#I try to keep in mind this phrase i read back in 2020 during the BLM protests

[threads-and-pages]

The day will come when the only worry of a Palestinian grandparent will be their grandchildren stumbling and scraping their knees.

One day, hopefully as soon as possible, the greatest fear of a Palestinian child will be the test they didn't study for.

I hope that soon the Palestinian people will have the privilege to worry and fear trivial things like not getting their favorite spot on the train, or their friend who only plays sad songs no one knows taking out the ukulele at a good party.

I wish for every single Palestinian, as I do for every oppressed person in the world, the privilege that every human should have, to only have to worry about inconsequential things and for their biggest problem when they go to bed to be the pillow that makes their neck a bit stiff in the morning.

For all of this to be possible the first thing that needs to happen is a ceasefire, and the second, which must happen immediately after, is the end of the occupation, the restitution of all those family homes stolen by settlers and reparations. Maybe only then will the world be able to start paying back a fraction of what we owe the Palestinian people for all the strife and grief and pain we were complicit in.

[ukfrislandembassy]

Has anyone else noticed how much generativists like to make use of unmarked relative clauses in their English examples, regardless of naturalness? So e.g. Adger (2020) 'Syntax and the failure of analogical generalization' can take a sentence like so:

Anson kept the picture in the shed.

Now, this sentence is supposed to be ambiguous between two structures: [Anson [kept the picture] in the shed] and [Anson kept [the picture in the shed]], and then there's some hooha about how analogical exemplar-based models would predict that 'Which shed did Anson keep the picture in?' is ambiguous between the two readings when in fact it can only be a question of the first reading, not the second, which is explained because you can't form a question from something inside a relative clause.

But those two readings are not equal at all in terms of predictability. The first is a common formation (which we might abstractly outline as [keep OBJECT] LOCATION) that any native speaker of English comes across frequently and thus can easily generalise on the basis of the high number of examples (I keep my tools in the shed, Keep the secret under your hat, The Prime Minister keeps the documents in a red case and so on). The second, however, is a highly marked reading that requires a good deal of contrivance and context to be accessible to me (e.g. During Anson's search around the property, in a number of rooms he came across pictures. Anson kept the picture in the shed, but threw away the ones in the living room and kitchen.), and even then it still seems off to me.

Adger himself points out that the second reading is equivalent to a longer form Anson kept the picture that was in the shed, with an expanded relative clause. However, he doesn't quite seem to understand how much of an issue this is for his critique of exemplar-based theories, because that is the construction I find far more natural to use with that meaning that the shorter form, whether because of reasons of frequency or in order to avoid the ambiguity that would otherwise arise from [Anson kept [the picture in the shed]]. If anything, an exemplar-based model therefore does predict that Which shed did Anson keep the picture in? has only one reading, because the corresponding affirmative construction is overwhelmingly more common and general than the alternative.

I'll also note here Dwight Bolinger's point about these kinds of sentences from back in 1972 (here as part of a response to Chomsky making basically the same points in a 1971 New Yorker article):

On the other hand, in the garage does not characterize car; it only locates. But in as a preposition is not necessarily just locative; the furniture in this house is the stuff that furnishes the house, and it is characterized by belonging there. Consequently *It's the garage that he owns the car in is unacceptable while It's the house that he owns the furniture in is acceptable. ... And in English there is a requirement of "close association" in at least some cases. Thus it is normal to say She ate the potatoes in the frying pan-never mind the fact that this is an invitation to a pun. But it is not normal-in fact it suggests a forced pun-to say *She digested the potatoes in the frying pan. Their having been in the frying pan is one step removed and is no longer relevant. Similarly while it is normal to say The thief stole the jewels in the safe, it is not normal to say *The thief sold the jewels in the safe. In the safe is a phrase which is connected to the time of the theft but not to the time of the sale. On the other hand, The owner sold the jewels in the safe is normal; for him, in the safe can easily be connected to the time of the sale.

(I'll again note that even the clauses that Bolinger marks as being normal are still a little odd to me, but the point still stands).

Yet again seeing that generativists, in trying to provide counter-evidence to models that reject their conceits reveal that they don't actually understand the models they are critiquing.

[jjheejz]

What is Fate?

[Part 5/5] WOH concert and after

WOH Concert (3-4 May 2021)

- The fact that they even have a grand scale wedding ceremony drama concert

- GJ did not attend ZZH's first solo concert, but both of them have their own concert together for the first time

- Chinese have a traditional tradition of calculating auspicious dates (metaphysics). It can be calculated commonly for when to move in to a new house, bury a deceased, open a business, hold a wedding etc. 3 - 4 May were auspicious dates for Wedding and marriage registration.

- The concert was held at a stadium in Su Zhou, but the entire city was blatantly supporting everything and anything about WenZhou like it's New Year's Eve. Eg. Building, helicopter banners, bus advertising, drone show, lantern display, subway endorsement, city's official account using WOH quotes applying to safety regulations, curated photo booths, life sized figurine of WenZhou (YouKu kept it as prideful display at their office entrance after the concert), crowds of fan support and cheers etc.

Drone show snippet:

- Both of them were given the center of attention for the entire 2 days of WOH concert. It was WenZhou/JunZhe concert in disguise as WOH concert.

= This gave them both the opportunity to show what they feel for each other openly (whether as WenZhou themselves or as JunZhe)

- To have a stage to be what they are* and have fun, while being accepted and greatly supported by a sea of Mountain people (山人), no matter how one sees it, it's an extremely touching form of support for them

*Disclaimer: obviously they weren't 100% themselves, mindful of the fact that this stage was monitored by important media bodies (not exactly sure what kind, but somewhat government-ish regulators I presume), but their gaze and body language is just as natural as what they are.

= The fact that the country in general is not open to this kind of relationship, yet they were in a place where most of the people were supportive.

- Yes, there were some important bodies (or eyes) during the 2 days concert. Which was why all the actors and actresses were warned. For whatever reason they chose to continue in their own way, it's daring consensus of support. And for whatever reason the regulators didn't do anything (there weren't any big news at all from them), is also a miracle.

- They had the opportunity to sing a duet on stage, live. For the audience, GJ's singing skills started from November 2020, ZZH likes GJ's singing, and 5 months later, they have a duet on stage.

- Official acknowledgement of cpfans

= First in history where the recognition was officially verbally mentioned in-person. You can say this fate belong to the fans.

- ZZH had the opportunity to vow a promise to GJ witnessed by X million of people in the stadium and those watching livestream, that he will always be there for GJ. He did not only vow as a companion to GJ, in ZZH terms, he actually vowed "I will love you forever" [ZZH on 'love' saga]

- The in-ear mic had the voices of the backstage crew's coordination. ZZH took it off early, but GJ was still wearing them during the exchange. That itself is a stressor as the backstage coordinator must have warned extremely sternly and loudly and GJ was shakingly nervous. When ZZH was giving this vow (which in the concert BTS release, we see him say "Don't I have a segment to speak to WKX?" Note, it's WKX, not GJ), the backstage crew was cursing and swearing when ZZH went with "I have things to say to Jun Jun." (as WenZhou, they have a disguise/a shield, with direct GJ, it's just...danger danger red light) Try imagine being the backstage crew and going all mad and crazy over what ZZH said that moment.

= ZZH's daring courage to say things like these was probably built up from his sportsmanship, hot-blooded passion from his past. It's beyond my peasant mortal's comprehension.

- Supporting Cast shenanigans and warnings for them, link here

After

- After the concert was over, solo fans expect the main leads to break up even as co-workers or say, being even in the same frame. This expectation is extremely strong in the industry for years. The same goes for JunZhe despite this time many are cpfans but they do know this prevalent expectation. So imagine crying over the vow and the next moment, just hours after the concert, JunZhe is happily sticking to each other singing in the same frame as if they did nothing big a few hours ago. They sang a phrase together with this lyrics: 30% arranged by fate/god, 70% arranged by hard work. A love for perseverance will lead to success/winning.

= Debunking expectations, breaking many years of industry's common consensus successfully. They invented after after-sales CP service.

- Stage, endorsements, film scripts, major public events, variety shows, top brands etc. Poured in, and although it's all solo events, we see traces of the other half.

- Aside from that, we now see social media exchanges (almost always for the other half), brand endorsement captions (almost always about the other half), official brands partnering with each other because of them (despite being legit competitors) etc.

- The word 'support' or at least 'love seeing them together', is the general reason CPfans are fans of them. But to both GJ and ZZH, it really goes beyond the word itself. Acknowledging is just the beginning. ZZH does take LLD to heart and GJ is very interactive with LLDs in his own quirky way.

*From the [Star X Moon Saga], to the developed feelings because of this drama and actually accepting their feelings, to the fact that the pitiful budgeted amount for WOH was not well received at all before it was broadcasted but boomed records in the end, to the open shipping support by the production crew/casts/general media/fans/brands/cities, to the climbing successes and mountainous opportunities opened for GJ and ZZH overnight, everything was unprecedented and unexpected, but they all dramatically happened to the two of them in a span of one year.

Bonus

A fan went to a temple to check out JunZhe's fate. You can only check for one person and she checked for GJ. She passed her result to a Master and he immediately tell her to give up because that person is taken and turned away. The fan quickly corrected and say she's actually checking for someone else, the master turned back and checked her read again and said, everything is aligned to their favour, it's blessed by the Gods. (If I can find the full article again, will add on more but that's the gist, surfing in China made me love Google's search engine algorithm so much more).

A few other fans who 抽签 (Chinese praying tradition - simply put: draw a stick of varying luck). They all got the bestest of luck for JunZhe. (Reading the readings, I'm just...in awe...I...)

= Borrowing the meaning of another famous novel title, to me, this is a true "Heaven's official blessing" pair.

-------End of series-------

🌻To returning readers: Updated info are in purple for your easy references!

🌸Part 1 - Before filming here

🌸Part 2 - During filming here

🌸Part 3 - After filming, before broadcast here

🌸Part 4 - Broadcast/Promotion period here

🌻Upcoming: JunZhe Saga series

🌻[Ongoing updates] Will add if I remember or found new ones - last updated 220721

🌻For long posts like this, I tend to look back for grammar and phrasing mistakes (sometimes info updates), so when you reblog for future references, do keep in mind that there may be updates in the original post! :)

[sinceileftyoublog]

of Montreal Interview: Making a Coherent Reality

Photo by Christina Schneider

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Like their most beloved albums, of Montreal’s 18th full-length Freewave Lucifer f<ck f​^​ck f>ck is a poppy, spritely record born out of a period of intense grief. Isolated, Kevin Barnes, the Athens, GA collective’s only consistent member throughout its history, decided to dive into free associational lyrics and washy and chopped sonic experiments as a way to process the death of both their mother and their dog, not to mention the collective trauma of the COVID-19 pandemic. 

Though 2020′s bright UR FUN was of Montreal’s most recent album for longtime label Polyvinyl, they self-released I Feel Safe With You, Trash in March 2021 on Bandcamp as part of the band’s Patreon. It’s the latter whose process and mindset became influential in the making of Freewave Lucifer f<ck f​^​ck f>ck. Barnes went into the studio and recorded a little bit each day, not trying to force any sort of aesthetic but making themselves work nonetheless. Naturally, some of the songs were inspired by what was going on in their life. “Marijuana’s a Working Woman”,  referring to Barnes’ choice to switch out alcohol and welcome weed during the pandemic, sports psychedelic funk and piano obscured by effects, a sonic manifestation of their newfound drug of choice. “Ofrenda-Flanger-Ego-à Gogo”, on the contrary, juxtaposes sparkling synthesizers with lilting acoustic guitars, two cleaner sounds. From dance tunes to baroque pop to brooding 80′s synth anthems, Freewave Lucifer f<ck f​^​ck f>ck covers a lot of ground but never strays from Barnes’ ethos of catharsis. 

Earlier this summer, I spoke with Barnes over the phone from their home in Athens about Freewave Lucifer f<ck f​^​ck f>ck’s free associational process, making political art, and being inspired by sci fi. Read our conversation below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: So many of the lyrics on Freewave Lucifer f<ck f^ck f>ck are free association. Do you find it easy or useful to look back and glean meaning from what came out, to pinpoint where things were coming from? Or do you let the lyrics be?

Kevin Barnes: It’s a combination of both. I realize I try to need to be coherent. Reality is totally incoherent, but we make it feel coherent because we have to. I realized that the same thing applies to art. You don’t really need to try to make it linear or sensible because people will connect the dots anyways, and they’ll do it in a more interesting way than if you said something really straightforward. That’s the way my mind works anyways: bouncing all over the place. It feels more natural and organic to write in a style that feels more abstract or like it has no meaning. It’s impossible to not have meaning, if that makes sense. It’s impossible to abstract something so much you can’t take anything from it.

SILY: How did these songs come about? Did you come up with the lyrics first and then the instrumentation?

KB: Some of the words had been written or started. I always keep a journal with lyrical ideas or any phrase that pops into my mind that has a rhythm to it I could sing. All of the music was created around the same time last year. I had just finished this double album I self-released on Bandcamp that I gave to our Patreon people. That was in the middle of the pandemic. I knew we wouldn’t be able to go on tour and thought it would be a cool way to add value to the Patreon thing. I hadn’t released a record in my own in a long time, and I wanted to try it. Polyvinyl then asked, “Ok, can you give us a record now?” I worked on it shortly after. I was still in the spirit of the last record, in the approach of not knowing what was gonna happen and experimenting in the studio every day. Not worrying so much about what was going to be the single. 

I just wanted to make music every day. I just wanted to make sounds. I didn’t want each day to feel like every other day. There’s something I read or heard recently that was like, “If you see a problem and work towards fixing a little bit every day...” and the problem for me was not having a record. So I had to work on it a bit every day. That’s why it feels musically composed, like maybe I’ve made this one-minute thing yesterday and today I don’t feel like taking a verse-chorus-verse approach to it. Each section has its own identity and personality, and the songs themselves contain a bunch of little sections I glued together.

SILY: The album still seems pretty cohesive, and the songs themselves have a lot of segues between them. How much of the final product resulted from you going back in and switching the order of the tracks or playing with how up front your vocals were in the mix?

KB: I think the whole process was just an experiment and playing around in the studio. Because I worked by myself and didn’t have any outside collaborators, I was able to completely become immersed in the project. I didn’t move parts around that much, but I would use what I did the day before as inspiration for the next day. I wasn’t trying to make something jarring where the songs would have extreme tempo or key changes. I didn’t have a vision necessarily, just more fucking around and being open to whatever sounds happen, while still trying to push myself to make more interesting creative decisions and try to create interesting sounds--more so than trying to create catchy or infectious things.

SILY: I wouldn’t say the aesthetic of the album is radically different from other albums you’ve made, but it definitely has a unique sound. Looking back, was there something you were influenced by that pushed you in an aesthetic direction?

KB: It has a sadness to it. My mom died last year. My dog also died, the dog I had for 15 years. COVID endlessly continuing. I was in a dark place. When I’m in that dark space, I try to escape through music, through a different realm and mind space that’s more positive or amputated from the sad reality. In a way, being able to make the record was a therapeutic experience for me. Sonically, my influences were really just everything I listened to in my life up until this point, and trying to imagine future sounds as well.

SILY: There are moments on the record, like on “Blab Sabbath Lathe of Maiden”, where it unexpectedly turns dancey. Did that process of change in the song mirror what you were feeling in terms of finding unexpected moments of happiness within grief?

KB: I had to generate it more because it wasn’t happening organically in my life. It’s something I’ve done a lot in the past, like on Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer? There are songs that sound happy but are lyrically sad because of the pain I’m going through in my life that’s extreme. But instead of making minor key music that feels like a funeral, I decided to fight it by making something more positive, colorful, and uplifting. 

SILY: On “Après Thee Dèclassè”, you sing, “Logic is the enemy.” Is that the thesis statement of the record?

KB: That’s a reference to Trumpism/QAnon as well: “Even love has cold hands when logic is the enemy.” Those people have an alternate reality that isn’t the reality that any of my friends, family, or myself see. It’s such a strange time period with Trump and the conservative movement. It’s the complete antithesis of everything I feel and care about, and to see the country splitting so completely down the middle, it can’t help but have an influence on our consciousness and art.

SILY: I wouldn’t really call of Montreal a political band. But you’ve been in a liberal city in a historically conservative state for so long. Does that contrast specifically have any effect on what you sing about?

KB: It absolutely has an impact on my worldview. I’m constantly getting spammed by conservative political signs. Even though Athens is pretty progressive, there’s still a ton of conservatives here. Going for a drive, you’re just bombarded by conservative shit. I’m actually probably gonna move out of Georgia next year. I just realized, “Why am I here? Why do I continue to live in this place that’s so outside of my views?” Just by living here, I’m giving it a tacit approval. There’s two sides to it. There’s [the other] side that’s, “Liberal people are most needed in these red places.” But I don’t want to fight that battle. It seems so endless and pointless. I’d rather move to New England where people are more like-minded than be here with these fucking cavemen.

SILY: As someone who has lived in Illinois for most of his life, I can’t really relate. I do have friends in similar situations, though, who live in “blueberries in a bowl of tomato soup.”

KB: [laughs]

SILY: On the final track, “Hmmm”, you sing, “Grief is an anvil to the skull.” What do you mean there?

KB: Knowing you’re not alone only makes it sadder. I didn’t really get any comfort out of sharing the grief [of my mother’s death] with my family. It just sucks, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. You just have to feel the pain. There’s no way around it.

SILY: What’s the inspiration behind the album title?

KB: I don’t really believe any of this shit, but if I were to explain it, Lucifer is definitely more of a friend to humanity than God. Jesus is fine, but Lucifer seems more helpful to humanity. Lucifer gets a bad rep because of superstition. The whole thing’s made up anyways, but if I were to pray to anything, I’d be more likely to pray to Lucifer than I would to some saint or whatever. The freewave concept is something I came up with. It’s basically, “To be liberated is to ride the freewave.” Everything has “wave” next to it, like “vaporwave.” “Freewave” is my own designation for what kind of music this is. “Fuck Fuck Fuck” is a reference to all of the horrible shit that was going on [in the world].

SILY: How did the art and design of the cover come to be?

KB: My brother David created it, and his vision for it was to feel like Times Square, Tokyo, or Seoul, an area that has a ton of signage. But instead of the signs being for a ramen restaurant or tattoo parlor, the signs are the song titles and lyrics.

