#I’m to tired I’m impulse posting here you go my starving children

[elizakai]

Fellow maniacs where you at

[therainbowwillow]

Alright, it’s been a hot second since I’ve written fan fiction (ahem, posted fan fiction), but I feel like my inhibitions have been adequately washed away by my extreme degree of not giving a fuck, and thus, here we are.

Hadestown AU With Crossovers to Other Myths Where Orpheus’s Terms Are That He Can’t Sing part 1/??? (It’s me, so just start typing numbers and that’s how long it’ll be.)

Orpheus’ song reverberates against the walls of Hades’ underworld. A girl emerges from the shadows, dressed in the same simple clothes as her fellow workers. She hears his voice, strained with passion. And as he sings, her memories flood back: the cold, cold winter. The ticket. Her signature. Then she remembers life, before all had felt so hopeless: flowers. Love. Finally, his name. “Orpheus!” She calls to her lover. Her would-be husband.

His song trails off. “Eurydice?” He glances around the cavern, desperately looking for his lost lover.

“Keep singing, boy.” Orpheus starts at the sound of Hades’ booming voice. “You promised a song, now give it to me.”

Eurydice sees his legs shaking, how wide his eyes are, how nervous and exhausted he looks. “I thought I heard....” he mumbles.

“I will not have your excuses, poet. Sing.”

Orpheus nods and draws his fingers across his lyre once more. Even among the horrors of Hadestown, he finds himself lost in his music. He shuts his eyes as he sings. Flowers bloom. Flowers. Hades nor Persephone could remember such a sight in the underworld, not since they’d resided in its dark walls. Persephone reaches down and brushes her divine fingers against their petals, as if to determine whether or not she’s imagining them. This mortal boy’s song, so beautiful that springtime had arrived in the underworld.

Eurydice stands, frozen in place by the music. The amnesia-inducing haze of the Lethe is lifted and the wails of shades ring the halls. Memories return to those who had forgotten their mortal lives. Lovers fall into each other’s embraces. Parents find their children.

Eurydice is fixed upon Orpheus. His song is louder than any cry. Not a single note is ever out of place. His voice never breaks. It crescendos perfectly, falls without flaw. Yet Eurydice knows that no man, not even the son of a god can keep up such perfection forever. She knows Orpheus better than anyone. She notices how gaunt he looks. The walk to Hadestown is long and hard. It had taken her a day by train, it must’ve taken a week or more to walk. She knew all he’d done was walk and sing. Orpheus wouldn’t spare a minute for anything but his song back home, he wouldn’t have done differently on his long trek to the underground. Had he eaten? Drank? Slept? Eurydice wonders.

Persephone, too, recognizes Orpheus is unwell. He’s trembling as he sings and all she can hope is that her husband doesn’t see his weakness. She takes Hades’ hand and hums along the melody. He faces her, smiling as she hadn’t seen him smile for years and years. He stands and she fears for a moment that he sees Orpheus’ desperation, so plainly written on the boy’s face. But he holds her hands in his and he sways, a slow, silent dance. At first, she doesn’t look at him, her gaze frozen upon Orpheus. The song goes on, the dance goes on, and she finally indulges herself. She’s pressed up against her husband as they hadn’t been in longer than she could remember.

Eurydice is the first to react when Orpheus begins to sway on his feet. She rushes to his side, going unnoticed by the king of the underworld, still caught up in his dance. He looks worse up close. His eyes are puffy from lack of sleep and he weighs nothing when his voice breaks and he groans, slipping into Eurydice’s arms. “Orpheus! Orpheus, you gotta stay awake,” she begs, glancing at Hades, holding his wife in a tight embrace as if nothing had changed.

He blinks wearily. “Eurydice?”

“It’s me,” she whispers. “Keep singing,” she urges him.

“W-what?” He’s hard to understand, his speech slurred by exhaustion.

“Your song, love. Sing your song.”

He leans against her. “Now? Eurydice, I’m tired.”

She hears Hades’ movement and bites her lip, determining what could convince him to keep going. “You wanna marry me, Orpheus?”

A tiny smile crosses his lips. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Sing the song.”

“Hold on to me. Please,” he implores.

“I’ve got you.” She brushes the hair out of his eyes. “Now sing.”

And he does. Eurydice watches Persephone pull her husband into her arms once more. “Keep going,” the queen of the underworld mouths.

Orpheus’ song fills the room again, quieter this time, and not quite so filled with life. Hades frees himself from his wife’s arms and sits upon his steel throne. “Where did you get that melody, boy?” He asks.

