says, unsure of the words as they exit her throat.

And Marisol just gapes at her, gapes at the pained and embarrassed features on her face, watches her brows draw together tighter and tighter, “That’s it? I just, like, said that and you don’t care?!” There’s that anger again, that bubbling, boiling, simmering anger that made Marisol’s throat hurt and tears press against the back of her eyes on the terrace. That anger that was so strong it hurt and festered as she stalked off the roof terrace to hide from her nightmare under the covers. That anger that tore her into pieces until she was a hollow shell of herself, an empty husk letting the world pass her by.

But she won’t let it happen again, she won’t fall apart for years, she won’t chase someone that doesn’t want to be chased, she won’t sacrifice predictable stability for a decade old, few weeks long relationship. She won’t do something stupid and insane and ridiculous. She struggles to her feet, intent on leaving Dahlia behind again, but she can’t help herself from exploding, “Do you not care that I basically said I give more of a shit about you than my fiancé?!”

Now Dahlia’s gaping, staring at Marisol in disbelief, eyes wide and jaw hanging wide open, but she doesn’t form any words, Marisol’s hurt and frustration only growing at her silence. She knows she should just turn and run for her hotel, but she can’t, she can’t ever stop herself when it comes to Dahlia, “Did you ever care?! Did you ever regret it? Did you ever wonder what things would be like if you hadn’t kissed her?! Because I do. I have for ten fucking years, Dahlia,” she hisses, “But if you’ve never, then I’m just going to go.”

She starts to turn away, but before she gets the chance, Dahlia’s hands grab the front of Marisol’s blazer, fisting in the material and jerking her down, crashing their lips together in an explosion of lights and colours, Marisol falling into her with ease.

Dahlia breaks it after an electric moment, Marisol’s body humming with it, “Don’t go,” she sounds so desperate, so scared, so much like she did when she confessed and so much like Marisol felt walking away from the Villa, walking away from her.

“Okay,” Marisol whispers against her lips, two syllables but a thousand promises held within them, a thousand promises for 24 year old Marisol, a thousand promises she shouldn’t be making for her 34 year old self.

Dahlia nods, Marisol scooting closer and letting Dahlia’s head fall to her shoulder, an arm snaking around her back. After a long moment, Dahlia sniffles, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, I just didn’t think you meant it like that and - and -” she hiccups and sniffles some more, “I never should have - I just got caught up in it all then and she was being so nice, and just - I’m so sorry,” she repeats, head dipping down and fingers fidgeting her lap.

Marisol’s hand reaches out, gently grasping her twitching fingers to still them, “Do you regret it?” It’s the one question she’s never stopped asking, and the one she most desperately needs an answer for.

“More than anything,” Dahlia answers without hesitation, eyes looking up to pour into Marisol’s coffee abysses.

“Then we’re on the same page,” Marisol smiles softly, the pad of her thumb gently brushing Dahlia’s knuckles encouragingly, comfortingly.

They sit there, frozen as the reunion carries on inside, the faint sounds of it floating to them as they sit together, tucked away from the action. At some point Dahlia’s arm wraps around her waist and Marisol falls into her. At some point Marisol starts telling Dahlia everything she’s been up to recently. At some point Dahlia’s fingers slip into Marisol’s hair, gently slipping through the tresses. At some point Dahlia laughs at something Marisol said. At some point Marisol laughs at something Dahlia said.

But the entire time, it feels right. It feels like they didn’t lose ten whole years, like nothing ever occurred and they’re still in the Villa, awaiting a text or a challenge or the explosion of some petty drama, hidden away on a daybed. It feels like Marisol’s woken up in Majorca again, curled up beside Dahlia, listening to her soft breathing. It feels like she hasn’t been chasing happiness for an entire decade, an entire decade where she almost found it, she really did. But it’s just not the same in some sick, twisted, horrifying and heartbreaking way.

Years with James have never felt as natural as those few weeks with Dahlia, and Marisol’s always hated that. She’s always hated how fixated she was on Dahlia, how long it took her to get over her when she’d never cared that much before. She’s always hated how weird everything felt when she started dating again, how nothing went as smooth in real life as it did in the disastrous Villa. She’s hated how much she romanticised Dahlia and the idea of her, making her ethereal and perfect in her mind, even if she always embraced her flaws. She’s hated the tilted perception she’s had since the words ‘kissed,’ ‘Elisa,’ and ‘I’ were strung into a sentence from Dahlia’s mouth.