SILY: What’s your approach going to be for playing these songs live?

KB: The benefit that we have nowadays is that we can put things in backing tracks if sounds are impossible to reproduce. We can always use sampler pads. There are four other musicians in the band, and I’ll assign them parts that make sense for their station. Jojo [Glidewell] has 3-4 different synthesizers and keyboards. So I’ll assign him main keyboard parts. [Nicolas Dobbratz] does most of the lead guitars. [Clayton Rychlik] is doing all the drums. [Davey Pierce] is doing all the bass lines. Then the rest is me trying to figure out what I can tackle. What’s leftover will either be left out or be in backing tracks.

SILY: Does adapting songs live prove to be as rewarding as making them to begin with?

KB: It’s a very different experience. At first, it’s not at all satisfying--we’re lucky we do have a practice space where we’re not gonna get the cops called on us, but it’s never going to sound as good. It always sounds flat when we’re in the room, but it’s gonna sound good in a club with a PA system. I have to look in the future and imagine what it’s gonna sound like. Practice is a laborious process; we just have to get our parts down and feel comfortable with what we’re gonna do. Once we hit the stage, we’re gonna feel better.

I like making stuff. I don’t really like reproducing stuff as much.

SILY: Especially for something as layered as this record. Is this album deeply intertwined with its context?

KB: I would think that usually, but a lot of stuff I think is very personal, once we go on tour, I realize they’re universal themes. Things I thought would only be relevant to me are relevant to everybody. People will point out a lyric I hadn’t thought about that much and say, “That lyric meant a lot to me.” So it takes on a different life when you play it live.

SILY: Are you working on anything new?

KB: I’ve started working on the next record. I have 3 songs, I think. I’m in an interesting place right now. Sometimes, it takes a bit of time to catch the spirit of what I want to do next. I can tread water and float around in the studio and make something usable for the next thing I put out. I have to work that way. It would be pretty easy to not make anything ever and stare at the wall. [laughs] That’s what I love about making records. When I physically hold the vinyl or CD, I can think, “2018 didn’t get sucked into some vacuum. I have proof I existed.” So I’m always trying to work on things and get into the headspace that will be inspiring and stay in touch with that side of my brain so it never goes to sleep.

SILY: Is there anything you’ve been listening to, watching, or reading that’s caught your attention?

KB: I’ve been reading this Clive Barker book Imajica. I knew he made Hellraiser, but I didn’t realize he was also an author. A friend gave me the book. It’s a pretty long book, so it’s not an easy read, but I’ve been super into it. I’ve been getting more into sci fi stuff, like Ursula Le Guin. Sci fi films as well. I don’t know why, but sci fi has been a safe refuge for me.

SILY: Probably the same reason it is for a lot of people: imagining a different world.

KB: Totally. I feel like sci fi doesn’t get treated like a serious art form. People think it’s goofy or nerdy. But it’s really prescient. So much that has been written in sci fi novels becomes reality in 10-15 years. I think we should all be mining sci fi literature for answers. A lot of the times, it’s pretty dystopian, but that’s probably pretty realistic.

SILY: Was Le Guin a big influence on this record?

KB: I wouldn’t say I was taking inspiration. There are some lines that connect to Alice Bailey and thinking about spiritualists in the early 20th century and A Treatise on White Magic. I guess sci fi and magical thinking are often one in the same. Religion is magical thinking--it doesn’t exist in the physical world right now. But if you can imagine it, it’s magical thinking. On some level, knowing that there are so many humans that existed and exist now that were really brilliant and turned on, I get a lot of inspiration from those people. If you watch Tucker Carlson, you’ll get negative and depressed all the time. I guess people are hungry for bad vibes. I don’t understand the appeal of that shit. It’s so negative and pointless. It’s like lying in shit. I love discovering new authors and filmmakers that pull us out of that negative way of thinking. Not in complete fantasy, but depicting realities that we can identify with and spark our imaginations.

Tour dates # w/ Locate S,1 $ w/ Le Pain 9/08: Athens, GA @ 40 Watt # 9/09: New Orleans, LA @ Howlin’ Wolf # 9/10: Austin, TX @ Mohawk # 9/12: Albuquerque, NM @ Sister # 9/13: Phoenix, AZ @ The Crescent Ballroom # 9/14: Los Angeles, CA @ Regent Theater #$ 9/15: Berkeley, CA @ UC Theatre # 9/16: Eugene, OR @ WOW Hall # 9/17: Portland, OR @ Wonder Ballroom # 9/18: Seattle, WA @ Neumos # 9/19: Missoula, MT@ The Wilma # 9/20: Salt Lake City, UT @ Metro # 9/21: Englewood, CO @ Gothic Theatre # 9/22: Lawrence, KS @ The Granada # 9/23: St. Louis, MO @ Red Flag # 9/24: Atlanta, GA @ Buckhead Theatre # 10/04: Carrboro, NC @ Cat’s Cradle # 10/05: Richmond, VA @ Broadberry # 10/06: Washington, DC @ 9:30 Club # 10/07: Brooklyn, NY @ Elsewhere # 10/08: Cambridge, MA @ Sinclair # 10/09: Philadelphia, PA @ Theatre of the Living Arts # 10/10: Cleveland, OH @ Beachland Ballroom # 10/11: Detroit, MI @ Magic Stick # 10/12: Milwaukee, WI @ Turner Hall # 10/13: Minneapolis, MN @ Fine Line # 10/14: Chicago, IL @ Lincoln Hall # 10/15: Cincinnati, OH @ Woodward Theater # 10/16: Asheville, NC @ The Grey Eagle #

[carcinized]

Zoom Cuddles

Ship(s): Romantic Prinxiety

Words: 1376

Warning(s): Quarantine, Zoom, basically just all the sucky stuff of 2020, cuddles, kissing

AU(s): Humans in 2020, college

Notes: This is literal tooth-rotting fluff. I don’t even know how I made this so fluffy—

Summary: It’s literally just Virgil being extremely clingy during Roman’s classes until Roman gets revenge and makes out with him during his math lecture.

Psychology was always Roman’s favorite lecture to attend in these trying times. Not because he enjoyed learning about the mind, but because it was the only class he shared with his boyfriend, Virgil Black.

In fact, he saw Virgil during nearly all of his classes, since they lived together, but in this class, they could share a computer and cuddle through the whole lecture.

That was what they were doing now, in fact. Virgil had propped up his laptop on a desk he’d dragged in front of the couch. He was now sitting in Roman’s lap. Roman had one hand wrapped around Virgil’s waist, keeping him and his warmth close, and the other was in his hair, gently stroking it. Every once in a while, Roman would lean forward to press a kiss to Virgil’s hair and Virgil would sigh happily and melt back against him.

This was why psychology was Roman’s favorite.

•

Roman closed his eyes as he did his best to get his voice up the scale. His choir had already gone up an octave or so from where he was comfortable in his chest voice and was now attempting to sound decent with his head voice, which took all of his concentration.

Roman felt forearms rest of his shoulders and hands clasp behind his neck as someone hung off of him, pressing their body to Roman's.

Roman opened his eyes and stopped singing, frowning at the man hanging off him. "What's wrong, love? I'm on camera, you know.”

Virgil didn't seem to care. He buried his face in Roman's neck. "I'm tired, RoRo."

Roman wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, two fingers rolling a strand of his hair back and forth between them as Roman picked up the singing again. At least Virgil brought warmth on the cold winter day, Roman thought.

Soon, the choir organizer finished warmups, and asked, "Roman?"

Roman gave a sheepish smile and waddled forward to unmute his computer. "Sorry, my, uh—My boyfriend's a little clingy today."

"Am not," Virgil mumbled.

"They can hear you, you know," Roman informed him. The other members of the choir were all either laughing, smiling sweetly, or looking away awkwardly, and Roman couldn't blame any of them for their reactions.

"Well, are you going to be able to sing with him clinging to you like that?" the choir organizer asked.

Roman shrugged and Virgil protested the movement a bit with some incoherent grumbling. "It'll compress my chest a bit, but I'll be fine."

The choir director stared a little longer before giving a shrug. "Whatever, so long as you can follow along."

Roman beamed and adjusted Virgil so his feet were on top of Roman's, then waddled forward to mute himself again.

"Well, everyone, open your documents for 'Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas,'" the director instructed, and Roman did so.

He returned to his spot where he was standing, Virgil still hanging off of him. Sometimes, in between phrases, he'd press a kiss to Virgil's ear and feel Virgil readjust himself with a content sigh. Other times, Virgil would whisper a small "you sound good" and make Roman blush with pride.

At the end of the last note, once Roman had stopped his vibrato, he wrapped his arms around Virgil's waist tighter. "Aren't you glad we lived together during this?"

"What, this Zoom?"

"No, I mean... All of this. 2020."

"Yeah," Virgil said, nuzzling deeper into Roman's chest. "I am."

•

Later that day, Roman was in drama, working on a read-through of a stage version of Clue they hoped to be able to livestream. Virgil simply walked over and straddled Roman's hips, sitting in his lap and laying his head on Roman's shoulder.

Roman couldn't keep the grin off his face as he reached up to stroke Virgil's hair without a word. But the warm feeling in his bones made it a bit hard for him to sound ominous in his role as Mr. Boddy. His line came out in a high-pitched tone when he said, "In your hands you each have a lethal weapon. You all showed up here tonight because you believed the evidence against you was so terrible that you would do almost anything to—"

"Hold it," the director said. "Roman, are you—?" He cut off when he looked up at his screen. "Oh, you've got someone there."

Roman blushed. "Yeah, uh, this is my boyfriend. Virgil, say hi, since you interrupted us!"

Virgil raised a hand and, before he could raise a certain finger, Roman grabbed his hand and pulled it back down sheepishly. "Sorry, he's, um... He's tired."

"It's quite alright, this is just a read-through, after all. Just make sure that he doesn't crash our actual rehearsals as well."

Roman lifted Virgil up a bit by the underarms, intending to look into his eyes as if he were a naughty puppy, but Virgil kept them closed as he scowled sleepily.

"You hear that?" Roman asked. "No crashing rehearsals."

"Yeah, yeah," Virgil murmured. "Let me sleep, now."

Roman rolled his eyes with a small laugh and looked back at the screen, where the entire cast was smiling at him. Roman felt himself go red. "Uh—"

"You guys are adorable!" the woman playing Miss Peacock announced.

Luckily, Virgil didn't protest or make any moves to flip off the cast again.

"Um, thanks," Roman told her. "Anyways...."

And that was how the read-through went.

•

Later, Virgil was in his math class, and Roman was ready to get his revenge.

The other boy was innocently leaning back in his chair when Roman sat in his lap. Having his boyfriend's face right in front of his own seemed to wake Virgil up and his eyes widened in surprise.

Roman didn't give him time to say anything, though, simply leaning forward and brushing his lips against Virgil’s before capturing his lips with his own, knowing the other couldn't resist.

Roman was proved right as Virgil kissed back, pulling him gently closer by the waist. Roman smiled and rested his arms on the back of Virgil's chair. He touched his feet to the ground and gently spun the chair back and forth as they kissed, perfectly happy to get lost in the moment.

That was, until the teacher cleared her throat. "Mr. Black?"

Virgil's eyes widened and he shoved Roman off of him. "Uh—Miss, I can explain—"

"You're on mute," the teacher told him. Roman just rubbed his head from his new spot on the ground.

"Oh, um, Miss, I'm so sorry—"

"Don't worry, I've seen far worse than a boy making out with his boyfriend on camera this year," the teacher informed him.

Roman got up from his spot and rested his head on Virgil's knee out of the camera's line of sight. Virgil reached a hand over and lightly slapped Roman before caressing his face gently. Roman leaned into his touch, only slightly worried about more possible slaps.

"Um... yeah. Thanks, I guess?" Virgil said to the teacher.

"I just want to make sure you're paying attention for this next part, as I'm going to be going over finals material."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, um, thanks."

Roman felt Virgil lean forward and mute himself once more.

Once he'd leaned back, Roman asked incredulously, "You thanked her?"

"What else was I supposed to do?"

Roman looked up at Virgil and broke into a fit of laughter at how red his face was.

"Hey, you never answered me!" Virgil protested once Roman's giggles had started to die down.

"Oh—Um, I don't know. I do know, however, that you're a teacher's pet."

"Shut up."

Roman climbed back up into Virgil's lap, resting against him the way Virgil had earlier. "Fine. I'm going to sleep on you."

"Fine." Virgil's tone was harsh, but when he kissed Roman's hair, he was gentle and caring, making sure Roman knew he wasn't angry. At least, not too much.

After a silence between them, with only Virgil's teacher speaking in the background, Roman heard a tiny whisper.

"I love you, y'know," Virgil said quietly. 

Roman heaved a happy sigh and snuggled closer. "I love you too."

Check out my other works (forgot to put this here at first oOpS-)!

[taekooktimeline]

May 31, 2020 (filmed)

In the Soop, start of ep. 6, is filmed on this date. 

Please remember the below is our THEORY. You are free to interpret as you wish.  

The episode opens with Tae fidgeting and being visibly anxious.

Jimin is entrusted with the mission to get Jk to Tae and tells Jk there is a leak that requires him to collect his luggage as a ruse to get him to go outside.

As they get closer Tae sits up abruptly. Jk is confused about what is going on. We’ll discuss further below, but for now this indicates while the talk appears to be planned and scripted to an extent, Jk didn’t expect the talk to happen at the time it did, as is evidenced by the boxing wraps he just finished wrapping on his hands. Tae created an elaborate setup for this moment and Jk was authentically surprised. 

Jimin and Tae playfully banter as if they’re at a classy restaurant - Jimin being the waiter - which adds certain romance to the scene. 

Jin comes by and asks if Taekook are on a date. This increases their shyness which makes Tae say “jungkookshi!” on repeat. We can’t tell if he’s panicking and calling out for him as if saying “Jk, help! this is so awkward” or if he’s teasing Jk, but it actually looks like a mix. It’s awkward because they are being filmed while playing out such a scene.

Jk asks about the occasion and Tae replies that it’s nothing special, though shortly what follows is a conversation reminiscing about their trainee days, as well as Tae’s recent struggles.

Tae starts by saying that Jk’s recent attempt to hang out with him is what prompted him to prepare this intimate talk.

Following the above phrase is when Jk  fully realizes what’s going on, letting out a big “ahhhhhh” of understandment. Despite this Tae asks once again “Remember?” to which Jk confirms by repeating “ah, ah, ah”. If there is an acting cue this would be it.

Tae adds a couple short sentences to finish the introduction.

Jk then excitedly says “I see!” using a similar voice to that funny one from the drama “Itaewon Class” as if getting ready to start an interpretation (the one that has the “it’s fun!” line).

Out of nowhere, Jk brings up the topic of them being scolded together even during trainee days, parroting exactly what Tae said in his YT livestream back in late April (which is rare because they barely mentioned each other as of recent times so there aren’t many chances to coincide). You can tell there wasn’t a cut between Tae’s intro and Jk’s topic if you pay attention to Jk getting rid of his wrappings. It seems like Jk isn’t the best at easing into a pre-planned topic and just dropped it abruptly which caused them both to laugh. They start to talk about the past and highlight how they were always close, scolded together and partners in crime. It’s interesting that the conversation unnaturally segwayed from having drinks to trainee days.

Jungkook says that they’ve been busy lately which implies that they no longer have the special bond that was just mentioned. This seems to be the whole objective of this theatrical interpretation: to make the public believe that they drifted apart & are now reconnecting. While it’s true that BTS explained on a recent vlive that they worked for 18 hours a day - which doesn’t leave much time to decompress and have time to yourself, let alone with loved ones -  we believe they are trying to sound credible by creating lies out of truths (we are busy = truth; lost the special bond = lie).

Jk tells the camera in a narration that Tae used to be so playful and the easiest to talk to out of all the hyungs, but has become more reserved and not as open as he was in prior years, even to the point of developing certain awkwardness in their relationship. Again, lies based on truths. Tae has grown up and matured but he is still playful in a more calm way. Additionally, since three months prior to filming, Tae was noticeably sad and withdrawn. BTS were even concerned and had written on his festa rolling paper to be happy and reach out to any one of them to discuss when he was ready. Tae finding Jk in the soop to have an on camera discussion was very pivotal for their on camera presentation of their relationship going forward to viewers - making it a safe excuse for the sudden openness & increase of on camera interactions being now viewed as reunited friends - but they surely must have had private talks & we don’t believe there was any type of emotional distancing involved. 

Reviewing prior footage shows they’ve always shown indicators of closeness and acted in a questionable manner, as well as what could be considered special attention to each other. We’ve caught onto moments they were instructed to separate - such as the vlive in which staff clearly rang the bell & told Tae to leave the hotel room as if he wasn’t sharing it with Jk on May of 2019 - so this talk is the culmination of the narrative BH tried to fabricate these recent years.

Weverse didn’t pick up the entire translation but Jk actually said “these days” he hadn’t really had a serious talk with Tae. This implies Tae was distant recently, which aligns with the sham but also correlates with Tae’s behavior in the spring. Tae mentioned in KBS and this Soop episode that the pandemic was something he struggled with. We doubt that Jk & Tae didn’t have any deep talks during these difficult times and then chose to broadcast their first ice-breaker so we once again deem it a false statement. We will elaborate more in our final thoughts.

Jk credits Tae for bringing him out of his shell in trainee days. Jk has mentioned this in prior interviews, so it seems to be a really important thing for Jk to continue to acknowledge. Tae appears genuinely surprised about Jk bringing this up - blushing for a second - so it’s apparent that they didn’t have a strict script for the sake of making it feel natural. They would just have planned to make sure to touch some key points to convey the narrative of reconnecting. As a positive side, it looks like it falls inside their plans to highlight how much they click and how much of an impact they’ve had on each other. During Festa, when Tae appeared to be at a low point, Jk referred to Tae as his commonality (which K ARMY proceeded to trend for its general meaning). Keep in mind Festa content was released in June, which would have been just after “In the Soop” was filmed, but it was surely written beforehand along with the rest of Festa’s content (~March). The fact that Jk said he has a lot in common with Tae correlates to what he said in this episode about having many similarities. This whole setup would be a bridge for them to be able to, at least, publicly act like close friends once again - which is a milestone - while giving a platonic explanation as to why there was a lack of on camera interactions. We guess it works if they don’t plan to come out as of now and it makes BH look good.