Orpheus stops singing. “I dunno.”

“Mortal poets don’t just find songs like that. Where’d you learn it?”

“I wasn’t taught.” His voice is little more than a ragged whisper. “It... it came to me, I suppose.”

“How-“

Persephone cuts him off. “Hades, the boy is half-starved. Look at him, husband. Mortals don’t last long down here. Hear the boy’s demands, husband.”

He sighs. “Yes, I see. So, poet, what do you ask of me? What do you ask of Hades, king of the underworld?”

“J-just let us go, sir.” He lifts his head. “Please.”

Hades smiles. “No one leaves the underworld.”

“I came all this way!” he cries.

“Fool!” Hades shouts. The underworld falls silent. No shade dares to cross the king of Hadestown himself. “You knew this would fail and yet you came anyway. You want to leave, you insolent idiot, then leave. Your lover with you.”

Orpheus wipes the tears from his eyes. “T-thank you,” he stammers.

“Not so fast. You leave on my terms. You will not lay eyes upon Eurydice until you reach the surface or she will be mine once more. You will not touch Eurydice or you will suffer the consequences. And your path will not be made easy. You will not sing.”

Orpheus immediately squeezes his eyes shut, so as not to look at his lover. But still, he leans against her to remain on his feet. For a second they stand together. Then Hades speaks once more.

“You forget our agreement already?” His voice is dangerous and cruel.

Orpheus yelps and collapses.

“You are not to touch her, boy. This is your consequence.”

He doesn’t move, remaining crumpled at Eurydice’s feet, gasping for breath. His knuckles go white as a new wave of pain racks his body. “Stop! Stop!” he pleads, “make it stop...”

“Hades!” Persephone grabs her husband’s wrist. “Listen to him.”

“Why should I? The boy gave me our song, I gave him my terms. He broke them, hardly a second after I gave them.” Orpheus shrieks again. Eurydice looks at him helplessly, writhing in pain at her feet.

“Let him go.” Her voice is firm. “He can’t stand on his own, he didn’t have a choice.”

He narrows his eyes. “This is not under your jurisdiction. I gave the boy what he asked. They can leave whenever they wish.”

“This is what you call justice?” she snaps.

“This is what I call control!”

Her brow furrows in disgust. “You aren’t the man I married.”

Orpheus sobs, holding his hands over his eyes. “Stop...” he moans. “Oh... please...”

Eurydice looks at the endless rows of the dead. “Help him!” she begs. No one moves. “Please! For all he gave you, this is what you return?”

“Hades, he cannot stand. He couldn’t make it out of here if he tried. This is cruel. This is evil.” Persephone glares at him.

“Perhaps he should try. He isn’t chained up.”

“How can you say that? He came all this way, grieving and filled with despair, but still, he walked. His pain is not yours to manipulate, husband.”

“He is in my realm, he is mine.” Hades snatches his hand out of her grip.

Orpheus’ hands slips from his face. For a moment, Eurydice fears that he’s seen her. But he’s silent. His eyes are closed. His breaths are shallow; the dingy underworld air seems not enough to keep him breathing. “Please!” Eurydice cries out to the bystanders. “He lifted the charm of the Lethe, he gave you your memories! Help him!”

Finally, a man pushes his way through the crowd. He makes his way to Orpheus’ side. “I’m sorry. I would’ve come faster.”

Eurydice shakes her head. “Thank you. Thank you!”

“He’s still breathing,” the man informs her. He tears a strip of fabric from his uniform and ties it over Orpheus’ eyes. “Keep him blindfolded, don’t make him do more than he must. He’ll be alright, but he can’t stay here.”

“How am I meant to get him out?” she asks.

“I don’t-“

“Patroclus!” A man shouts from behind them.

He sighs. “Achilles.”

“I thought we were done making impulsive decisions.”

“The boy’s sick. I know medicine. Besides, she’s right. How much longer could we have fought the Lethe without that song?”

Achilles looks up to Hades’ throne. He kneels and forces Patroclus to do the same. “Apologies, my lord. We’ll not interfere further.”

Patroclus stands. “Do as you will. I’m not bending my knee. Lord Hades, the boy’s in love. We both know how it is. The underworld is yours, but Orpheus is not dead. He does not belong to you.”

“Patroclus!” Achilles grabs his wrist. “Don’t,” he hisses.

“I couldn’t remember your name this morning, in case you’ve forgotten. Now I ask that you let me help him. His song gave us hope.”

Achilles exhales. “Fine. Not alone, you won’t.”