And, most of all, she’s hated how she never got to find out what could have been, where they could have ended up, how things would be different with her. She’s never guessed with James, it’s always been black and white, laid out in front of her with him. They’ll date a while, he’ll propose, she’ll plan the wedding, she won’t want kids and maybe he’ll convince her because he wants a cheesy nuclear family to fill a big house and a backyard with a picket fence with.

But Dahlia’s a wild card, always has been. Who knows when they’d say the ‘l’ word, who knows when they’d move in together, who knows when she’d propose, if at all, who knows what a wedding would look like, who knows what kind of family they’d create, who knows where they’d live, who knows what would happen? It’s a mystery of what could have been, thousands of possibilities that Marisol would have a real say in, not just be pulled along for the ride.

A buzz rings from Dahlia’s bag and she pulls it into her lap, rummaging around for her phone. She yanks it out and scans her screen quickly, Marisol glancing over her shoulder to read it, ‘Did you ever find her?’ printed on the screen, Chelsea’s name above it.

“We should go,” Dahlia murmurs, retracting her body from Marisol and tossing her phone back in her bag.

Marisol pushes herself to her feet and offers her hands, Dahlia taking them with a grin and letting Marisol pull her to her feet, leaning into her as she steadies herself. She turns to her dress, brushing herself off and pulling at the fabric before turning back to Marisol, who’s been staring at her the whole time.

She has two options here. Two options with vastly different outcomes, two outcomes with countless consequences, countless possibilities, some significantly better than others, some more manageable than others, some more worth it than others.

Marisol pulls off her engagement ring and stuffs it in her pocket, taking Dahlia’s hand in hers and interlocking their fingers as she meets shimmering eyes, watching the way the light from the street plays in them, a million emotions shining within their colourful, precious emerald swirls. Dahlia swallows thickly, averting her gaze as she squeezes Marisol’s hand in hers, thumb brushing knuckles lightly.

Marisol has made her decision, selected her option, picked her outcome, and readied herself for the countless consequences and possibilities. Accepted the better option in her mind and has begun preparing herself for the least manageable, but no doubt the most worthwhile outcome.

Maybe it took ten years, countless tears, and crippling, debilitating heartache, but they’re back on track. They’ve got another shot at this, at the perfect dream that they’ve never been able to forget, not even when it became a horrific nightmare. But ten years later, the wounds have mostly healed, turned to unassuming scar tissue to be covered with the tattoos of new memories, happy memories that stain the skin for so much longer, pieces of art that last an eternity, that last so much longer than a mere ten years.

[codenamesazanka]

More incoherent musing about Oneshot Tenko and Shigaraki Tomura, specifically their convictions: the things they wanna destroy - swords for Tenko; ‘everything’ for Shigaraki lol.

Underneath that, tho—

For Tenko, swords are tools that causes pain and suffering; iirc he’s explicitly stated they’re used to kill, which he is against. Swords are the symbol of samurai - the very soul of the warrior. Without swords, Tenko believes, there would be no more samurai, no more fighting and killing. In one scene, when he breaks someone’s sword, he happily asks/tells the man to stop being a warrior. Obviously this is naive, but he’s like ten years old here.

Tenko was born into a samurai family, his father being one - but kid was rejected by his dad, due to his power; more specifically, tho this is deduction/conjecture on my part, he’s rejected for being unable to become a samurai because his power wouldn’t ever let him hold a sword. Essentially, he’s got no place in the feudal system he lives in.

What’s more, is that swords (samurai) took away what little he had - it’s how his father killed his mother. With one swing, he loses his parents, his family, his home.

Bit of a reach here: So while he’s fixated on swords, Tenko is probably more actually hating death/killing/injustice, and hating who he perceives to be responsible for these tragedies. It’s only thanks to his mother’s last words that he focuses on swords instead of people/others - mom told him to not hate people, to use his power for something other than killing, find a purpose. Probably, in following those words, Tenko is unable to kill samurai - but he can destroy their ‘soul’.