Tae never wanted Jk to use honorifics, but to treat him as a same age friend. Keep in mind honorifics are very important in a country like Korea. It does seem, based on Tae’s personality, that he’s not as hung up on such specifics. Regardless, the fact that, from the start, Tae insisted on treating Jk as an equal is a big deal when factoring in the culture / customs of their country.

Portion of Interview for the Magazine “Catch The BTS” Vol.1, 2013/11:

It seems like Jk was polite with Tae at the very beginning of their friendship, but after some time they started interacting as same age friends - as they explicitly said - and talked casually. In the below pics they contradict the old evidence by saying that their age difference and use of formal speech put up a wall between them. Jk even says “that’s what I chose back then”, meaning it later changed. It’s an easier way to lie.

They also might have used Festa to push the narrative of age difference being partially responsible for their supposed distancing. It was written that Tae viewed Jk as his “maknae-like dongsaeng” which uses not only one, but two terms to reinforce how young Jk is (“maknae” means youngest of the group, while “dongsaeng” is the complementary word to “hyung”. Jk is the dongsaeng of all his hyungs. It does NOT mean biological brother).

Tae mentions how he draws strength from ARMY and has felt empty lately, yearning to perform again. He didn’t feel as loved since they were not on stage hearing the cheers. This appears to be the main reason Tae struggled. And again, this correlates to Tae struggling in recent times, as the pandemic forced BTS (and the world) to change plans, and there was a lot of anxiety and uncertainty. The fact that this affected him so much suggests he still has self-worth issues and relies on external validation to a considerable degree. In our eyes, this is interlaced with his identity & fear of rejection - at least to an extent - being this a period of changes in TK’s presentation that stirred up various emotions. This theory is also supported by him reading the speech about happiness from the LGBTQ film CMBYN a little over a week after filming this. It seems like this was also a crucial topic to tackle & broadcast in order to continue working on the public’s empathy and dive little by little into the sources of their struggles.

Jungkook shows himself to be a source of strength to Tae, giving him advice and reassuring him he’s handling things well. He tells him that he should take this as an opportunity to work on stuff so that the people he loves can see how much he improved.

They decide to make a toast to those who love them. They do not toast to ARMY, which is the typical choice of words. Could this be specifically to people who support them? Because we know not all ARMY would accept them if they found out.

The scene ends with them smiling brightly at each other before walking away from the tent.

(final photo courtesy of TK_Rainbow insta) 

Taekook’s “talk” clip: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Kx0ahPr8dVRQzGNBXEbH9nhkRLkLaVLh/view?usp=drivesdk 

Our theory - Personally, we believe this moment was staged to an extent. The execution may have been authentic in that Tae planned a romantic setting, since Jk seemed genuinely surprised and had prepared to work out prior to them meeting. However, it should be taken into consideration that taekook were relatively hidden in on camera, official moments for years. This possibly could be a presentation, agreed upon between TK and BH, to explain their current loudness to viewers who may only be watching official content and looking at things at the surface level. To see TK not as interactive in ON official camera moments, to suddenly see them in the manner we are, required an explanation that wouldn’t out them for the moment while allowing them to showcase their special bond and familiarize people with it. Taekook have always made it clear, in Jk’s words, that their relationship is not for the cameras. To have a 1-1 raw, intimate conversation in official content with cameras around, for a televised show, goes against their prior nature and indicates some sort of pre-planning. 

Jk mentioned in “recent days” Taekook had not had a serious talk. Then, on camera, what the viewer is able to view is not very heavy besides their talks about Tae seeking love & support from ARMY. JK’s statement of the lack of recent heart-to-heart talks doesn’t match with what they proceeded to talk about. Although it wouldn’t be the goal if it were to be genuine, the viewer did not learn anything pivotal in the talk, meaning it was just a retake on topics deemed safe for public consumption. On the contrary, they flipped the original - pure - story of them being just like same age friends that were close in debut times, to them being close but never overcoming the weight of the age difference. There are a plethora of deep topics Taekook could have discussed. They weren’t able to fully dive into how Tae has exhibited some sort of playfulness throughout the years, but visibly bottled up and became more reserved only in recent months, just barely scratching the surface. The pandemic clearly is part of why Tae struggled, but not all. They do not discuss the obvious separation or lack of on camera moments during these last few years. These are certainly not topics they can easily and freely touch upon given their current situation, which means the idea of suddenly having a “serious talk” to clear the air between them, on camera, for television, has even less credibility. Keep in mind, in between debut to current times, we have always gotten subtle signs of genuine closeness & even slip-ups that they tried to hide. This confirms that what was aired (not necessarily all they talked about but what the viewer was able to see) didn’t really touch on anything intimate. 

Since we believe Taekook are in a romantic relationship and are closeted, this means they cannot be fully transparent in why the recent years have involved cuts and on camera separations. The positive takeaway, though, is it appears that taekook will no longer be heavily hidden, nor separated on camera or official content as a result of prior negotiations, which probably took place back in 2018 as they signed - in advance - their second contract. The plan going forward, to us, is for taekook to be less restricted and to normalize their interactions - now holding increased control & benefits over key points in their career. Whether TK have the legal ability to come out at some point - if ready - within this contract or if this new direction would be the rooftop, that we don’t know. Either way, BH had to explain this long-needed change in on camera moments and appears to have chosen this method. Keep in mind the contract renewal took effect shortly after the Soop was filmed. Soon after Soop, Tae read CMBYN and wrote on Weverse he wants to be happy. It’s interesting how all of this happened in quick succession from one another. 

Again, as stated at the start of this section, please remember this is our THEORY. We have done our best to clearly explain why we are thinking in the manner we are. Please remember this topic is controversial, and the reader is entitled to their opinion just as much as we are to ours. 

Interestingly, these were the lyrics of the song that played in the background as they talked: 

TK trended once the ep was released on Sept. 23rd -

June 1, 2020 - First day of Pride Month. Continuation of Episode 6. Tae wore a Bert and Ernie shirt the next day. This may be a coincidence or it may be him trying to send a message after having a 1-1 with Jk on camera. Please decide as you like.

We don’t want to theorize too much on the ending scene but it’s possible there are clues in it. No other member has ended an episode of “In The Soop” as an individual moment. And the ending shot of Tae has a lot of metaphors as he stands to embrace the sun, and then let’s the canoe take him to its brightness. The implication may be that Tae has found healing in this setting, and this, among other things, has helped him come to peace with his struggles.

[ultimatetornshipper]

Daminette December Day 10

@daminette-december2019-2020

Heyy guys, I’m sorry it’s late but life happened, I’ve kinda been going through something in my personal life and I just really struggled to get motivated to write this but I got my shit together.

I’ll most likely be back on the regular from now on. I’m posting Day 11 and 12 as a oneshot, using both prompts in one just to make it a bit easier on myself. And I’ll be posting it like right after this.

I’ll try to post both day 13 and day 14 tomorrow. 

Anyway I hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

Princes and Pedestals

Chapter 10 – Freedom

Previous

Next: Chapter 11, Day 13 Princes and Pedestals

Next: day 11 and 12, Daminette December One shot.

Damian stood on his balcony and stared out at the forest. Today was a good day.

He got to know Marinette. She was sweet, but they both kept their walls up, as though they were dancing a delicate waltz that could shatter around them in seconds.

He felt refreshed, a new feeling. Usually, after any interaction with people, he’d be incredibly drained. It was the first time after a conversation that he felt energized.

Very energized.

It was almost midnight and he, an early bird, still couldn’t fall asleep.

Maybe it was the nagging feeling that hadn’t left him since the day Marinette disappeared.

The nagging feeling that would come and go.

The feeling that he was being watched.

“What’s on your mind, kid?” Plagg asked, landing on his shoulder.

“Feeling restless,” he replied, Plagg hummed in response and studied the scenery with him.

They stood in comfortable silence and Damian allowed himself to sink into it. Too many people in his life had a constant need to fill the quiet.

From his balcony, he looked at the courtyard where he trained every day, the gardens, usually buzzing with life and color  now disappeared into the quiet darkness. The gardens didn’t look at all like they did during the day.

He looked up. But the stars... the light blue daytime sky simply couldn’t compare to the gorgeous map of shining lights that seemed so incredibly far away.

The night didn’t shine nearly as bright as the day. But he could never deny that it was just as, if not more, beautiful.

And as he stared into the dark, moonlit world, he felt it call out to him.

Standing on his balcony simply wasn’t enough.

He wanted more.

As though reading his mind Plagg said, “You wanna transform?”

Damian nodded and climbed onto the railing of his balcony. He said the phrase and felt his clothing shift into something new.

It was armor, but not the traditional sort. It was light and quiet, allowing him to move without a sound. He had cat ears on his head and a tail lazily swung behind him, keeping his balance as he studied himself further.

The padding he wore felt and acted like leather, but it was stronger than metal. He wore a pair of boots and an equally well padded pair of trousers. His hair was now messy and slightly longer than usual.

He had a baton on his right hip as well as a katana tied secured on his back. His mask covered his mouth with a light fabric that was easy to breathe through but hid his face well.

He also had a hood, which he discovered had holes for his cat ears. His outfit also had a few dark green highlights and trimmings.

He took his baton off his hip and moved it from hand to hand, it was pretty light. He pressed the button that Plagg had explained would lengthen it. He let it keep going until it hit the ground.

He smirked and jumped down, falling down from the pole. When he was a few feet from the ground, he jumped down and shortened it again.

He eyed the woods. Maybe... maybe just checking for any imposters would ease his anxiety. Then he could be certain that no one was watching him and he was safe. And if anything happened he had the fighting skill to back himself up as well as Plagg's Cataclysm if worse came to worse.

He ran through the forest for an hour without finding anything. His first step had been to lengthen his baton to allow him to see above the treetops, using his night vision, he checked for smoke, in case someone had made a small campfire.

After that he'd simply explored on foot, enjoying the silence and solitude as well as the scenery.

Lifetime in the woods was something completely different and it just enchanted him.

Much like something - someone- else in his life.

He allowed himself to get lost in thought as he looked out for any signs of someone being in the forest.

Marinette was as beautiful as the night. When he'd first gotten to know her he'd thought her hair was as beautiful as the night sky. He looked up through the leaves and knew then that he wasn’t wrong.

He looked back in front of him only to run face first into a very hard tree. The bark pressed hard into his skin and he fell on his butt.

He sat on the floor, glaring at the tree. He checked to make sure he hadn’t gotten hurt, but it turned out that the only thing wounded was his pride.

He started to get up but he heard voices speaking and he instantly froze.

“I can’t believe you two have been sneaking off – and without me,” said the first, a girl.

“Yeah, well, your moods are pretty unpredictable. We didn’t wanna risk you blabbing,” said another girl.

The first girl gave an offended huff, “I don’t blab! I would never blab!”

“Hey keep it down you two, we don’t want to get caught,” a boy said sternly.

‘Too late for that,’ Damian thought smugly.

“Guys, I have a bad feeling about this,” another male voice said.

Damian decided that was his cue. He jumped out and landed in front of them, “Good gut you’ve got there,” he smirked, flexing his claws, “Mind if I borrow it?”

He studied the three figures. Two women and one man- wait where was the second man?

He felt something hard hit the back of his head and the world faded to black.

Taglist:

@animegirlweeb @loysydark @toodaloo-kangaroo @forgottenfriends @wolf-for-life @heyitsbugette @f-rget-lt @fusser90 @editorofeverything @thenillabean @sunflowers-and-mooncakes

[writingsbychlo]

below the surface | sam taylor

word count; 9022

summary; sam admires your fire, the two of you are good friends, and he just wants to help free you live to your fullest potential.

notes: there is some slightly odd themes here, but it was the norm for those times, so you’re just going to have to accept them, it really makes the story, so go with it.

warnings: smut, some misogynistic themes, verbal abuse.

Sam Taylor liked the 1920’s, far more than he ever liked the prospect of the 2020’s. He liked the simplicity of his life, he liked the friendly atmosphere, he liked watching history unfold, but most of all, he liked the woman he had first become acquainted with two years ago.

It had taken him a little while to settle down, to find a home and build a business for himself, and the ‘roaring twenties’ that he was oh-so-fond of were definitely picking up their speed. It all felt very Gatsby-esque to him, and a year after his arrival in the time, he’d returned to the speakeasy he’d once visited with Evelyn. It had taken time for that wound to heal, and he felt that being able to return to the place he once treasured with her might be the final step for him to be able to close that chapter of his life, and move onto another one.

The speakeasy itself wasn’t actually where he had met you. Actually, it had been a few roads over, when he’d been drawn to the sounds of shouting and laughter, and he’d found you shouting at a group of younger men, who couldn't have possibly been more than their late teens, who were leering at you and trying to grab onto you. He hadn't even had to do anything, he had arrived to help but you had taken care of it yourself, shaking your head and mumbling about stain removing when the blood of a now broken nose stained your white glove, the group looking shocked, and then appalled, before running off with their bleeding friend and spitting insults at you.

“Well, go on then!” You had spun to face him, eyebrows raised and one gloved hand, one bare hand, sitting on your waist as you waited for him to speak, and he merely raised an eyebrow at you. “Tell me how unladylike I am, how I shouldn’t be out alone, or how I’ll never find a husband with an attitude like mine? I’d bet you a half dollar that you couldn’t tell me anything that I haven’t heard before.”

“I was going to say I think that was rather impressive, actually.” You had stared at him, eyes narrowed for half a second, before you’d been opening the clutch purse in your hand, shoving both gloves inside of it and producing a small silver coin, held out to him in the palm of your hand. “Nobody has ever told you how impressive it is that you can stand up for yourself before?”

“I’m not sure if you noticed, sir, but women are supposed to be seen and not heard.” You spat out the words distastefully, and he let out a small laugh, ducking his head and taking you hand in his, curling your fingers back around the coin in refusal to take it, but he could already see another argument building back up within you at the rejection of the token.

“Well, if I hadn't have heard you, I wouldn’t have gotten to meet you, and I’m rather glad I did.” He held out his hand, introducing himself formally and waiting as you studied him once again, before offering your name in return. “How about you use that bet to buy me a drink, hm? I know this great little spot below the surface.”

“You’d let a woman buy you a drink?”

“I’d let you buy me several, but I do believe in equality, so if you’d let me keep your company for longer, I will be insisting that we take turns on the purchases.” That had earned him a genuine smile, and he took your hand in his and placed it into the crook of his elbow, guiding you down the streets towards the only little store with the lights still turned on.

“I suppose you’ll know somewhere that sells a real drink, do you, Mr Taylor?”

He flashed you a cheeky grin in response, insisting that you call him Sam, even with all the formalities of the time, because clearly you didn’t play by your own eras rules, and he liked that a lot. Holding open the door to the shop, you stepped in ahead of him, the owner looking up at both of you cautiously, a brow raised as he paused in his movements for wiping down the counter.

“We’re closed, what are you looking for?”

He cleared his throat, sparing you a glance before he was stepping forwards. “Cabbage.” Some dead silence hung in the air, and a slight warmth rose to his cheeks form the very moment the ridiculous codeword had left his mouth.

“I’m sorry, you’re looking for what?”

“Y’know, cabbage?” He nodded his head towards the door he remembered from last time, and the shop assistant looked between him, back to you, before him once again, and you sighed, your hand landing once again on his upper arm as you came up to stand behind the counter by his side.

“Do you have any red linens?”

The man seemed to catch on, his lips flicking up at the sides, and Sam’s cheeks only grew darker in colour as the two of you were guided away toward the stairwell hidden in the back of the store, the speakeasy concealed below. Once the door was closed behind you, your forehead had pressed to his arm, a series of small giggles leaving you and he let out a playful huff as you did.

“That’s an old phrase, it’s changed every six months to keep it from spreading too quickly.” You confided, and he hummed, pushing the coding to the back of his mind to be remembered until it was changed once again.

“You’ve been here before, then?”

“I can be found at this bar every Thursday, my father likes to spread the word about having a daughter of age with a dowry to boot, ready to be married off.” Your words had turned bitter at the end, and Sam had sighed, shaking his head and offering you a frown, but he wanted to keep the mood lighter, as he was enjoying your company.

“So, if I happened to be here on a Thursday evening, I might find you here, too?”

“You just might, Sam. Now, how about that drink?”

Meeting you at the bar on Thursday nights had rather rapidly become a constant in Sam’s life, he counted down the days and hours until he could see you again, to listen to you excitedly talk about your week as you sipped on gin at the bar and let you ramble about the book you had been reading, or the story you’d heard from your friends, or simply the new and fleeting hobby you had picked up and dropped in the last few days.

You were wild, and interesting, and you made the transition from the 21st Century to the beginning of the 20th so easy for him that he barely noticed anything different when he was with you. You were like a little drop of home in his week, and he couldn't help the easy flow he’d taken from friendship to something a little flirtier with you, and he liked the way you joked back, cheeks rising with red and jaw dropping when he whispered in your ear and held you in a way that was just a little risky for the time period he had found himself in.

He liked it when you’d dance with him to the music playing, and he liked it when you’d hum along to the songs being sung. He absolutely loved it when you rested your head on his shoulder and let out little sighs of tiredness when they night moved on and you let him hold you a little tighter to keep you on your feet as you waited for your brother or father to be ready to escort you home when they were finished posturing and proving themselves to the other men in the club.

Spring had bled into Summer, into Winter, and your friendship had only become stronger. He had met your father, and your brother, and he was never approving of the scowls they wore when you let out loud and obvious huffs of indignation when you were called over to meet a possible new suitor, or when you were shown off by them as some kind of prize to be won, only to mouth off and prove that you were far more than a pretty face.

You were stubborn, and strong-willed, and you didn’t conform to the stereotypes that your time had laid out. He saw you during the feminist rallies in the town, holding handmade signs high and shouting for equal rights at the top of your lungs, with absolutely no idea that your movement would be something that children would be learning about in their history lessons a century from now, taught by a female teacher with independence and equality, and he watched on proudly each time.

He had met your mother on the days he had been fetching his groceries from the farmer’s markets, rolling your eyes at the older woman as she tried to tell you recipes to remember and tips to make you an agreeable wife that you had downright refused to commit to memory.