Patroclus grins.

“Enough,” Hades booms. “This is not your matter for involvement, either of you. Leave him to his fate and perhaps you’ll escape with only double hours in the mines.”

Neither man seems affected by his threats. The world is silent for a moment.

“Hades!” Persephone snaps, “I’m done with you. Spring should’ve started a month ago. I’m leaving. I’m leaving with them. Perhaps your brother could teach you something. Seduce a pretty nymph. Love a mortal. Just... leave me be.”

“Wait. Persephone.”

“I’m done waiting. I’m done. If you want to see me again, release them from your damn terms.”

“Persephone. You will not leave.”

“Try me.” She stands and steps into the center of the cavern where Orpheus lays, still barely breathing. She kneels at his side and places a hand against his forehead.

Patroclus approaches her. “He’s feverish. Dehydrated. Beyond fatigued,” he says.

She nods. “The underworld will rip the life from his lungs. Let us go before it does.”

“Persephone!” Hades rises to his full height, looming over his kingdom.

“Their terms, Hades.”

He scowls. “I release them. They may see and touch each other. The furies, however, will not be so easily convinced.” Defeated, he sinks back into his chair. Then he rises. “But the boy will not sing, so long as he is in my realm. His lover made a deal. She was to be mine. He may have her, but he’ll lose something in return. His pretty little song.”

Persephone scowls. It’s not what she asked for, but it’ll have to do for now.

In an instant, Eurydice pulls her lover into her arms. “I’m here, I’m here. I’m so sorry, Orpheus,” she whispers in his ear.

Persephone takes his hand. “Wake up,” the goddess whispers, “Come on, baby, wake up.”

Orpheus gasps and his eyes flutter open. He throws his hands over his face to shield his view. “Eurydice...” he mumbles.

“I’m here. You can look at me. There’s no more terms. Look at me.” She pulls his hands away and he looks at her.

“I... ugh...” he groans, slumping against her.

“Shh, it’s alright. Don’t talk. We’re gonna get out of here. Together.”

He shuts his eyes again. “Mm hm.”

“Orpheus, it’s a long walk to Hadestown. You didn’t eat much on the way?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t have anything to eat.”

“Orpheus...” her voice breaks. “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t stand living without you.”

“You won’t have to,” she tells him. “You never have to leave my side again. I promise.”

“We need to go,” Achilles says. “Now.”

Eurydice turns to face him. “He needs rest.”

“We’ll have worse than exhaustion to contend with.” There’s shuffling in the crowd. “Hades still has loyal workers.”

“Hades.” Persephone growls. “He’s right, Eurydice. This is a trap he’s laying. They’ll follow us.”

“Can he stand, Eurydice?” Patroclus asks.

She doubts it. He looks like a blade of grass could knock him over. “We’ll find out.” She says.

[sweet-star-cookie]

Signs You May Be Watching a Hallmark Movie + Christmas Edition

Hey all, your friendly neighbourhood aroace here who is Tired of This Shit™ and needs to rant. I have been exposed to far too many of these movies for my own good and I am doing this to maintain my sanity, especially given the rampant Christmas season. For those who may not know, a Hallmark Movie or W (Women’s) Network movie is a general term for the generic schlock they call romance movies played on these eponymous channels, targeted towards middle-aged straight women and they are always terrible from a story / character / everything standpoint. These are genuinely some of the most predictable, generic, cookie-cutter pieces of media that I’ve ever seen and I’ve been itching to rip them apart for years so NOW’S THE TIME. If you genuinely enjoy these movies, ironically or not, I promise I’m not trying to take that away from you with this post, but please understand: you deserve better movies than this, even for passive entertainment. They genuinely make me uncomfortable and this post is to tell you why.

I’ve done my best to make this an exhaustive list, but feel free to add more yourself (lord knows I’m not researching it). ALRIGHT HERE WE GO

The Stale White Bread Main Leads - almost exclusively a white female protagonist who cannot be distinguished from any other generic white woman, usually with medium length blonde or brown hair, an hourglass figure and perfect teeth (only has glasses if she’s supposed to look Smart™, but she can take them off at will) She is a:

- Business Woman™ of two flavours: a struggling small business owner (usually a bakery, especially in the Christmas movies) or a high tier executive in a stuffy city job

OR

- hokey small town woman who is randomly prettier than every other person in this town because the rest of them are 50+ or are decidedly “less attractive” than her so it is clear to the audience that they are not supposed to be after the affections of the equally attractive love interest