AS FOR SHIGARAKI:

(I probably shouldn’t try to draw a direct parallel, but here I go anyways.)

He hates: Heroes, society, people, everything. The world as he knows it. “Hero Society” (Basically substituting ‘Hero’ for ‘Samurai’, ‘Hero System’ for ‘Feudalism’?)

Heroes are bullshit. That’s what Shigaraki believes and he’s largely right. They’re hypocrites, they’re failures as guardians and protectors, they’ve coddled the masses into being helpless trash, they’ve ignored (caused) pain and suffering. Being that Heroes are the core/foundation of their current cultural system, this also means society is tainted. Rotten. All of it is just rot. As he says.

“This whole system you’ve built has always rejected me.” Self-evident. He walked along a crowded street and everyone ignored him. It’s implied that his quirk would’ve branded him as villainous from day one. Jin says heroes only save the ‘good’ people. Even if he was being facetious, he had a point about the monopoly of violence - villains and heroes both use violent force, but one is deemed okay, the other isn’t.

(This is particularly significant in that historically, at the formation of the Hero System, Heroes were kinda abritarily picked/licensed from the pool of vigilantes. Then Heroes were legalized to use their quirks; while the category of Villains was created to punish those who used their quirks; and all the vigilantes not picked to be Heroes were suddenly Villains.)

So he’s got no place in society. Sort of becomes literal because as ‘Shigaraki Tomura’, he’s a ghost - never been in school, quirk not on record, no document of his existence, mostly raised separate from everyone else.

(As to the circumstances of the Shimura family... gotta think on this more. Hero stuff led to Kotaro being abandoned, leading to his issues suffocating the household. Even then, even with the rules flipped, Tenko also didn’t fit in with his family. Hm. And all that led to Tenko under the bridge.)

Anyways! That rejection, that failure; that ‘itch’ - pain and suffering and despair - no surprise Shigaraki hates it.

I think, subconsciously, maybe— the injustice of life, the apathy people have, the ideas they delude themselves with (Chapter 69, Shigaraki narration: Someone is being killed right at that moment somewhere in the world, but no one cares. Or even thinks about it.* All Might smiles like he can save everyone, but he can’t, so he’s a farce.) All that is what Shigaraki truly hates, and since he believes heroes to be the cause of that, he’s gotta destroy it them and whatever they’ve built. Tho tbh, it’s looking like Shigaraki just has no faith in the world or people anymore, hence ‘let’s kill everything’.

And see, here: while Oneshot Tenko has his mother’s words, Tomura did not. Instead he had AFO encouraging him that it’s okay to hate people, it’s fine to destroy whatever he doesn’t like, Murder Is Good Actually, that’s his purpose. Words to live by.

One big question is: his intent. Is he destroying everything in hopes of creating something better? Does he believe he’s doing a good thing? Is he a force for love, justice, and peace

Imo, my answer is No. Shigaraki isn’t an idealist. He’s always kinda ‘seen things as they are’. Stain is just a murderer; no one is All That, not even Sensei; he cares nothing for MLA’s lofty goals and history. He’s a Villain. He’s angry and he’s never gonna feel good again and he hates everything and wants to break it all into pieces. He doesn’t believe in creation or a future; whatever happens will happen and he’ll just be standing in the horizon at the end of the world (with his allies who he promised they can have what’s left and do whatever they want).

tl;dr: Shigaraki is an angry bulldozer, knows it, and will annihilate everything that makes him feel bad, which he concludes is Heroes and also Everything Else.

*I’ve always thought: Shigaraki is like that quote supposedly from the Talmud.

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.

Except he is daunted, and it drives him a bit crazy. His tendency for black-white extreme thinking causes him to reject the second part of the quote. Either everyone gets saved/the work is completed— or fuck it all, let’s abandon everything. That’s the guiding idea for my interpretation of him.