Two years passed, and he watched as the new decade was ushered in, everything from the 10’s being swept away as old news as the 20’s came barrelling in, and style from the notorious New York City had taken over. You had a wardrobe full of tasselled dresses that fell around your knees and rode up when you crossed your legs to reveal the softer skin of your thighs, and you had pearl necklaces that fell down into lower necklines, and lips painted red with curled hair, and fuck, Sam really did love the twenties.

He loved going home and finding the print of your red lipstick printed on his cheeks from where you had bid him goodnight each Thursday in the early hours, and he liked the tint your cheeks got as your slightly tipsy form wobbled when you tried to pretend you hadn't been drinking, acting the good girl in the streets to follow the laws of the oncoming prohibition.

Two years in had brought a lot of changes since the night Sam had met you. The prohibition had made the speakeasy an even more lucrative spot to be included within, poker tables and cigars with whiskey glasses clinking below the streets, passers-by completely unknowing as to the activities that were taking place below. It had brought a wealthier crowd, elites and upper-class, only those who could afford to pay for the right to know the password at the door, and your father had only put more pressure on you to find a husband.

You were two years older, moving towards your mid-twenties, and of a prime age to bear a child for whichever man your father chose to give you away to. He was happy with the crowd that the speakeasy brought around, gambling from men with a lot of coin to throw down onto the table and options that would undoubtedly bring a high price for your hand in marriage.

In turn, you were acting out more and more, causing every option your father had found for you to end up turning their nose up and sneering as they muttered about finding a girl who could make them a home and raise a child, never bothering to look at what was underneath, never bother to get to know the incredible person below the surface of a woman to be given away.

You were seen less and less, from every Thursday to one Thursday a month, your father choosing to leave you at home in favour of talking you up in order to confirm a deal before you had a chance to ruin it, and yet Sam attended faithfully every Thursday, just in the hopes of seeing you. Your flame was being dulled, the rallies were quieter without your voice shouting out with the rest, his shopping trips were duller when he couldn't catch sight of your playful faces and rolled eyes as he moved between the stalls near you, and his days were empty without ever getting to catch glances of you, or talk to you late at night after your family had gone to bed and you called him on the telephone attached to his kitchen walls.

Your smile wasn’t as bright, your shoulders were slumped and your fashion sense had reverted back to that of the dresses he knew of mother’s to wear, but he never missed the longing looks you gave to the girls who would flounce about in tassels and pearls and sequins, dancing and singing and having fun, and he hated that you no longer told him excitedly about your day, instead forced to stay by your father or brother’s side as the night progressed on. Each time you were questioned by another man, he got to see a brief glimpse of your slowly drowning personality, his lips flicking up at the sies when he heard your sarcastic and snippy retorts, soon quieted by your father’s growling voice over the top of your own.

That was how Sam had found himself peeking at you from his seat at the table, watching you subtly as you stood off to the edge of the bar with you brother, picking at the uncomfortable edges of your corset dress as you pulled it out each time you wanted to take a deep breath, your eyebrows pinched as a fake smile sat on your cheeks and your hands formed fists as your kept them held in front of you like a lady always should.

Your father was angry, he was talking about the latest tantrum you’d had, having caused such damage to your car by driving when you weren’t permitted to and had no idea how to, that he had to fork out to have it prepared, almost as much as the car had cost him in the first place when he’d won it on an auction, new parts having to be brought in to fix it, and he was fuming, even as he laid down yet another stack of notes onto the table for betting with.

He felt your arrival before he saw you, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the dragging of your almost floor-length dress between the chairs sounded and your arm brushing his shoulder oh so lightly, the kind of friendly greeting you gave him now, as he was certain your family had forbidden you from being seen with him in fear it would drive away other men. He risked a glance up, your back to hi as you approached your father, but you offered him a fleeting smile when you turned, your eyes meeting his for barely a second before you were facing your father once again, gaze flicking over the lusting gazes of the other men around the table, before clearing your throat.

All you had asked for was another money to buy another drink, but your father having just lost yet another hand and more money, seemed to reach the end of his tether.

“You would ask me for even more money, as though you haven’t already drained me of enough simply by being born into the godforsaken world?” His glare was fixed on you, cold and icy, and your jaw dropped, eyes narrowing on him as you prepared to fight back, but he was already pushing on with such rage that your mouth had snapped shut and your eyes had widened as you swallowed thickly, and Sam felt his own free hand clench into a fist as the cards in his other bent a little from the force at which he was gripping them. “You disappoint me, time and time again by refusing to act like a woman, by failing to find yourself a suitable husband, and now you want to take even more from me?”

“I just wanted a dri-”

“You just want everything, you selfish brat! Be quiet, stand still, and look pretty and let’s just hope that you can do something right for once, and find yourself a husband soon, so that you are no longer my responsibility to care for!” His nostrils were flaring and cheeks heated, face so red he resembled a tomato, and his shouting only came to an end due to being shushed by the owner in fears that he was actually so loud that people above in the streets may hear the commotion.

The room had been deathly silent for almost a minute after, all eye son the little table Sam found himself sitting at, and your head was ducked down from embarrassment, your fingers anxiously tapping at your leg, before the gazes seemed to move on and the band continued with their singing once again, the room taking it’s chatter back up and returning to normal after witnessing such an outburst.

“Your daughter is out of control.”

It was the first word spoken, and Sam’s own angry glare shifted to that of the man two seats down form him, yours and your father’s following, and Sam swore when he turned to look at you, he could see the last bit of yourself breaking within you s you were worn down further and further by the oppressive nature of the men surrounding you.

Floodgates had been opened, and before he knew it, Sam was sitting at a table full of jokes about your chances of never settling down, men picking fun at you and continuing to leer at you, stuck somewhere misogynistic comments about your body being all you were good for, and he felt sick as he watched your father chuckle and comment how he wished one of them would take her off of his hands even if that was all they wanted, and anger swelled within him as each and every one continued to deny that they would ever risk marrying you, fear of your boldness making them reject you, and he couldn't take it anymore, your father’s ramblings about never finding someone to take your hand being the final straw.

You may not have been the picture-perfect wife for any of these men, but you were absolutely perfect in his own. You were loud, and opinionated, and not afraid to argue with your own knowledge and facts when the two of you had debates. You were educated, and well-read, and had a sense of humour to match his own. You liked to adventure, and take risks, and you weren’t afraid to get angry when you needed to be. Your soul wasn’t one that was supposed to be dampened, but should instead be allowed to flourish. You were his best friend, his only real friend, and you were everything that mattered to him in this world, everything he had here with him.

You reminded him of his family and friends that he had lost when choosing to stay, you reminded him of everything he had once dreamed of in a woman, and he refused to let you be lost to the mainstream of dull women who were more like possessions than people, because he would be damned if he let one more comment about how you would never have a truly happy marriage or fulfilled life fly by, just because they were unable to appreciate how truly brilliant you were.

It was derogatory and rude, and borderline verbal abuse as he watched you curl in on yourself more and more with each comment, and he just couldn't take it anymore. Not the unhappy look on your face or the frown on your lips, or the way your eyes were cast downwards because even though you acted strong, he was certain you were breaking a little more with each unkind comment thrown your way.

He slumped a little in his chair, letting out a deep sigh and swirling the glass in his hand a little. “I would marry your daughter in a heartbeat.”

The table fell into a dead silence around him, and he raised the glass up to his lips, holding his face neutral and steady as he looked at his cards, enjoying the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat as he finished off the glass and placed it on the table.

“Can you repeat yourself there, son?”

“I said-” He didn’t intend for his words to come out growled and as menacing as they did, but he couldn't help it, and some of the other men around the table even had the good graciousness to look a little startled at his response. “I would marry your daughter. I think any man would be lucky to call her his wife, so I repeat to you, that when you made a claim that no man would marry your daughter, you were wrong, because I would marry her without hesitation.”

He shuffled the cards in his hands, arranging them better to suit him as he looked at the game, and the man looked positively taken aback, somewhere between horrified and ecstatic, before clearing his throat in a scrabbling attempt to seem dignified. “She has no dowry, and she would not make an agreeable wife.”

His tone read clearly that he was desperate to hand her off to the first bachelor to offer even a shred of willing, and yet with all the other eyes of the gentleman at the table around him, he was trying to hold his respect, unknowing that Sam had absolutely none for him at all, but he liked the pressure your father was now feeling to try and gain the bargain, as though you were a possession to be exchanged.

He took a long moment, finally moving his gaze up to you, his lips flicking up at edges in a hint of a smile to ease your nerves. Your eyes were wide and lips pressed into a thin line, your expression seemingly unreadable, but those creases of worry between your eyebrows were gone and the pinched expression from trying your best to keep your thoughts to yourself had slipped away, despite offering him no reading of how you felt about it all. He could see the way your posture had slumped a little as you relaxed, your palms smoothed out against your sides instead of clenched in fists, and your shoulders were rising and falling in steady rhythms instead of jerky breaths.

“She doesn’t need a dowry, she has more than enough to offer on her own. I don’t need to be bought to want to know her.”

It was another few minutes of rigid and tense silence, whispered comments going around the table between the older men as though they were teenage girls on a schoolyard, before loud and jovial laughter was released from your keeper, his palms slamming down on the surface so forcefully that the table wobbled and poker chips clinked and tumbled from their stacks, but he continued to sit unfazed, staring forwards, as you now looked between himself and your father in shock.

“All me to buy you a drink, and to thank you, despite not knowing why you would take on such an unruly woman.” Your father fished into the leather of his wallet to hand over a few coins to you. “I’ll buy you one final drink, and you can fetch one of the man who is taking responsibility for you.”

You stood stock still for a moment, before setting yourself into jerky movements, stepping away from your father and offering him a quiet ‘thank you’ before making your way to Sam’s side, normally warm and kind eyes peering down at him cautiously and calculating, and he rolled his head back to look at you, trying to give you the most reassuring look you possibly could as he spoke his preference to you, nodding as you stepped away from him and towards the bar, but not before reaching for the empty glass on the table in front of him and taking it with you.

You were quiet the when you returned, barely responding to the thanks he had offered you when you hold your drink out to him, choosing instead to quietly sip at your own gin and stan behind him, one hand rested delicately on his shoulder as you studio behind him, shielding yourself from your father and watching on wordlessly as the men gambled and played cards for a further few hours into the night.

Sam was on a winning streak, a lot of chips sitting before him, stacks of notes and coins sitting in the centre of the table that he had such a large hand out of that he would barely be able to count it, more in one night than he would earn from his little company in over three months, the kind of money that made his gut twist and his head spin, and the game was being called to an end while he was still sitting wealthy, before the inevitable pride of having so many chips got to his head and he lost them all.

As he gathered up the money being split out to him, ignoring the drunken complaints of the men around him and taking his winnings, he knew it would be a while before he was invited back to the tables, and a while before their bruised egos healed over losing such sums to someone so young. He’d been playing since he was about twelve, and he was incredibly good at the game, what could he say?

You were still suspiciously quiet, even when everybody was milling out of the small shop for the night and standing in the cold night air, breath billowing around them in the cold air, and his fingers found your wrist carefully, pulling you aside, your lips still sealed shut as he watched you imploringly shuffle from one foot to another, itching uncomfortably in your corset.

“Are you okay?”

“I am perfectly content! I am to be married, to a respectable man, and I am just grateful that it is someone I know, I am just dandy.” You offered him a forced smile, that to anyone that didn’t know you as well as he did may believe it to be real, but that was the problem. He did know you, and those weren’t your words, or your attitude, and that certainly wasn’t a genuinely happy smile on your behalf. He was prepared to question you on it, to ensure you that it was okay, but your eyes were flicking fearfully over his shoulder, before moving back to his, a slight glisten in them as they narrowed, and he turned his own head to look.

A sigh left his lips, and his jaw snapped shut out of irritation, your father standing only feet away, clearly listening in to the conversation, and Sam let an arm snake around your waist like he had done so many times before, this time trying to shield you from the drunken elder that was looming over the pair of you. “I see you and my daughter are already growing acquainted.”

His eye dropped down in a wink that made Sam’s stomach twist with nausea, and you moved slightly further into his side, a thought that made him preen a little internally, knowing that at least you trusted him, to keep you safe and to try and do right by you.

“She may go home with you, she should know the house she will be living in and maintaining. Tomorrow at noon, we will meet to discuss the details of your wedlock, but I’ll be going home now.” He waved a hand to silence of the pair of you before either of you had even spoken, leaving you to back away from Sam and tremble on your own, both of you watching slack-jawed as he walked away, leaving you both alone in the street.

“Sam..”

He was only torn from his staring of the man’s retreating figure when your voice, lighter and shakier than usual, drifted to his ears and pulled his focus to you. Your face was scrunched up in a scared expression, something he never wanted or see again on your face, and he swallowed thickly before nodding, and setting a hand on your lower back, trying not to startle you as you began to process everything that had happened or you in the last few hours.

The walk was quiet, your feet scuffing the floor, and he spared the occasional glance over at you as he allowed you time to take in all that had occurred. Your face flicked between shocked, to sad, to angry, and back to neutral, keeping every single one of your thoughts locked inside yourself, keeping everything quiet.

The only noises were the occasional brush of your feet beside his on the floor, the drag of you shoes on the stones as you made your way up along the long and winding path to the renovated house he was proud to call his home, and the jingling of the bundle of keys that he pulled from his pocket, your foot tapping anxiously on the ground as he undid the several locks on his front door, before holding the heavy wood out to him.

You had never seen the inside of his home before, it had never been appropriate for him to invite you inside, and now, it was where you were going to live. Maybe he hadn't quite thought this through, but he didn’t have a chance to follow that thought across before the door was closing behind him, our hands clenched by your sides as you watched him bolt them back up for the night, and finally, you snapped.

“What gives you the right, Sam Taylor? To step into my life and decide to take charge, hm?” You barely missed a beat, his brows raising at you, and while he knew all of this anger was entirely directed at him, he was willing to let you get all you pent up rage out of your system, even if it did involve you screaming at him. “I will not be your property, and you should have known me well enough to understand that! I don’t want to be a housewife who cowers in submission! This is the 20th Century and women should have rights, I don’t want to be a chattel for you to use as you please!”

He had to bite his cheek at your phrasing, hearing a girl shout ‘this is the 20th Century’ while talking of rights was something he may never get used to, but he waited until you were huffing out a breath and crossing your arms over your chest, cheeks red and eyes filled with a raging fire. It was a fire he had missed seeing in you, one he wanted to let roar instead of extinguishing, and when he was certain that you had finished, he let out the breath he was holding.

“I don’t want to own you, or force you to be something that you aren’t. You can be whoever you want to be with me. You don’t have to wear these ridiculous corsets that clearly make you uncomfortable, and you don’t have to bite your tongue when you want to speak, and you certainly don’t need to be anything less than a proud and strong woman of the 20th Century.”

His lips flicked up at the edges as he said the words, a very slight smirk on his face, and your entire body seemed to sag out of relief when you looked at him, checking him to see if he was really telling you the truth, and finding that he was.

“I want you to have your freedom, and you always have with me.” You were quiet, but nodding slowly and taking slow and deep breaths, before averting your gaze from his, picking at your nails as you suddenly seemed to find the wooden floors much more interesting than him. Instead, he busied himself with kicking off his shoes and hanging up his coat, taking out the stacks of money from his pockets, sifting through it all to count how much he had actually claimed. “How much was your dowry?”

He’d hear you following behind him, neatly taking off your heels and placing them tidily on the shoe rack beside his front door, hanging your thin coat up beside his, but you didn’t speak to him again until he had asked you the question, your throat clearing and voice stumbling over your words in stuttered and broken sounds when you spoke. It was in mumbles, an amount he barely caught before processing the noise you had made and he thought it through. It was almost as much as his winnings, and he made a proud and sure noise in the back of his throat as he pushed the collection of papers and coins across the counter towards where you were idling, your eyes following the pile but you never once moved.

“This is approximately that much, and it’s yours. I don’t want you to feel like you need to rely on me, you can go where you want and do what you please, I’ll just be here if you need me.” He took a tentative step toward you, smiling to himself when you didn't step away from him, before he ducked his head and brushed his lips to your cheek in a soft kiss, bumping the tip of his nose against your temple as he pulled away. “There are two guest rooms, you can choose either that you like, and you can wake me if you need anything. Goodnight, darling.”

It was at least a half-hour before Sam heard the soft knock at his door, and he had been pulling back the several layers of blankets sitting on his bed, the robe he’d been wearing already hung back up, only a pair of pyjama pants were clad on him now, a single candle lantern flickering on either side of the bed.

He had to resist the urge to tell you just how modern you looked when you stepped into the room, smiling at him gently around the door, your feet now bare on the cool wood slats and your legs exposed, all the way up the soft and flimsy shorts he owned, almost swamped by one of the off-white undershirts he often wore for warmth, the sleeves covering your palms.

He offered a smile, taking a seat amongst his pillow and tucking his sheets around himself as you stepped further into the bedroom, the door falling shut behind you with a soft click, and he took a moment to take you in. Your hair was taken out of its up-do from earlier in the day, sitting around your shoulders in loose waves and tangles, marks in the hair form all the pins that had been used to hold it up, and your skin was cleaned of eyeliner and red lipstick, looking far more domestic than he’d ever had the privilege of seeing you in before.

“You know, you are just terrible at doing your washing. I think this shirt and this pair of shorts may have been the only clean items in that basket that were also dry.” Your joke was immediately enough to break the tension, and he huffed out a laugh, settling back a little further and slumping down into his pillows.

“I’ve never been any good at my washing, I just accept it however it turns out.” You made your way across the room to him, standing by the side of his bed and avoiding his eye as you instead took a few moments to take in the simple detailing of his bedroom. There was nothing judgemental about your look, instead, you were simply observing, committing it to memory, before your gaze was flicking to the patch on his top blanket that he picked at anxiously, loose threads hanging from it.

“You don’t know how to sew, either?”

“I always poke my fingers with the needles, and it always turns out a mess. When it gets bad enough, I will just buy a new one.” That answer made you frown, and you took a seat on the edge of the bed beside his legs, dropping your hands down into your lap and staring at you bundled fists intently.

“I may not be as much a lady as men would like, but I do know how to do stitch, and wash clothes. I can also cook and clean.” Your shoulders sagged a little, but the smile you offered him may have been small, but it was at least genuine, he could tell from the honest way you met his eyes as you did, exposing your soul to him easily. “I’ll try my hardest to be a good wife for you, Sam.”