OR

- journalist / writer who is lacking in Inspiration™ and just needs someone in her life who can give it to her again ~siiiighhhhhh~ OR - an extremely efficient wedding planner who can make everything work for everyone else but *~Can’t Seem To Find Her Own Prince Charming~* ———

- the love interest is a generic white man who cannot be distinguished from any other generic white man, usually with swept back hair, a chiseled jaw and a punchable face (seriously look it up) He is a:

- well-meaning mild-mannered guy who Just Happens To Bump Into the Protagonist at her business or festival because he’s new in town, sometimes in the form of being the Misunderstood Starving Artist Type™ (and if so he is a painter with a fine arts gallery, no exceptions) OR

- Business Man™ stuck in his dead-end office job, but only if the protagonist is not (though sometimes you get the rare Double Business plot and that is a ride of 75% business meetings during the film’s run time) OR - single dad whose previous wife left him / died, making him a lowkey Sad Boy and he has at least one child from the marriage (see the kids section for more on that plot device) OR - the friend of the groom in the wedding movies who always gets with the wedding planner protag at the end The Sidekick - usually a co-worker or a friend of the protag that somehow appears more often than the others - The only POC characters to appear in these movies (if any appear at all) are exclusively the protag’s supportive friend OR - the quirky (and usually old) townsperson who periodically appears to bring the protag and love interest together in a plot thread thinner than my patience - two flavours of sidekick: laid back and chill compared to the nervous protag but gets to say “I told you so” when the leads end up together, OR the impulsive one who pushes the protag to “chase her dreams” with the love interest - “Come on, live a little!” / “You only live once!” - the first time the protag interacts with the love interest, the sidekick swoops in like a fucking peregrine falcon to call them out on it - “OOOOooooooooh who was that guy????? Do you like him????? Ask him out!!!!!!” - sometimes the love interest has a male sidekick and when he does, either he or the love interest are Chads

- sometimes the male sidekick is an inexplicably old co-worker that tells the leads to “fall in love while they still can” (because he didn’t and regrets it) The Parents - one or both are dead for either the protag or the love interest to give the Tragic Backstory™ - this is usually used as a Bonding Moment at around Act 2 of the movie after the protags know each other well enough, but sometimes comes up on the first date for that first bout of ~Awkward Tension~ OR - both parents are alive and old and are exclusively used to tell the protag that they will find The One™

- the protag has a Look about them after they first meet the love interest, and the parents call them out on it immediately (similar to the sidekick) - the father will tell the protag that she is being too stubborn for not pursuing the love interest, and the wife will chime in to say “just like you were” - sometimes the parents are replaced with grandparents, though usually just one and it’s a grandfather for the female protag or grandmother for the male love interest Kids or Cats - either of these are used as plot devices to periodically bring the two leads together in the background without anyone noticing (seriously none of the characters notice that they are there for this purpose until at least halfway through the movie or later) - if there is a cat, that cat must be held in a person’s arms for at least 50% of the shots with the two leads because GET IT THEY BOTH LIKE CATS THEY’RE DESTINED TO BE TOGETHER YOU GUYS THE CAT IS THERE IT’S GOTTA BE TRUE - that cat will conveniently get lost at least once, leading to one of the leads finding it and bringing it back to the other, or they search for it together - if both of the leads like cats, the previous girlfriend of the love interest (or boyfriend of the protag) conveniently doesn’t like cats (that’s how you know the love interest is legit -wink wink-) - these cats (or dogs even) will inevitably cause mischief that inconveniences both of the leads, but then they make eye contact, laugh about it, and go “Oh, [pet’s name]” - kids exist to do two things in these movies: 1. “innocently” ask if the protag is gonna get together with the love interest after seeing him once, and often will do things throughout the film to make them see each other more 2. show to the protag whether or not the love interest is “a good guy” by being good with kids* * being good with kids is a prerequisite, because all relationships in these movies HAVE to be the lead up marriage + kids guaranteed The Music - flutes are used for added *~Whimsy~* when the two leads are spending time together - All music to denote awkward situations contains exclusively clarinets and harps (you know the ones) - said music flares up when one or both of the leads says their love out loud when they “weren’t supposed to” - sparkle sound effect when the leads touch hands or give each other The Look™ - bonus points if they do the thing where one of them drops something and they both go to pick it up, only to touch hands “by accident”