[astonishinglegends]

Ep 205: Terry Carnation's "Dark Air" and Rich Hatem

“Imagine the universe, compressed on the head of a pin…”

– Scott’s remembrance of a Carl Sagan quote, which, turns out, probably originates from a parody impression of Carl Sagan

Description:

We have a very special guest joining us tonight, metaphysical "astralnaut," philosopher of the liminal, "Pope of the Paranormal," and host of the AM Radio talk show Dark Air, Terry Carnation. Terry first got his start in the paranormal radio genre when unexpectedly thrust into taking over for another show. While working as a late-night rock n' roll Disc Jockey for an FM station in Buffalo, NY, in 1992, Reginald Wilcox, the host of the paranormal call-in show that aired after Terry's slot was mysteriously murdered while Terry was in the bathroom... or so he claims. In his unflappable sense of duty, apparently stronger than his sense of legal obligation, Terry immediately took over the role of consigliere for listeners stupefied by the supernatural. And in Terry's words, "that's how a legend was created." Now, after a three-year hiatus, Terry Carnation returns with a new podcast, also called Dark Air, available starting April 1, 2021, wherever podcasts are given away for free. While you may not have heard of him, there will be something uneasily familiar about his voice and visage. And the audience will come to know his strange power for tearing off the head of disbelief and reaching down deep into our souls to yank out the viscera of our darkest fears and mysteries. Wrapped around our interview with Terry, our good buddy Rich Hatem joins us once again to discuss his latest adventures and projects. We'll also con him into playing our version of a game show, in the spirit of America's NPR radio program Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me! and Britain's Would I Lie to You? We'll tell Rich three outrageous paranormal stories, and he has to guess which one is fake. Please join us for an episode of inscrutable levity.

Reference Links:

Terry Carnation’s website, TerryCarnation.com

Terry Carnation and Dark Air on Audioboom, where you can subscribe to the platform of your choice

Dark Air with Terry Carnation on Apple Podcasts

Follow Terry Carnation on Instagram

Follow Terry Carnation on Twitter

Terry Carnation on Facebook

Where to stream DC Titans

“TERRIBLE FLYING JELLY BAGS aka DOMSTEN BLOBS: (SWEDEN)” by Rob Morphy on cryptopia.us

National Public Radio’s Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me!

The BBC One panel show involving true and false tales, Would I Lie To You?

“The Story Behind The Haunted Donkey Lady Bridge In Texas Will Send Chills Down Your Spine” from OnlyInYourState.com

“South Texas Haunted Folklore: The Tale of the Converse Werewolf” from KSAT.com

On a totally unrelated subject…

Rainn Wilson is best known for playing the role of Dwight Schrute on NBC's The Office. Additional film and television credits include Galaxy Quest, Almost Famous, The Rocker, Super, Six Feet Under, Juno, Backstrom, Star Trek Discovery, Thom Pain, The Meg, Mom, Don't Tell a Soul and Utopia.  He will also be appearing in the forthcoming podcast Dark Air with Terry Carnation. Wilson co-founded SoulPancake, a digital media company, and the Lide Foundation, an educational initiative in rural Haiti that empowers at-risk women and girls through the arts.

Dark Air with Terry Carnation was created by Rainn Wilson and Aaron Lee and is produced by Thom Harp and Chris Kelly. Dark Air with Terry Carnation is a production of Imperial Mammoth, Audioboom and Kelly&Kelly. Theme music by Marcos Moscat

This episode features the voice talents of Jinous Khjadivian and Dana Davis as the two audience callers.

Please help out our good friend Stan Gordon, by purchasing his books on Amazon and Barnes & Noble – you’re gonna love ‘em!

At Barnes & Noble:

Silent Invasion: The Pennsylvania UFO-Bigfoot Casebook

Astonishing Encounters: Pennsylvania’s Unknown Creatures, Casebook 3

Really Mysterious Pennsylvania: UFOs, Bigfoot, and Other Weird Encounters, Casebook 1

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Credits:

Episode 205: Terry Carnation’s “Dark Air“ and Rich Hatem. Produced by Scott Philbrook & Forrest Burgess; Audio Editing by Sarah Vorhees Wendel. Sound Design by Ryan McCullough; Tess Pfeifle, Producer, and Lead Researcher; Research Support from the astonishing League of Astonishing Researchers, a.k.a. The Astonishing Research Corps, or "A.R.C." for short. Copyright 2021 Astonishing Legends Productions, LLC. All Rights Reserved.