He slipped his hand across the sheet, resting a large hand over your smaller one, and squeezing reassuringly, causing you to look up from your lap and hold his gaze. “I don’t want you to be what you think everyone else wants, I want you to be you. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s cook. I’m good at that, I make a very good meal out of very little, my mother taught me.”

“But, it’s my job t-”

“It’s not your job to do anything that you don’t want to. We can split the jobs between us.”

You stared at him, for a good few minutes, and he almost felt himself shrinking under your stare, before you were getting to your feet and smoothing out the creases on the bed sheets where you had been sitting. He thought you would leave, that you would be moving away from him and back out into the corridor, but instead, you were rounding the bed and lifting the sheets carefully, settling yourself beside him and moving away from the edge of the bed, closer to the warmth his body provided. “Is this okay?”

“This is okay.” He nodded at you dumbly, watching as you fluffed your pillows and blew out the lantern on your side of the bedroom, the smell of wet candle wax and smoke filling the air as only the one flickering candle kept he room alight, a soft glow that left only this section of the room illuminated, almost everything else cast into darkness.

“I like to make clothes, so I don’t mind doing your sewing too, you don’t have to buy new garments each time they tear. I also like gardening, I noticed that your front garden didn’t have many flowers, and it was rather untidy.”

“You can do anything you want with the gardens, I think anything would be an improvement.”

“Can I plant flowers?” You were looking up at him through your lashes, anticipation clear on your features, and he grinned, lifting a hand to tuck some hair back behind your ear and cup your jaw, running his thumb over your cheekbone tenderly.

“You can do anything you want with the gardens.” You were happy now, he could feel it in the way you leaned into his touch a little, before you were moving onto your side to face him, and he simply rested both of his hands on his stomach, linking his fingers together and waiting for more of your questions.

“Do I have to wear corsets?”

“No.”

“Do I have to clean for you?”

“No, we’ll share the cleaning.”

“Can I sleep in the bed with you?”

He paused, looking at you and swallowing the lump in his throat, before nodding at you and trying to relax from the way his body had stiffened. “If you’d like to.”

“I would.”

You shuffled a little closer, taking one of his hands in yours and moving it away, before linking your own fingers with his instead, resting your body down beside him on the mattress and pressing your head against his pillow, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as your body pressed up to his side, and your heartbeat began to match his as it thumped against your chest, pressed or his ribs.

He liked it, and he could get used to the feeling of having your body pressed up beside his in the bed, keeping him warm in the winter, and giving him the company he had missed for so long. You were his best friend, one of the best friends he’d ever had - in either era - and the thought of getting to have you by his side in any way, was more than enough to make him happy.

He didn’t care what became of your relationships, he had done what he did in order to liberate you from the oppressive nature of your father, to help you find freedom and live the life you wanted while being happy.

If he got to leave his family to gain the life he wanted and live happily, then you deserved the same, and he would do anything to make it happen.

He was just reaching for the little cup to extinguish the candle when your hand caught his wrist, pausing his actions and bringing his hand back toward you, your body sitting up once again, and he waited, your jaw opening and closing as you tried to find your words. You faced him more fully, sitting up and letting the sheets fall away, shuffling toward him until your knees were brushing his leg, and he sat himself up a little further, confusion beginning to seep into him as he took in the nervous expression on your face.

“May I ask you to do something for me?” He offered a silent form of his affirmation, and you moved a little closer, shaking hands coming up to hold onto his cheeks. “Nobody has ever kissed me before, and if we’re going to be married, you will be the only person who ever has. I would like to know what that feels like.”

“You want me to kiss you?” This time, it was your turn to give a silent form of understanding, nodding you consent to him and his lips tilted up at the corners. “You’re sure you want that?”

“Sam, I’ve always found you attractive, but tonight you sacrificed everything just to make me happy, and you are like no man I have ever met. I would very much like for you to kiss me.” You were nervous, colour crawling up your cheeks, and he licked over his lips, feeling his own skin heat up as he watched you. Your eyes were wide, lips a little parted and face flushed a charming colour, and in this minute you looked so pretty that Sam swore you may be the angelic woman he’d ever seen.

Placing a hand on the bed beside you, he leaned over, lowering himself down until he could drag the tip of his nose across yours, your breath washing over his lips with each small and shallow breath you let out, your eyes fluttering closed and lashes brushing his skin as he copied the motion. Your forehead was pressed to his, so close now that he could taste the gin still lingering on your lips, and with that, he closed the distance between you both.

Softly at first, his mouth pressed to your own, lips sealed in a sweet peck, and he felt the intake of breath you took in a gasp through your nose, before he was dragging his lips with your own in delicate patterns, feeling you press back with hesitation, unsure in your movements but eager to learn, and your hands fell away, one slipping into his hair as the other came down to press to his chest, and you were kneeling up into him.

He wasn’t sure what had happened, or when. He had been intending to keep the kiss brief and chaste, never wanting to push you on anything, but it wasn’t until his back met the bed again and his head was pressing into the pillows that he realised you were now kneeling over him, a leg on either side of his lap and his hands on your waist.

You were letting out little whimpers into his mouth each time the kiss grew a little messier, his lips parting a little further and his tongue flicking out a little more frequently to tease at the seam of your lips, but then your tongue was daring to peek out to play with his own, and he couldn't hold back the deep groan he let out as your tongue dragged across his. The grip he held on your hips only tightened, and your body fell down to press further into his, you nails scraping against his scalp.

“Sam, thank you.” You pressed your lips back to his own, frantic and needy and each time you came back in it was making the heat in the room rise, his palms slipping down to grip at your thighs before he knew what he was doing, but then your hips were rolling down into his, and he was bucking up to press against you, anything to draw out the squeaky little moans and sighs of pleasure you let out into his mouth every time your clit dragged over the growing bulge in his pants. “You saved me, thank you, so much.”

“I just wanted you to be happy.”

You hummed against his lips, rocking down into his hips particularly harshly, both you and him letting out drawn out sounds of pleasure at the feeling, and he had to bite down on his own lip when you pulled back just to stop himself from flipping you over and pressing you down into the mattress. “I am happy with you. You make me happy.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Your hands were pressing to his chest, your hips rocking down into his, and his eyes fluttered shut as you rode up and down over his cock, even through the layers of clothing, and he let out a weak and breathless laugh when a thought about the situation crossed his hazy mind. “You know, this isn’t very gentlemanly of me. We've only been engaged for a couple of hours. What would people say?”

“I don’t care what people say, it feels good.” You whimpered, pushing down firmly and he cursed under his breath, jutting his hips up into you and smirking at the face you made, your jaw dropping down and forming an ‘o’ as silent pleasure left you. He watched you bounce above him, hair framing away behind you as your head tipped back, and he took the chance of your distraction to flip you over, pressing you back oot your side of the bed and caging you in with a hand on either side of your head. “I want to feel good, Sam.”

“I can make you feel good.”

You nodded fervently, and he dragged a hand down over the bare skin of your midriff from where the shirt of his that you were had ridden up, and he dipped his head down to press his lips to your own, catching you in a sweet kiss that made you hum happily at the affections, pressing back just as lovingly.

The tips of his fingers dipped underneath the loose waistband of the shorts you wore, finding that there was no buried the further down he travelled, and he let out a ragged sound against your mouth upon realising that you had discarded of your one underwear when changing into his clothes. The idea of your dripping cunt brushing straight up against his clothes, the idea of you wearing only his belongings to clever yourself, the image of you walking around with him on a lazy Sunday morning and wearing just one of his tops, it was all everything that he wanted with you.

The pads of his fingers brushed over your clit, your hips jerking up into his hand as you cried out at the simple pressure, and he took the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth to play with your own, a finger swirled through the wetness that had built between your folds, and he growled into your mouth, nipping on your lower lip until you let out a whine, before sucking at it and licking over the patch to soothe the low sting, distracting you as he pushed a single finger into your dripping core, and your eyes shot open, body going stiff at the intrusion.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?”

“It feels weird, but good, I’m not really sure.” He nodded, peppering your cheeks with kisses and he moved the finger within you slowly, twisting and stretching you out as carefully as he could, and soon your slick was coating that digit and flowing form you each time he pulled out, your juices covering your skin and making it easy for him to slip another finger into you. It was a stretch, and he felt you tense up once again as your eyes screwed shut, but he worked you through it, slow and steady, kissing along you jaw and mumbling reassurances into your ear.

He felt you loosen up, your legs widening for him to settle between and your lips found his again as you let out a happy sigh. A loud and unashamed cry of his name left you, and it may have been the sweetest sound Sam had ever had the pleasure of hearing, you walls clenching around his fingers and hips bucking up, before a sharper and louder sound fell from you. It was almost a scream, and he smirked into your mouth, his whisperings turning to praises as he tried to find that spot again, only a few strokes and he had located the spot, rubbing it surely each time he thrust his finger back into your wet core.

“That’s so good, what is that?”

“Mh, that’s your g-spot, sweetheart, and now that I know where it is, I know exactly how to make you feel good.” He pushed down on the spot roughly, your body trembling as your eyes rolled back and your fingers twisted in the sheets. The material of the shorts was rubbing uncomfortably against his wrist, and he wished he could see his soaked fingers sipping in and out of you greedy hole each time, but for now, this was enough, just watching you reach heights of pleasure you’d never been to before and knowing he was the one taking you there was making his heart race and head spin. “You’re so good for me, honey, so good.”

He was cooing down at you, mouthing at your jaw and neck and licking over your skin in ways that made you squirm and moan, your walls tight around his fingers as you neared your peak. He felt it coming, and slipped his thumb up to toy idly with you neglected clit as an unspoken encouragement to cum, that it was okay for you to let go, and so you did.

Your back arched up, something that almost sounded like a sob leaving you as you core clamped down around the two digits, so tights he could barely get his fingers in and out of you anymore, and he settled for wiggling them and twisting them as he prolonged your peak, choosing to drag it out as long as he could for you. You were panting, skin shining with a thin layer of sweat from the exertion and your chest rose and fell with every gasping breath you took.

He lifted his fingers up to his lips, sitting back on his heels and sucking them into his mouth to clean them, letting out an approving sound as your taste washed over his tongue, addictive and sweet, something he knew he would be craving more of soon, and he just hoped you’d let him.

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t even know. That was amazing.” He beamed, feeling full and prideful as he listened to you talk, and he settled your shorts and top back into the correct place, laying over you and propping himself up on his arms as not to crush you, brushing hair from your face and pecking your nose. “Do you need me to..”

Your gaze left his eyes, moving down to his hips, before coming back up, and you were nibbling on your lower lip, prompting him to duck his head and chuckle, kissing along the clothed shoulder that was within his reach. “No, I don’t. This was about you, there will be a whole lifetime for that.”

“Yes. Yes, there will be.” Your words were spoken with nothing but joy, and he rolled off of you, blowing out the candle and sending the room into darkness, before wiggling himself back under the blankets and making sure you were tucked in securely. He felt you shuffle up, pressing against his side and he wrapped his arms around you, feeling your nose nuzzle into the crook of his neck, his cheek brushing the top of your head when he twisted his body further toward you. “Why are you like no man I have ever met, Sam Taylor?”

A laugh bubbled in his chest, despite the yawn he let out only seconds later, and he rubbed a large hand up and down your back, his eyes sliding shut in tiredness. “You won’t believe the story I’ll tell you over breakfast in the morning.”

“M’kay.” The response was muffled as it was mumbled into his neck, and he barely caught it, choosing instead to soothe himself with the tangle of your legs with his and the steady thumb of your heart in time with his own, the two of you drifting off with only positive thoughts of the future you would soon be sharing to still linger on your mind.

[nanowrimo]

Great Advice from the Great Writers of The Great Courses

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Today, The Great Courses Plus—a video-on-demand service for lifelong learning—shares some advice from great writers they’ve partnered with. The Great Courses Plus is a NaNoWriMo 2020 sponsor.

The past few months have probably shown you a different world than the one you’re used to: outside your door, there’s less commuter traffic, fewer crowds waiting to be seated at the local eatery or queueing up for the opening of the latest movie, no kids chasing each other with sticks and screaming as they wait for school buses.

Inside your door, however, it’s a whole new world. That’s because your job, your school, your favorite restaurant, your movie theater… all of your outside worlds are now contained within the four walls you call home. And all that chaos is stuck inside with you. (We know. We live there, too.)

Even if you don’t have children, pets, or additional adults going stir crazy around you, 2020 has provided enough chaos on a daily basis that it’s almost impossible to focus on a five-word tweet, let alone commit to a 50,000-word novel. The positive side is that these distractions could turn into some pretty fantastic book fodder. But of course, sitting down and writing about this hectic time while still in the midst of it? Well, that’s a completely different story.

To help out, we turned to some of our favorite writing professors to see what they are doing to get themselves through these trying times:

Jennifer Cognard-Black

Becoming a Great Essayist;  Great American Short Stories: A Guide for Readers and Writers

Remember when your biggest frustration was carving out some time to write? And yet now, when so many of our usual commitments and pleasures have been stripped away, the one thing many of us have is time. But how to harness this extra time—that is the question. It's just so seductive to try out yet another sourdough bread recipe or to binge yet another show on Netflix. My advice? Engage in slowthink. Don't ask yourself, "Why am I not writing?" Instead, ask yourself, "What might I want to learn, to know, or to create?" During the Great Pause, I've been reading all of the millennial novels and memoirs about women and food that I can get my hands on, and I'm slowthinking my way through them. There's something there—I'm not sure what—that I want to write about myself, but since I don't yet know what that is, I'm just underlining striking phrases and making the occasional note in my writing journal. And that's okay; I'm relaxing my creative mind to see what bubbles up.

James Scott Bell

How to Write Best-Selling Fiction

Write tight. Don't think about the entire project, or how the world will receive your book once it's finished. Concentrate on the scene in front of you, beat by beat, emotion by emotion. Get lost in the action. Then your writing will become a respite as well as a passion. As Ray Bradbury once said, "You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."

James Hynes

Writing Great Fiction: Storytelling Tips and Techniques

During the pandemic, writing fiction has become my chief solace from the stress of quarantine (and everything else). I've found that active engagement with my current project—the creation of characters and scenes, or just tinkering with the prose—has calmed me much more than bingeing another series on HBO or eating too much (though I do those, too). And it's not just an escape: It's the place where I can take whatever I'm feeling at the moment and turn it into narrative.

Angus Fletcher

Screenwriting 101: Mastering the Art of Story

I have a little insight into this because my next book is about how literature of all kinds—novels, poems, films—can help improve our mental health and well-being.

And a tip that comes from literature, and that’s backed by neuroscience, is gratitude. Gratitude shifts our focus away from ourselves, and it also shifts our negative emotions, which interfere with writerly flow, into positive emotions, which boost it. Gratitude isn’t always easy to conjure in times like these, of course. But one useful method for accessing it is what psychologists’ term “reframing.”

So, for example, when your lovely children are interrupting you, causing you to lose your train of thought, and possibly your mind, take a moment to think: How wonderful it is that I’m a parent. How lucky I am to have these kids. Recall a specific moment—as precisely as you can—when your kids popped your life with joy or wonder. And in that instant, your stress will drop, your calm will increase, you’ll be more effective at figuring out an effective way to give the kids a way to amuse themselves, and you’ll be more ready to write when you return to your keyboard.

Or, when you’re suffering from writer’s block, think: How lucky it is that I don’t need to write this novel, because I have so many wonderful novels already on my bookshelf. Then, go read one of those novels, immersing yourself in its flow. And as you get deep into that flow, you’ll often feel your block dissolve, allowing you to return to your own writing with a fresh energy and perspective.

Not every negative emotion can be converted like this, of course. When we suffer grief, it can’t be reframed away. Our brains need time to process sorrow and heal. But a great many self-doubts and daily frictions can be softened with gratitude. And no matter what happens to you in your life, you can always feel grateful for being a writer. For whatever the happening is, no matter how hard or painful it may be, you have been gifted a pen to take that happening and make some good of it.

Advice from professional writers who are facing the same distractions and roadblocks you are can be helpful. And to make things better, The Great Courses Plus provides you with a wealth of resources to help you get through these weird times. Clear your mind with meditation, focus your thoughts with mindfulness, jumpstart your creativity with a “brain hack,” research the worlds and periods you’re writing about, learn to create a single great sentence—whatever you need, we have a course that will help.

Stay well and keep writing.

Top photo by Element5 Digital on Unsplash.

[hookedonapirate]

Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States. 

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again. 

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​ for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld​ for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon​ for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?” 

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right? 

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase. 

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender. 

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table. 

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.  

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league. 

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman. 

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists. 

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?” 

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does. 

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away. 

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him. 

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior. 

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter. 

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell. 

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape. 

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner. 

“Hey, babe, ready to go?” 

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips. 

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat. 

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart. 

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

“We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups. 

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes. 

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust. 

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning. 

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words. 

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.” 

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem. 

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing. 

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, “Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.” 

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.” 

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.” 

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this. 

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments. 

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.” 

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.” 

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum. 

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties. 

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress. 

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile. 

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship. 

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away. 

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other. 

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually. 

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”  

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years. 

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke. 

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd. 

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.” 

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her. 

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss. 

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television. 

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

thoughts on starry after multiple listens

(dated July 8, 2020 because i might make another one)

Edit: I SHOULD FACT CHECK MORE

the Starry soundtrack is as impressionist as the painters it invokes by energy alone, which is impressive given the style of music used (of which i’m fine with, but not partial to)

the Prologue does this right off the bat

the people of Monmartre are very critical of the rest of France and I adore it

i can feel theo’s overwhelment in Impress Me

Impress Me does a wonderful job at introducing the setting of the show

that song is a ball of pulsating yearning—no wait that’s the whole show

Theo got so stressed he walked blindly into Madame Segatori’s cafe

learning that the Le Tambourin was named as such due to its tambourine aesthetic via Vincent’s portrait of Segatori is just incredible to me; the table is shaped like a tambourine

“If Paris is the world, Monmartre is Bethlehem; and art is our Amen” sounds so powerful

A New Horizon is so warm

i expect Theo and Vincent to be very cuddly with each other everytime they interact

“dream with me, dear brother” is the energy of this song

french wheat fields will forever haunt me because of this damn musical

*insert Do You Like the Color of the Sky? post here*

like, so much emphasis to the sky

Vincent’s dreaming leaking into Theo’s trading practice surely must be a sight to see

chain imagery hits hard after hearing Wheat Fields/Finale Ultimo

in this yellow house, we dream of freedom

“should I really take this giant risk?” “brother, I took a giant risk coming here—fuck yeah do it!”

United in Distaste reeks of Vincent’s intimidation—it has new kid in school energy and I am living for it

Vincent coming to Monmartre (and when he arrives in Arles) like “Hey, I’m new in town, and it gets worse,”

Bernard has apparently spent enough time with Theo to be able to identify Vincent by frowning alone

Rude of Gauguin to yoink Vincent’s painting like that; Segatori immediately hangs it tho—

Gauguin sounds like he’s going to corrupt anyone who approaches him—dude announces his horny nature during his introduction

Gauguin IS a savage and a whore and the best thing about that is that he knows it; even better knowing the vision of his costume

Segatori’s displeasure throughout the song implies that the artists that frequent her cafe also argue amongst themselves frequently

“keep in mind that we’re academic rejects, Vincent”

with the way Degas, Pissarro, and Morisot tease at Gauguin (noting that Gauguin, Bernard, and Toulouse-Lautrec are together in a later song), it sounds like they’re are hurling insults from a separate tambourine table

Toulouse-Lautrec sounds dramatic; Bernard sounds like he’s not sure where he is artistically—both are a mood

Of the post-impressionist table, the only one retaliating with genuine insults is Toulouse-Lautrec; Bernard and Gauguin only end up defending themselves while Toulouse was ready to tear down Degas and Morisot

Pissarro IS old (at this period in time in the musical) damn

Morisot is unyielding with her insults, “speaking of size—“ holy shit oh no

i reiterate—why is Toulouse-Lautrec the only one actually speaking in a French accent; almost everyone there is French

since I’m aggressively referring to him, I think Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec merits a musical of his own, and that’s based on what first learned about him when I first listened to Starry

by extension, also Berthe Morisot

Monmartre’s artists be like “We’re very critical of ourselves and each other, and while that’s worth being intimidated by, don’t be intimidated by us! What do you have to bring to the table, foreign painter?”

Something poetic about how what Vincent wants being what all the artists want hereby making him a member of their squad is so warm to me—galleries are gravity INDEED

“We will embrace the madness we design, or lose our mind,” IS THIS FORSHADOWING BECAUSE IT FUCKING SOUNDS LIKE IT

“i am loving this! YES, GET ANGRY!” if only i can identify who said this

Something After All is directed towards Vincent, right? It better be, I lack context

Theo’s yearning is so relatable and I fear not being able to fulfill it

bless Kelly and Matt for giving Jo so much depth in Enlightenment

apparently she deadass learned English for the purpose of translating the letters she had compiled??? yo i love that

poetic how Jo invokes making a legacy since she’s the one who actually preserves her brother-in-law’s legacy (and by extension, herself and her husband’s legacies)

at first listen, i immediately drew a comparison to Hamilton’s Eliza; Jo is better both musically and literally, given that Vincent van Gogh is far more relevant than Alexander Hamilton will ever be, even with LMM’s musical

not trying to start beef, just an observation

Jo’s yearning is also such a mood

fire, light, and road imagery being invoked huh

it is by this point i’ve to the realization that the reasons one goes to Monmartre that was cited in Impress Me tie in very well to the individual characters’ desires in this show

Where Are We Going? goes so hard ugh yes

“I need a stronger strategy to seize my immortality!” Gauguin’s incredible ambition is the root of his dissatisfaction; doesn’t help that he’s impulsive both in the musical and IRL

Toulouse prioritizes integrity and Bernard prioritizes progression—I wonder what this means for their characters in the show

Toulouse and Bernard calling Gauguin out on his known shitty behaviors feels like they’ll be problems Vincent will have to deal with in Act 2, when they live together

this is where Gauguin leaves for Martinique, right???

which one is the act 1 closer, really??? The Sower or The Road??? help me please

everyone in town is really concerned for Vincent

it wams me how much Segatori believes in him

Bernard’s right, Vincent van Gogh’s artstyle IS a melting pot

learning that Toulouse-Lautrec capitalized on his art during the peak of his career really adds weight to his concerns on Vincent’s inability to sell

i like to imagine the everyone’s in the gallery during The Sower

Theo and Jo’s relationship progressing as Vincent’s works don’t sell hits upon realization

Theo falling hard when he learns that he and Jo yearn for the same thing tho

recontextualizing the imagery that Vincent found beauty in into imagery that demonstrates his person is just mighty good of Kelly and Matt

then again, so much of his person is in the artwork to begin with

“and everyone knows your reap what you sow.” w o a h!!!

The Road starts like a dramatization of one of Vincent’s breakdowns and how he copes with them, or perhaps this starts after one??? The opening verses suggest a lot

also ties his road to his dream of freedom with what i believe is his travel to Arles

“North, South, East, West—navigate from inside you,” = “With conscience as my compass,”

“i am guided towards the night” this Vincent knows the answer but is so clearly far from its reach and is desperately trying to figure out how to

soul of fire, crystal heart and blizzard-like brain; the man is passionate and everyone knows it

“Fascinating, but maybe just a little too soon,” sounds like that at this point, Toulouse-Lautrec and Bernard genuinely recognize and admire Vincent’s talents, but also understand that the world is still against him and that they have the experience to prove it

the “sunlight and storms” imagery always concern Theo, Jo, and Vincent’s relationship with each other

Gauguin popping up in this song with the compass imagery implies the show’s going to make him a pretty interesting foil to Vincent; this sounds like him traveling back to Paris, or at least him attempting to vibe in Martinique

this hurts when you remember what happens to Vincent

“curse of the gifted” is a phrase i am too afraid to understand

DYLAN SAUNDERS CAN SLAY ME WITH HIS VOICE

The Yellow House sounds yellow somehow

who clears their throat before writing a letter???

Gauguin’s frustration’s against Vincent’s admiration of him is amusing

sounds like Gauguin hasn’t found his “freedom” yet

Theo is one generous fellow

this arrangement lasts for only 2 months; given the apparent span of this musical, The Yellow House is a very “calm before the storm” song

wait a minute—

apparently, Vincent REALLY admired Gauguin and was so excited for his arrival at the yellow house

i fear the dramatization of their disagreements

“Don’t tell Theo I said that,” it amuses me how the van Gogh brothers’ relationship is so well-known to these painters

based on the gifs lurking, the ear incident WILL be dramatized and I am terrified for my heart on how it will be depicted

Sunlight and Storms quotes the original letter from Jo to Vincent surprisingly well (i attempted to read some—there’s so many! this was one of the first ones i came across)

this song hurts when it hits how little time Jo and Theo had together as a married couple

I am convinced a lot happened between Sunlight and Storms and On the Threshold of Eternity

this definitely was after a breakdown

i skip this song just so i don’t think about the obvious implications, i must confess

the meaning of “sunlight and storms” hits the hardest here

“we will not let your illness keep you from finding your freedom”

The Red Vinyard is so full of a brother’s love

this hits me, and i speak as an only child

“You’ve carried me more than you’ll ever know,” AH—

when Theo finally sees the new horizon, Vincent is seeing it too

and what Vincent saw he put on a fucking canvas

“i can see it—a new horizon” = “the sight of the starry night”

they say that at the time, not much was thought of the iconic painting

i could only wonder what might’ve happened between The Starry Night and Wheat Fields

all the piano motifs coming together in Wheat Fields/Finale Ultimo, just like that

“I’m ready for harvest time” is melodically similar to “The road is bright”, particularly when it’s just Vincent singing the line alone

despite the obvious, I don’t think I’ll grasp the meaning of the final song; i also skip this one so i don’t think about it

[heliosphoenix]

State of the Planet: 2020 Edition.

I know what you're thinking.

"How can you even think of doing one of these for this year? After everything that happened? You can't possibly be trying to do your little feel-good writeup!" 

Well...you're right. I can't. That's right, State of the Planet is cancelled.

I don't really have to explain why, do I? I have no words to describe this year and I know you don't want to hear them anyway. I understand your anger, your frustration, your sadness, everything you're feeling, I get it.

This wasn't the year you imagined and almost certainly not the one you wanted. Thanks for being there the entire way, and I'll see you next year.

Okay, I'm just kidding. I couldn't do that to you folks, I just wanted to get some more mileage out of a dead meme.

I first started this missive several years ago when I noticed that people were developing a tendency to condense the previous lap around the ol Sun into a series of terrible, horrible, no good very bad events at the expense of anything good that may have happened. I don't know why this was done, maybe as a ways to ensure that the coming year would have to be better by default.

Well...we all saw how that worked out for this year, didn't we?

As you all know I prefer to do things differently. I prefer to go out on a high note and remember all the good things that happened in the past year. If nothing else, I think it helps remind us that as much as we want to bemoan and be pessimistic about the state of our culture, society, civilization and even species, there's plenty of evidence to suggest we're not doing so bad after all.

And even thought it feels like this past year the world went out of its way to teach us some rather harsh lessons, I'm still determined to find something good that happened. So let's take a look back at some of the good things that happened in 2020:

A circumbinary planet was discovered at the TOI 1338 system.

Luxembourg became the first country to make it's public transportation free.

The Bhadla Solar Park became the largest solar park in the world.

The BepiColumbo space probe departed for Venus, en route to an arrival at Mercury in 2025.

A fast radio burst was detected from a Magnetar in the Milky Way, the first time such an event has been detected in the Galaxy.

A team of British and Kenyan scientists discovered a microbe that can block mosquitos from transmitting malaria.

A black hole was discovered in the QV Telescopii system, at 1120 light years away it is the closest known black hole to Earth.

A 425 million year old fossil of a millipede was discovered in Scotland, one of the oldest fossils ever found.

SpaceX launched their Dragon 2 spacecraft on its first crewed missions, the first astronauts to launch from US soil since 2011.

The Perseverance rover was launched to Mars and is expected to touch down in February.

The Barakah nuclear power plant in the UAE became the first operational nuclear power plant in the Arab states.

Wild polio was eradicated from the continent of Africa.

Skeletons of 31 prehistoric animals, including 200 mammoths, were found at a construction site in Mexico City, it was the largest finding of mammoth bones ever.

The 5.37 mile La Linea highway tunnel was opened in Colombia, it's the largest road tunnel in South America.

Kosovo, Serbia, Sudan and Bahrain all decided to normalize their relations with Israel.

Phosphine, a strong predictor of microbiological life, was discovered in the atmosphere of Venus.

Preserved remains of a cave bear were discovered in Siberia.

A 1634 edition of Shakespeare's final play, The Two Noble Kingsman, was discovered at the Royal Scots College's library in Spain.

The OSIRIS-REx spacecraft landed on the asteroid Bennu and collected samples for return to Earth in 2023.

The Falkland Islands were declared free of land mines.

Molecular water was detected near Clavius crater on the Moon. 

An AI algorithm called AlphaFold was able to figure out the process of Protein Folding. 

The UN commission on Narcotic Drugs removed cannabis from its list of dangerous drugs.

The EU committed themselves to reducing greenhouse emissions by 55% over the next decade.

A Great Conjunction between Jupiter and Saturn occurred, the closest one seen in the night sky since 1226.

Comet NEOWISE passed by the Earth and was the brightest comet in the night sky since Hale-Bopp in 1997.

Among Us became one of the most popular games in the world.

Half Life: Alyx was released, the first Half Life game in 13 years (FINALLY).

Joe Biden was elected as the 46th President of the United States.

Remember all that? Good. Because that's where I'm at.

You, dear reader, are in the future. Perhaps you're reading this in the final hours of 2020, or the first hours of 2021. Or maybe so much time has passed that both those years are now confined to the history books.

Perhaps everything I listed above is not enough to overcome all the bad things that happened this year, and that's a fair assessment. Maybe at the end of the day there's nothing that can overshadow the fact that someone in China who ate the wrong bat resulted in the entire world coming to a stop. If that's your feeling, then I understand completely.

But let the record show that those things did happen. In a year full of chaos and uncertainty and anxiety and dread, there were still moments where we could objectively punch our fists in the air and say "yes!" Even if only for a moment.

So now comes the part where I have to take all the things that we just went through and sum it up in a single word. Usually I don't think about this until the day of, but this time I've actually known for months what I was going to say:

The word is...Goodbye.

It sounds both strange and appropriate at the same time, doesn't it? As we close out this year, as well as this decade (reminder that 2021 is the real start of the next decade) we can look back and realize we've had many experiences. Both positive and negative. Hopefully they were mostly positive, even during this year.

But there is at least one experience we've all shared together, especially in times like these: saying goodbye.

I will confess to you all that I have a hard time saying goodbye. Hell, I don't even like the word. Whenever I end a conversation, I always use some variant of "see you later", since, to me at least, "goodbye" just sounds so final. Though with that said, I will also admit there's some people in this world that I had no problem saying goodbye to, and I don't mean "till we meet again", I mean "get lost." And I'd be lying if I said there weren't some people who felt the same about me, but I digress.

In the last episode of his show, Red Green delivered a monologue about saying goodbye. A monologue that I am now shamelessly ripping off for your reading pleasure. Not just because it's a way to get this done quickly, but because I think what he said is very true.

Red says that when it comes to your good friends and your family, you never really have to say goodbye. Why? Because they're always in your mind. And whenever you think about them, you're together again. I can tell you from experience that works rather well, even when it involves people that I don't want to think about. But even in that instance, where our last interaction was a negative one, I can't help but think back to all the good times we had together, and for a moment I reminisce. It's nice when it happens.

We've all heard the phrase "nothing lasts forever" and we tend to dismiss it as a cliché. But we're still constantly confronted with that reality, even if we never realize it. As Al Pacino said in Any Given Sunday; "When you get old in life, things get taken from you. That's a part of life."  

We've all lost things in our lives, and I just don't mean toys that have been sold or people that we love who are no longer on this mortal coil. I'm referring to the moments in our lives where we're forced to accept that our circumstances have permanently changed, and that the way things were can no longer be the way things are. This is why you shouldn't be having kids when you're in your 70's, and no one over the age of 50 should be naked in public.

On a more personal note, this year I got that feeling once again. It's not just because I'm most likely leaving one job behind for another job, but there were things in my personal life that shifted so dramatically that I knew things could never be the same again. And seeing as how, for the most part, I liked how things were, I'd be lying if I said that this change didn't cause me some distress.

But that's all a part of growing up, isn't it? As much as I may cringe about reaching 30 years of life on this Earth, I accept it all the same. Because, if nothing else, it's a reminder that I need to keep moving forward. Is it sad that the good ol days are now just memories and dreams? You're damn right it is. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing, because even if they're not what's happening now, they still did happen. And who knows? Perhaps the days to come will be just as good, if not better. In my opinion, that's something to look forward to.

And the same is true for all of us: if we want to live a happy fulfilling life, we have to keep moving forward. We can reminisce about all the fun we've had in days gone by, but it's just as important to be ready for the days yet to come.

I think that's why New Year's is such a poignant holiday for all of us. It's a tacit acknowledgement that we have to say goodbye to the old, so we can say hello to the new.

And at the risk of making this entry so long that by the time you're finished it will be 2022, I'd like to do that now.

To all the people that have been with me since my early days, thanks so much for all that you've done. I appreciate you sticking it out with me this far and I hope you'll continue to do so for many years to come.

To all the people that I've met recently and have decided to join me on this ride, welcome aboard. We're glad you could make it and we hope you'll stay a while as well.

And finally, to all the people that are no longer here, whether they've merely left my social circle or left this mortal coil altogether, all I can say is that we've had a great run. Whatever our reasons for parting are irrelevant now and I wish you nothing but good fortune in whatever it is you decide to do. Perhaps, God willing, our paths will cross again some day. But even if they don't, I hope that every so often we'll think about each other and smile a bit.

And now I'd like to close with something different. Usually I ask you to comment below with something good that happened to you this year. You're more than welcome to do that. But if you're looking for a change of pace, may I suggest that you close out your 2020 (or open your 2021) by listening to this song from the great Ashleigh Ball and Michelle Creber (yes I know many of you are hoping to leave the Miniature Equines in the past, but I'm hoping you'll permit them one last indulgence).

https://youtu.be/XjkPH6sZM_o 

This is the song that inspired me to write this missive (along with the aforementioned Red Green) and as you're listening, I want you to think about all of those you said goodbye to this past decade. Think about all the fond memories you had together and give yourself a smile as the clock strikes midnight. Even if they're not with us today, we still have all the memories of them that no one can take from us, no matter what happens to the world.

And now the time has come for me to end this missive. Let the record show that this was my final word on 2020 as well as my expressed hope for charity, kindness and goodwill to flourish throughout the world in the years to come.

So, good night unto you all.

Give me your hands, if we be friends

.And 2021 shall restore amends.

[autumnblogs]

Day 11: Melodrama

WIth Act 4 over, we’ve finished setting up the pins on the Earth Side of this story. We are now roughly one quarter of the way through the full story - and Homestuck is set up more or less in four acts, rather than in six acts as its “official” structure would suggest.

Time to start setting up the pins on the other disc.

https://homestuck.com/story/1942

But first, some more of Andrew’s prose to detail the fallout of the Sovereign Slayer’s activity. He’s been a busy man.

Also, Rose goes off the rails, but we knew that already.

This is the part of the story where Rose becomes an antagonist, in my opinion. More on that later. More after the break.

https://homestuck.com/story/1955

A letter from another version of Earth.

One of the very first things that we learn about Jake is that one of his all time favorite movies is Weekend at Bernie’s, an association that is part of a long list of red-herrings that link Jake up with Lord English, but of which nothing ultimately comes. It’s an association mostly because Bernie is a corpse who is also a puppet (like Doc Scratch, for example).

All that has already been pointed out by a lot of people before me, so moving on.

https://homestuck.com/story/1957

Just missed her.

https://homestuck.com/story/1993

Act 5 off to a great start, and while Karkat is in many ways a parallel to John (via their shared interests), right away, this action compares Karkat to Dave. Their reaction to being misnamed by the command prompt is pretty much identical.

https://homestuck.com/story/1994

Like I said, Karkat is pretty much immediately compared to John in terms of their shared interests, what with his Terrible Taste in Movies and his Amateur Coding.

One thing that stands out as endearing to me that I’ve probably not thought so much about before is Karkat’s practicing with his Sickle in his room. It reminds me of lightsaber wielding kids on early youtube.

https://homestuck.com/story/1995

So let’s break this and the next few pages down. Viewing the narration through the same James-Joycesque lens of “Narration is more or less identical with the characters’ thought processes,” that we have been so far, Karkat seems pretty ambivalent about existing as a troll, going as far as to describe his bad dreams as *terrible.*

Do all Trolls have dreams as bad as Karkat does? Is it a chucklevoodoos thing? Maybe it’s specifically a Karkat thing.

https://homestuck.com/story/1996

Karkat gets distracted instantly by intrusive thoughts and does something else that’s very Johnlike.

https://homestuck.com/story/1998

Aw c’mon. Early Sandler isn’t even that bad. Then again, it’s been a while since I’ve watched this one, maybe it’s worse than I remember it.

https://homestuck.com/story/1999

This section of the story is even more time-agnostic than the rest of the story, and a lot of it is told in past tense prospective action, which says to me that what we’re experiencing here is the various trolls on the meteor at the End of Act 4 collectively remembering what has taken place in the past, while the parts of this segment that are narrated in the present tense are being relayed to us via the characters in the narrative present (which is to say, the events which are being relayed to us in the panel.)

https://homestuck.com/story/2008

I wonder if Troll Will Smith is a Troll Scientologist?

https://homestuck.com/story/2010

I didn’t like the Trolls very much originally. They’re so ornery and pissy with each other all the time, with the exception of Gamzee and Tavros, but on a reread, especially keeping the things in mind that I’m keeping in mind, all of these characters are a lot more tolerable.

Using the cipher that we’ve established from reading the characters as basically attempting to perform what is culturally expected of them in the first four acts, we can immediately decode what is going on between Karkat and his friends - they are trying to be the best trolls they can be, or at least, live up to certain ideals/stereotypes the way that Dave tries to live up to the stereotype of the coolguy, or John emulates the mangrit and fatherliness and so on of his father figures.

But something is way *way* more wrong with Alternia’s role models than Earth’s.

That’s all from a Watsonian perspective. From a Doylist perspective, there are very explicit stereotypes each of these characters is designed around - commonplace annoying internet people from the ‘00s (pronounce that as Naughts).

https://homestuck.com/story/2012

There’s a lot of early installment weirdness in the first bits of Troll Stuff we get where it’s clear that Andrew was riffing and trying to find clear definitions for their relationships - it’s somewhat poorly known these days, I think, but Andrew has said in the past that he hates worldbuilding, and it kind of shows. (Did I mention that Kanaya Sollux friendship back when those two were interacting not long ago? That’s another one of those bits of early installment weirdness).

Anyway, the actual bit of early installment weirdness that I’m drawing attention to is the fact that the Subjugglators are described as being an Obscure Cult here, but later Homestuck Media (and even stuff within Homestuck, honestly) will make them out to be basically the only major aspect of being a Purple Blood.

https://homestuck.com/story/2013

Gamzee’s ignorance and his bliss are pretty much immediately linked to one another.

That said, I’m not going to dive too deep into Gamzee’s inner life. Like a lot of the trolls, in spite of his great relevance, he’s a bit of a joke character, and the joke is on us - whatever is going on inside this lad’s head is a puzzle for most of the comic.

Gamzee has a Freudian excuse in the form of his absent Lusus, which incidentally, is a parallel to Jade - the Nurture is the same, but the Nature is very differently. Unfortunately, when God was handing out Natures, he gave Gamzee one of the really bad ones, so he’s a worthless goddamn piece of shit.

https://homestuck.com/story/2024

Already into the first few troll conversations, and we’re setting up some stuff for later. Gamzee and Terezi’s very first conversation demonstrates the terrible chemistry that the two have together - Gamzee legitimately unsettles Terezi, and there’s just nothing at all she can do to bother him.

https://homestuck.com/story/2025

Sollux is probably so handy with this coding language because of his ability to hear the voices of the imminently deceased - so he can write programs that will execute along a pretty reasonable time frame.

https://homestuck.com/story/2027

Leader is a phrase that ends up being used in conjunction with Karkat a lot, and the concept of leadership is another one of those things that Homestuck Talks About but not a thing that Homestuck Is About, at least in the sense that leadership as a role is part of the comic’s broader commentary on cultural reproduction, the same way that Homestuck’s conversation about gender is, or Homestuck’s conversation about Roles in general.

What do you want to be when you grow up? Karkat wants to be a leader.

As long as Sollux is making his first appearance as a character, I want to take a second to say that as a character, he’s always been pretty tough and enigmatic for me to write, especially in the sense that he‘s frequently referred to melodramatic and sensitive or similar terms by people around him, but he actually doesn’t really seem that way in most cases - he just seems like a guy who wants to his own devices, and is generally pretty non-reactive to other peoples’ bullshit. Maybe he’s melodramatic in the way that Dave is, hyping himself up as a coolguy who is the best there is, but then again, Sollux kind of lives up to his own hype, considering that up until the last possible moment, he wins pretty much every fight he’s in handily, adapts Sburb personally, and has more romantic success than just about everyone else in the comic.

Maybe Karkat’s just projecting.

https://homestuck.com/story/2031

Roleplaying - a concept that I’ve used frequently to refer to the way that John and his chums perform rituals in order to relate to their culture and parents - is made explicit through the language of Flarping, which for the Trolls, serves as a way for them to literally act out the adventures of their long-dead ancestors, although it strikes me that it’s probably a lot more gainful for highbloods like Terezi and Vriska than it is in general for lowbloods like Aradia and Tavros.

I’ll get this out of the way up front instead of commenting it on a drip feed throughout Terezi’s upcoming courtblock roleplay - Terezi is the kind of kid who aspires to be a Cop. Or a lawyer, anyway, which in Alternian Law, is the same thing as a cop. In the wake of 2020′s scads of police brutality, and in general, having grown up into a nasty commie, it’s kind of hard to look at Terezi the same way.

While it’s clear that Terezi is remorseful later on toward her earlier attitudes and behaviors, Terezi is at least ambivalent, and at worst a purely antagonistic force throughout a lot of early Homestuck because of her authoritarian tendencies and her honestly pretty psychopathic behavior. She plays games with her friends’ lives.

https://homestuck.com/story/2047

Terezi adores having power over other people and making them helpless. For Terezi, alienation takes the form of emotional distance from the people that she’s tormenting. It makes it so much easier for her to conceive of them as wicked people who need to die.

https://homestuck.com/story/2055

Nepeta is an adorable girl who deserves all the good things. All of them.

That said, as long as we’re commentating and not glurging, Nepeta’s internet troll stereotype is probably less familiar these days, and I say probably less, but I can’t say for sure - it’s like this really specific thing that existed during the late ‘00s, where you had this highly specific stereotype, which I’ll call the Furry Artist Roleplayer, and I really hope that I’m not talking out of my ass by generalizing anecodtal evidence, but I know people who were pretty much exactly the Nepeta stereotype around the time that Act 5 was being written! Roleplaying in IRCs or on specialty forums with other people, all drawing art of their anthro OCs and writing stories about each other’s characters. That sort of thing still probably exists these days, but if it does, I’m not really part of any communities anymore where it leaks into the mainstream.

https://homestuck.com/story/2058

Okay, yup, Karkat is 100% projecting “Melodrama” on all the people around him. In a literal sense, Melodrama refers to theatrics that are exaggerated and sensationalized in such a way as to appeal to the emotions, often prioritizing spectacle and physical action over deep characterization.

Actually, if we’re taking it in the literal sense of the word, just about every character in Homestuck is pretty melodramatic - I keep talking about the way that they roleplay rituals and associate with symbols even when they fail to structures of power and culture that those rituals and symbols point to - performative participation without any actual substance. That’s practically the definition of Melodrama.

But Karkat is, perhaps, the most Melodramatic of all.

https://homestuck.com/story/2065

Aradia is one of my favorite characters in Homestuck, and possibly my favorite, something I can be up front about.

Our introduction to her is brief, and right out of the gate one thing about her is apparent - her relationship with destruction is central to her characterization.

https://homestuck.com/story/2069

While I was going to wait for the Hemospectrum to come up explicitly, now’s as good a time as any to talk about the fact that Andrew uses Troll society to comment on hierarchy a lot - hierarchy of just all kinds. Ageism is one of those, and Gerontocracy in particular in Alternia. In Alternia, just one of the ways that the oppression of the Hemospectrum manifests is the way that the Empire systematically takes advantage of its children by basically leaving them completely to their own devices. Trolls don’t have family units normally, but the fact that Troll adults are all offworld is not a “natural” part of Troll Society, it’s a decision. And while it’s a decision made by the Empress, it’s still one that, to some extent, benefits adult trolls at the expense of the children, since they’re not around spending energy on raising kids who are expected to raise themselves from the word go.

It’s honestly pretty late, and I’m tuckered out because of the steroids that I’m on, and the cough medicine, so in spite of the comparatively pretty short amount of reading I’ve done tonight, I’m going to call it here.

Cam signing off, Alive and a little High.

[wits-writing]

Ultraman Z Ep. 23: “Prelude to a Nightmare” (TV Review)

(Original Air Date: December 5, 2020, Director: Koichi Sakamoto, Writer: Kota Fukihara)

“Prelude to a Nightmare” is a title making a promise the latest episode of Ultraman Z manages to keep and then some.

The final three episodes of the season begin as the GAF debuts SAAG and their new signature weapon, Ultroid Zero, to the public. A perfect opportunity to demonstrate the weapon’s strength appearing in the form of five simultaneous giant monsters arising across the country at once to be dealt with by the machine and Ultraman Z.

[Full Review Under the Cut]

With everyone but Hebikura and Bako still working for the GAF in some capacity, this episode gives a further sense of what I discussed last time with regards to the dynamic Team STORAGE had. They’re all well suited to their positions; Haruki in security, Yuka in Monster Research, and Yoko piloting Ultroid Zero, but the spark they had as a unit is gone. Haruki and Yoko reflect on this as they share lunch together, each describing their current situation as boring even as they acknowledge the importance of them. Haruki’s spent his time pondering the words Hebikura left him with about “proving them wrong”, whether he can do that in his current position.  Not difficult to sympathize when it’s clear they’ve all been reduced to pure function within the GAF sans the sense of community at their jobs they had before.

There’s another level of discomfort all of them have with STORAGE being replaced by SAAG and its militarized approach to dealing with monsters. A foreboding sense permeates the cold open of the episode as it details the GAF’s press conference covering Ultroid Zero’s public reveal. The new robot’s positioned as humanity’s true hope and chance to surpass the Ultras that have visited Earth throughout the series, with Geed, Zero, and Ace cameoing as pictures during the press conference. Concerns about Ultroid Zero being equipped with the D4 Ray after the incident two episodes ago getting brushed aside by the assurance that this artificial Ultra can use it safely. Though safety is less of a priority for the members of the GAF pushing Ultroid than using it as a symbol of might. Insistence that Earth must be protected by humanity’s own strength at any cost gets brought up, an idea present in the series since episode 3 when the GAF Board witnessed STORAGE in action.

Though Yuka, watching the conference on livestream, comments that their real concern is only humanity’s well-being rather than Earth as a whole, especially with a weapon like D4 being shown to cause massive collateral to the environment. Her concerns prove correct as the activation of Ultroid Zero awakens five monsters at once that arrive to fight the threat to their existence. Like the D4 test before it, Ultroid Zero invites the escalation the GAF claims to be preparing the world against.

For as much as Ultroid Zero represents every wrong move the GAF (and by proxy humanity) are making in a chase for escalating strength, I do love how it looks. The shifting armor and steam vents remind me of Ultraman Geed’s Solid Burning form, one of my favorite Ultra suit designs ever. The rigidness of that armor in turn reflecting Ultroid’s artificial nature. It’s clearly a capable machine when we see it in action, especially with a pilot as capable as Yoko at the helm. Ultroid’s arsenal directly mimicking that of the Ultras, from forcefields to beams to sluggers.

D4 is the main thing unique to Ultroid Zero and allows the machine to do what the STORAGE robots rarely could, defeat the monsters of the week, even three against one. While there is clearly still some backfire as the D4 drains Ultroid Zero of all energy and collapses to the ground with an unconscious Yoko trapped inside, the GAF still celebrates creating a weapon to surpass Metal Gear, err… Ultraman. Especially pleased are Mai Yuki and the Celebro-possessed Director Kuriyama, muttering the alien parasite’s signature phrase “Karekareta” as whatever his plans appear to be going smoothly.

While the episode focuses more on Yoko and the suspect machinations of the GAF/Celebro, Haruki and Zett still get some solid contributions to the episode’s action to call their own as things ramp up. The feral monster threat awakened by Ultroid Zero’s presence starts off more spread out, so they go off to confront the two attacking the city docks. However, the monsters going full berserker under these circumstances leads to Zett being overwhelmed (same for Yoko in Ultroid Zero during her fight.) They manage to make it to the mountain-range where Yoko’s fighting the other monsters, further outnumbering the new robot. Ultraman Z eventually flying over to her location and stylishly dual wielding blades against the two monsters he was fighting. The fight draws to a standstill when whatever spell had come over the monsters wears off and they go back where they came, a relatively peaceful contrast to how Yoko’s fight ended on being forced to use the D4 Ray to disintegrate the other three monsters.

With all the monsters eliminated and Ultroid Zero inactive in the aftermath of using the D4, a figure who’s been lurking in the shadows with his own agenda finally makes himself known to Haruki and Zett. Jugglus Juggler revealing himself as Hebikura to our main hero, calling back all the way to episode two when he told Haruki to not just rely on his eyes.

One thing holds this back from being a perfect episode in my mind, Yoko explaining her backstory. The fact we’re only getting it three episodes from the end is frustrating enough, but what it does to her as a character is head tilting at best. She gives Haruki an explanation for why she demands to arm wrestle all the guy’s she knows, which is that her father, a former GAF officer himself, told her to “never marry a man weaker than you.” Which does potentially mean that Yoko’s resolution in the overarching story of the season will be in regard to whether she ends up in a relationship. It’s also pretty weak in comparison to the backstories we’ve been provided for Haruki and Yuka.

Between the massive cliffhanger and the conflict with the monsters trying to destroy Ultroid Zero before it can threaten them, we’ve taken more enthralling steps along this final leg of Ultraman Z’s storyline. With two episodes left, we’ll see what the crew behind the show has in store for Haruki now that his world’s been turned upside down by one of the people he trusted most.

If you like what you’ve read here, please like/reblog or share elsewhere online, follow me on Twitter (@WC_WIT), and consider throwing some support my way at either Ko-Fi.com or Patreon.com at the extension “/witswriting”

[eternvlblyss]

#StopAsianHate

* ways we can help click here

tw // violence mentioned against Asians

I got to choose my topic for my research essay in one of my classes and I wanted to voice more about the Asian hate crimes that have been happening recently. I’ve heard too much about elderly Asians being violently attacked, spat on, etc. just because they are Asian. What bothers me the most is that I see those who were assaulted as either my uncle or my aunt or my parents, and that’s scary. 

This was the research essay I turned in for my class, and I thought it would help to post it for others to read about too. I learned so much while writing this essay, and I hope it’ll help someone else open their mind as well. Please check in on your Asian friends, understand that this is something very frustrating to our community as the media is now just covering what’s happening, now that innocent lives have been taken due to hate. 

Asian American Racial Injustice: During the COVID Pandemic

Just when we thought 2020 could not add anymore strain to our lives, the rise in racist violence towards Asian-Americans has increased even more last year when the pandemic had started and continues to occur in 2021. Violent attacks including verbal harassment, physical assault, and being coughed and spat on, have happened to Asian Americans, majority of whom are elderly and senior citizens. As this becomes a reoccurring issue in numerous locations of the United States, the Asian community has been voicing out their frustrations and anger over it all. The problems within these issues are that it took this long for the media to give attention to the incidents, as well as, why these anti-Asian hate crimes are even happening.

There is this phrase used, “model minority,” which suggests that Asians are the minority that are seen as successful and never have any issues with racism towards them. It is a stereotype in which people assume that Asian Americans have class privilege, higher socioeconomic status, and a higher education, which in turn leads to say that any discrimination that happens to Asian Americans is not real, or that no discrimination happens towards them (Lang, 2021). This false idea dates back to the Civil Rights era, when Asian Americans were seen as more successful than other ethnic minorities due to working hard, staying educated and abiding by the laws. Because of this, the hate crimes that are happening today are being overlooked. The “model minority” myth creates a fallacy that Asian Americans don’t experience any struggle or racism (Lang, 2021). Along with the false idea society stuck to from back then, the media also enjoys making Asian Americans look wealthy; examples being the film, Crazy Rich Asians, and the Netflix series, Bling Empire (Lang, 2021). The representation is everything as well, but the way they are perceived in Hollywood is not how all Asians are, everyone has struggles and hardships. This feeds more into the narrative that Asian Americans don’t experience any obstacles, and then when they do, no one pays attention to it.

Accurate statistics of these hate crimes have yet to be released, but the number of incidents happening recently can lead to one’s guess that it is much more prevalent now. The FBI warned at the start of the COVID outbreak that there would be a rise in hate crimes towards those who are of Asian descent (Farviar, 2021). It is true that there have been numbers of reports of hate crimes towards Asian Americans within the recent months of COVID cases also rising. These reports included verbal harassment, physical assault, being coughed or spat on, refusal of service, workplace discrimination, and robbery (Farviar, 2021). A few reports of attacks would include an 84-year-old Thai immigrant in San Francisco, CA being shoved to the ground during a morning walk, whom was later announce dead a few days after, an 89-year-old Chinese woman who was slapped and set on fire by two people in Brooklyn, NY, a 61-year-old Filipino American who was slashed in the face with a box cutter by a stranger, and so many more (Farviar, 2021).

Why are these attacks happening and why are the news media just now covering them? Many have connected our former President’s words and comments to the reasoning behind all of these hate crimes. Former President Trump has publicly blamed China for the awful coronavirus, even by racially calling it the “Chinese Virus” (Cabral, 2021). By doing that, he has shown other people that it is “okay” to say things such as that, basically brainwashing them and giving them a license initiate these attacks. He put such a huge target on the Asian community by repeatedly blaming China and insensitively using that term. Not only is the hate seen in public, but the slander towards Asians can be seen through social media as well, where Trump was very active on. The correlation of his words and these hate crimes go hand in hand, as more attacks started happening after he irresponsibly said the “Chinese Virus” on a huge platform on Twitter. Unfortunately, this resulted in scapegoating Asian Americans.

Solutions to alleviating these hateful crimes involve having a voice and being able to educate one another. Much of the racial injustice seen anywhere stems from stereotypes and assumptions. It is important to always keep an open mind of others as well as educate ourselves on what is actually true and what is not. While the media has not been very generous with giving the Asian American reports attention, the more the community has help in voicing that, the more the media will notice that. Standing in solidarity with one another is another solution, as it shows that we are all equal and all just trying to help one another. The words of our former President did not help with that at all, and it seems as if we are more divided than ever, but there is always room to grow from that and change. Our world has seen enough negativity, the least we all can do is just help one another in tough times. 

References

Cabral, S. (2021, March 1). Covid ‘hate crimes’ against Asian Americans on rise. BBC News. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-56218684

Farviar, M. (2021, March 2). Hate crimes targeting Asian Americans spiked by 150% in major US cities. VOA news. https://www.voanews.com/usa/race-america/hate-crimes-targeting-asian-americans-spiked-150-major-us-cities

Lang, C. (2021, February 18). Hate crimes against Asian Americans are on the rise. TIME. https://time.com/5938482/asian-american-attacks/

[pagesoflauren]

Ride & Prejudice Ch. 3 (Steve Rogers x reader; cowboy AU)

Summary: A take on Pride & Prejudice, certain circumstances in your life have led you to take refuge and work in a farm village, particularly on the ranch owned by Steve Rogers. He doesn’t take kindly to you, having bad perceptions about city folk. Your only reaction to that is the one you deem acceptable: get annoyed at every little thing he does whilst doing your best to annoy him and still keep your job.

Warnings: mentions of violence, reader has PTSD & traumatic flashbacks, guns, mentions of animal violence, animal injury, swearing, angst, slow burn, eventual smut. 

Specific warning for this chapter: the reader goes into detail about what has brought her to the farm. It involves gun violence and death. 

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 3,657

Posted January 5, 2020

“...She’ll be ready to join y’all in a month, I'm tellin’ you!” Nat absolutely gushes about you and how well you've been while breaking Brego. 

The first two weeks were easy, just getting the horse used to your touch and presence, having him understand you weren't a threat. He cooperated well enough, though when you brought a bridle into the picture, all bets were off. 

He stomped and kicked and whinnied, absolutely terrified and forgetting everything you had worked on in the few seconds you had shown him the bridle. You threw it out of sight and he calmed down, allowing you to pet him to salvage what trust hadn’t been lost. 

You easily found the trick was singing and slow movements to keep him relaxed and focused on you, rather than the harness that would go around his head. He was also very much like a toddler, enjoying physical touch like forehead touches and pettings. Nat smiled whenever she saw you two interacting, proud of every step you made to create a bond with him. 

You worked your way up to saddling and mounting, eventually learning to direct him in turns as he trotted laps around the corral. You and Nat were stupid excited, squealing and high-fiving each other profusely after doing exercises for a week. 

“That’s great!” Peter says happily, smiling at you widely, then sadly adding, “It’ll be so fun to have you with us, I won’t feel like a third wheel.”

You coo at him, pinching his cheek. “Don’t worry, Peter, we’ll be the cool ones.”

“Yeah right,” Bucky says, “Steve and I already got that covered.”

“I thought you were going for a fun and boring friendship paradox,” you verbally poke, raising laughter from everyone except the man you called boring. 

“And I thought you were going for someone who’s actually trying to earn my respect.” 

Silence falls almost immediately, tension rising in the room. 

“And I thought for a man who demands respect from someone he met only two months ago he would at least treat me decently.” 

“You’ve given me no reason to--”

“And I’ve also given you no reason not to!” you burst, having enough.

More silence. It’s thick in the room, like a heavy blanket pressing into your skin. 

Steve stands suddenly and all eyes are on him. Even Ransom in the corner of the room perks up, ears at attention. 

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” is all he says, awkwardly stalking off.

More silence, broken by Bucky this time.

“Well, time to wash up, yeah? How about some cake?” he suggests, offering the leftovers from Nat’s trip into the market to satisfy her sweet cravings.

Steve is more mindful of his steps as he passes the bathroom and goes into the guest room--your room. He slowly opens the door to avoid the squeaking hinges and turning on the light to help him see better.

You’re hiding something. He knows it. 

He starts with your drawers, opening and shutting them when he finds nothing. He looks on the floor under the bed, lifts the mattress from the bedframe to check there. He presses his face to look behind the headboard against the wall and finds nothing still. 

He scoots across the bed to eliminate noise and cross the room to the closet, turning the knob and slowly opening the door. 

There’s nothing on the walls or the shelf above the rod where your clothes hang from. Your suitcases are stacked on top of each other on the floor. He picks up the top one, setting it on the floor and opening the zipper one tooth at a time. When he flips open the cover, there’s still nothing there. He moves to the other suitcase opening as slowly as the first.

It’s empty.

Save for the manila folder that rests on the bottom, stamped with a red “CONFIDENTIAL” across it. 

He takes it out, sits down and reads it. He scans the court report, eyes scanning. He spots one phrase, “accused of second degree murder,” and marches downstairs as he hears you all laughing in the kitchen, you and Nat splitting a piece of chocolate cake. 

“The fuck is this?” he spits, throwing the file on the counter.

Cold runs from your scalp and prickles down your spine.

“Nat, you hired a murderer?” Steve continues, hands on his hips, expression severe.

Bucky’s eyes go wide with betrayal, shocked that his wife would lie to him.

“Baby?” he asks, grabbing the file. He flips through it quickly. “What is this?”

“You gonna explain yourself?” Steve asks.

Tears are already brimming in your eyes and you breathe deeply. “Did you read it?” you ask.

“I read enough.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did!” he shouts, “You murdered someone and are sitting here expecting us to help you?”

“Steve, you don’t know the whole story,” Nat interjects.

“I don’t need to know the whole story. She leaves in the morning, I’m not letting her--”

“He would have killed me!” you scream over him. Everyone looks at you this time.

“Honey, you don’t have to--” 

“No, I do,” you interrupt Nat, “I’m not gonna let another man try to accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

You set your fork down, piece of cake still speared on it. 

“My friend and I were out getting drinks. I drove her home and waited for her to get into her apartment. She didn’t live in the nicest part of the city, a lot of really shady things happened there.” You pause, closing your eyes. “I saw...I saw these men in the alleyway. They had a gun pointed at someone. I knew I had to leave before things went any further. When the trigger was pulled I started my car and they saw me.”

Nat says your name quietly, putting a hand on your shoulder as a way to tell you to stop.

You shake your head and keep going. “When I was turning to leave, they shot out my tires. When I had nowhere to go, they pulled me out and threw me onto the ground. They were yelling they were gonna kill me too. They put a gun to my head, Steve.” 

You raise your chin to look at him. His posture has sagged significantly, listening to you intently. 

“I don’t know what I did, I might have kicked him, but the gun fell out of his hands. I grabbed it and just pulled the trigger.” You press your hands to your head, hating the memories emerging in your mind. “The police came and arrested everyone, including me. It was a mess, God, it was a mess. They accused me of being some scorned lover of the guy I killed to try and discredit me as a witness and create a case for murder. Their lawyer was really good.

“There was no way to prove I wasn’t seeing him because I had gotten rid of the pictures I had with the guy I was seeing during the time frame they used. They were able to twist everything I said, everything my friends said until the DA pulled my ex in to testify. The judge dismissed the case but they were furious, yelling threats at me and telling me I was getting what was coming to me. The police gave me protection before they offered to relocate me here.”

You shut your eyes before placing your hands on the counter and daring a look at Steve.

“I killed someone. But there was no other way. I wake up in the middle of the night feeling the barrel of the gun pressed to my head. I dream of scenarios where they succeed and I’m lying cold six feet underground.”

“Stop,” Steve says, and you think you can see tears in his eyes.

You continue.

“Even now, when I’m meant to be safe, I still pay for it because everyday I have to deal with you and your petty feelings. Things could be worse, I get it. But I know I don’t deserve all this because I am nothing like whatever city folk you’ve encountered. I’m just trying to move on with my life. I don’t need you to dig into me like this, especially when it’s none of your business, how did you even get this?” you ask, pointing at the file in Bucky’s hands.

He tells the truth, then apologizes immediately after.

You scoff, jumping off your stool and walking around the island. You snatch the file out of Bucky’s hands and he flinches away from you. You approach Steve and look into his eyes, long and intensely. You don’t know what’s behind them, what emotion or thought. You’d like to think it’s regret. 

You break gaze and head for the stairs, stepping onto the first one.

“By the way, you may as well use my real name from now on.” 

You introduce yourself from there and head upstairs to get ready for bed. 

“Jesus fuck Steve, I told you!” Bucky shouts. “I told you to stay out of it, keep your damn nose out of these things.”

“Do you know what could happen now?” Nat adds, “An agent’s comin’ in a month to see how she’s adjusted. If they find out there’s a risk of her name and location getting out because you snooped--”

“Which I told you not to do!” Bucky says again.

“They could take her back to be relocated again! If they find out she’s in the city, she won’t stand a chance. It was a mob gang, Steve. They have connections everywhere.”

Steve is beside himself, head hanging in shame as guilt rests on his shoulders, weighing heavier and heavier with each second. He doesn’t need to be told that he fucked up.

Nat finishes her cake and dumps her plate in the sink.

As she passes Steve, she stops.

“Steven Rogers, I have never been so disappointed in you.”

Bucky follows her.

“You better fix this.” 

Steve stands in the entryway, shifting from side to side. He runs his fingers through his hair, looking at Peter, who’s still looking at him. He reminds Steve of a sad puppy, like Ransom when he was told he couldn’t go outside when it rained. 

He and Peter leave in silence that night, using the spare key to lock the front door for them. 

You stay in your room in the morning, skipping breakfast and listening to the sound of cutlery tapping against the plates and heavy slurps of coffee. 

You stare at the window, thinking back to when the agent first drove you here. You were scared, but also had first-day-of-school nerves. You remembered thinking what you would do if the people here didn’t like you. Nat, Bucky and Peter had done everything to make you feel welcome and you had grown to like them. 

Steve was like another curveball. He’s so handsome, you weren’t stupid. When he went in not liking you, you were stupid enough to think it was a game. But it was all him trying to find any reason to dislike you and now he had tried to twist your story like the lawyer who accused you of murder. 

“Can I come in?” 

The voice is too deep to be Peter’s and the drawl is too thick to be Bucky. 

“Why? Here to find another reason to try and kick me off your farm?”

The floorboards creak and shift with his steps. You think he’s going to sit on the bed with you, but instead he sits on the floor next to you, knees bent, elbows resting over them as he clasps his hands together. His back rests against the bed as he faces the window too. 

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him.

“Are you so proud that you can’t even look me in the eye when you apologize?” you bite, still bitter. You don’t know if you can ever forgive him. 

You watch with surprise as he moves to his knees, right hand rubbing the back of his neck and he wills himself to look at you. When he takes in your expression, stone cold and penetrating, his own face becomes desperate. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, blue eyes clear in showing you his regret. “My ma always told me to not stick my nose in places where it don’t belong.”

“I see you take her advice well,” you say sarcastically.

“Why don’t you lay down your own pride for once!” he says indignantly. “I’m here tryin’a apologize and make amends--”

“How can you ever expect to make amends for what you did?” you stand as you reply, using the same tone.

“I don’t know, I’m on my damn knees! Figured that was a good place to start and we could go from there.”

You can see he’s at a loss. This is a man who either has had little to apologize for in his life or is as stubborn as some of the cattle he herds, having a hard time bending.

“I know I can’t expect you to forgive me. But I want to move forward from this, please. However we can. You can stay, f’you want. And if you do, I’d just like to know I could--we could--be friends one day, when you forgive me.”

“If I forgive you,” you correct.

“Yeah.”

He’s still on his knees.

There’s a lot of thoughts going through your head. You’ve been here for two months and made friendships with Nat, Bucky and Peter. You’ve had fun with Nat and when Bucky is around, you feel like a lifelong friend, not an intruder or third wheel. Peter holds a special place in your heart, like a little brother you never had. 

Though you hate to admit it, in the past two months, you’ve also harbored a tiny (huge) crush on the man in front of you. With every word of banter caused an elastic stretch in your chest, giving a squeezing feeling in your heart and butterflies in your stomach. And his damn eyes…

“Can I tell you something?” Steve asks, gesturing for you to sit on your bed again. 

You slowly sit down and he sits back on his heels, running his hands through his hair and God, you hate how attracted you are to him. 

“When my pa was younger, he grew up here and didn’t want to stay. He packed his things and moved to the city to start a business. He partnered up with some guy he met, who seemed really trustworthy. You can probably tell where this was going,” he said, looking up at you.

You nodded. Though your prediction was right, you still listened as Steve told you how the man stole his father’s money, leaving him only with the clothes on his back and the items in his suitcase. He came home with no choice but to take over the farm and settle down there. While Steve loves being a cattle hand, it’s not something he learned from his father.

“Pa never liked farmwork much. Brought me and my brother up with the idea that city folk ain’t worth trusting because the first one he met took every opportunity and dream away from him. When my brother and I graduated high school, he made it known that he wasn’t gonna stay, so he took his inheritance and left for the city. Hasn’t been in contact since. Just another reason to not trust city folk, they just think they’re too good for us.

“I know I don’t know you. Though you been here months, I just haven’t tried. That’s just all I knew. Pa died shortly after he hired Bucky. Nat helped take care of Ma when she got sick. I just...don’t talk to many people. I’m not good at it. Never was. And I know this all sounds like a bunch of excuses but I’m trying to use them as an explanation, not an excuse.

“I’m sorry. I am. I never should’a tried to get ridda ya. I shouldn’t have been so judgmental about you.”

You breathe deeply, taking in all the information you’ve learned about his prejudice. Though the generous part of you wanted to forgive him, you knew you shouldn’t. 

“I appreciate your apology,” you say evenly. “Thank you for telling me that, you didn’t have to. But don’t think it automatically fixes everything.”

“I don’t,” he says, making to stand up, “I just thought it’d be good for you to know.”

You hum, keeping your face neutral. You weigh the scenarios of harboring your anger towards him for what he’s done versus the idea of slowly letting it go over time, though probably never forgiving him fully. 

You liked living here, you liked Bucky, Nat and Peter. The trajectory of you life here entailed you going out every day with the boys to herd the cattle out of pasture. Everyday you will eat meals with Steve and Peter. Even now, when you’re angry with him, you still have a crush on Steve. Granted, you’re completely aware of the fact that your crush is the lowest priority, but it’d be nice to be able to look at Steve everyday. At least until you find another man who actually likes you.

If you left, you would go back into danger’s path, have learn an entirely new alias, adjust again and bank on the hope that those people won’t completely hate your guts the way Steve does. 

Was the risk worth it?

You closed your eyes, huffing a breath. You opened them to find Steve still giving you that desperate, morose look. 

“Well, I guess we should go downstairs, they’re probably waiting for us to get started on the day.”

Nat had been right. Within a month, you and Brego were ready to ride out daily with the boys. 

You kept distance from Steve apart from pleasantries and strictly business talk. You’re certain that sometimes you catch him looking at you, though you think it’s just because he still feels guilty.

You don’t feel much anger towards him anymore. Mostly you just wonder how you’re meant to move forward. It’s been an awkward dance around each other, jokes falling flat on the ground or ending in dissolving laughter without a follow up. You try to stay near Bucky and take commands from him, but of course there’s the odd occasion where Steve has to tell you what to do. 

You’ve learned more about your colleagues/housemates. Bucky speaks Romanian. His horse is a palamino, tan with white at the bottoms of his legs. He’s named him Sesoto, the Romanian word for “socks” because, “Don’t he look like he got some on?” Peter’s aunt lives in the next town over, running a grocery store. She worries about him all the time. Despite his naivete and boyish nature, he’s very clever and quick on his feet. 

Steve continues to remain a bit of an enigma, though Bucky tells you what he feels at liberty to say. Steve’s favorite color is blue. He originally wanted to join the army, but his father ingrained farming into his head. 

“His horse is like his girlfriend,” Bucky says with his mouth full during lunch.

“What?” you spit, hating the image Bucky has put into your head.

“Oh, no, not that way. Jesus, woman, get your mind out the gutter!” 

“Then what do you mean?” 

“They’re like best friends, I guess. I mean, I’m his best friend and Ransom’s his other best friend but the man and his horse, like...s’almost like you and Brego. She won’t let anyone else near her with a bridle. She’ll really only listen to Steve.”

“Did he grow up with her?” 

“Nah,” he says, swallowing the bite.

“Do you always talk with your mouth full?” you interject before he starts his story, earning a bump on the shoulder from him. 

“Anyway. Steve’s kinda always been reckless all our lives. He’d get into fights all the time in school. Was a bit of a pipsqueak. Then he got big when he really started working on the farm, lifting all the heavy shit. 

“But he didn’t stop being stupid. One day he was up on the hayloft in the barn and the ladder fell. I was gonna get something for him to land on when he jumped off, but he said it was fine. He landed on his side, broke his ribs and arm real bad. He spent weeks in the hospital and going through physical therapy. His ribs stopped him from getting on a horse so that was a real struggle. 

“Meanwhile, Ash was found really badly abused. We don’t know what she was used for, but whatever it was, she ran away even with a broken leg. Steve’s dad got her and helped her recover and thought she’d be perfect for Steve cuz they were going through the same thing ‘n all. They needed each other.”

“Like me and Brego,” you say, watching Steve sit with his horse and a drawing pad under a tree across the field. 

“Yeah,” he says, “You two needed to get out of the situation y’all were in. And it brought you here.” 

You look down at your sandwich thoughtfully, thinking about how 1. You and a horse could be so similar and 2. You and Steve could be similar. Steve needed to see deeper into you to stop being so bitter. It took a huge fight and the entire dynamic in the houses turning upside down, but you were in a better place now.

Maybe now it was your turn to see deeper into him. 

“You’re either thinkin’ a lot about Steve and his horse or thinkin’ real hard about that sandwich,” Bucky jokes.

You pop the last bite into your mouth, wipe the crumbs off your hands and swipe your hand up to knock Bucky’s hand off his head. 

Tagging: @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @viarogers​ @jamielea81​

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