Other General Shit

- these movies are peak Straight Energy™

- every character and setting in these movies are impossibly saccharine, to the point where they don’t speak or act like real people (almost like a HALLMARK GREETING CARD HAHAH GET IT)  - central visual themes exist for incredibly flimsy symbolism, anything from butterflies to rainbows (YES RAINBOWS) - bonus points if the child in the movie is interested in this central theme and it somehow connects to the two leads (example: the daughter of the love interest has butterflies on her walls, and the protag just HAPPENS to be baking butterfly shaped cookies in the next scene) - extra Sad Boy points if a dead character in the movie used to love the central theme before they died (it’s usually a mom or grandma for extra Contrived Sincerity™) - every title of these movies contains “Love” or “Heart” in the title, or involves the central theme in the name - if any of these take place during Valentine’s Day HOLD ON TO YOUR HATS because everything I mention here is amped up by 10 in those ones - if families with children is central at all in the plot, you are guaranteed at least one (1) pregnant woman / expecting father in the movie

- the love interest is introduced almost immediately after the protagonist, and you know who the couple will be by the end of this train wreck by about 5 minutes in

- the camera work focuses on the side eye looks that everyone else gives the two leads when they’re in love but Don’t Know It Yet - obligatory walk in a park / sitting on a bench scene, to establish nostalgia or longing or both - “Huh, that’s weird.” (said after a very obvious romantic advancement is shown, OR when the flimsy symbolism just happens to appear somewhere)

- scenes pause frequently when an awkward moment happens, supplemented by the clarinets farting in the soundtrack - any time the two leads are seen together, there is always ONE PERSON who mistakes them for a married couple (usually a concierge at a hotel or an oblivious friend), to which they awkwardly reply with the following:

- “I’m not looking for marriage right now!” / “we’re just friends!” * *fun fact if you want me to rage instantly, use this line anywhere and I will be out for blood - “I’m fine with being single!” followed by a “suuuuure you are” look from the sidekick or parents* *you know what add this one to the “out for blood” list too

- if there is a restaurant scene the entire staff will retroactively try to make the scene more romantic well before the leads have any feelings for each other - the waiter of the restaurant will side eye both of them like “okay lovebirds” - “he’s just a friend, a boy…. friend, a friend who is a boy. Friend boy.” - “Did I just say that out loud?” - the “act natural” scene where the love interest is coming over and the protag spends too much time messing with her clothes, hair and posture before he arrives - The Misunderstanding™ that usually takes place before or during a party and drives a wedge between the leads for a maximum of 5 minutes - the obligatory “I’m sorry” scene after the misunderstanding, consisting of the love interest standing in front of the protag’s house while she stands on her porch with her arms folded. As he explains himself, he slowly walks closer until they meet and he proposes / professes his love to her, then they kiss as the camera zooms out and fades to credits - if they kiss during a festival scene, you’ve got at least a 50% chance of fireworks going off in the background - Flowers. There are always flowers, given or received.

If the movie takes the Business angle: - the “too busy to live life happily” plot is a prerequisite - every business job is automatically an office job with board meetings, and it is always portrayed as a dull or negative experience - the protagonist is assigned to the hokey small town and travels reluctantly from the city

- her reluctance is punctuated by getting stuck behind a tractor or a bad encounter with the townsfolk that would Only Happen Here - she has a previous relationship with a guy in the city who is Very Clearly An Asshole but she takes the entire movie to realize this

- side eye glances from the locals, especially if the protag is in heels / a blazer / a short skirt

- “you’re not from around here, are you?” - the love interest is, at the start, the only friendly person to the protag

- said asshole boyfriend continues to call her about her business duties, until later in the movie when she decides to ignore him / dump him without so much as a warning - there is usually a conflict of interest between business advancement / capitalism and The Passion For The Job™

- “are you really going to give up all we’ve worked for?” (this is the final straw for the protag to dump the asshole) - literally it’s like “fuck you i’m out” -hangs up-

- obligatory scene where the protag ignores her family / relationship opportunities for a business phone call, paralleled by a scene at the end where she ignores the call instead - eventually she decides to stay in the small town and run a farm / bakery / antique shop with the love interest If the movie takes the Wedding angle: - the protag is ALWAYS too distracted by her wedding planning to think about romance for herself, something that the sidekick / parents will point out ad nauseum  - the love interest is ALWAYS the friend or the brother to the groom - there are very rarely bridezillas, usually the protag is insanely good at her job to placate this anyway - there IS, however, the stuck-up mother-in-law who must test the skills of the protag because Reasons - the groom sweats nervously 24/7 (can you blame him really?) - if the bride and groom have any disagreements whatsoever it is always at the cake tasting or the flower / decoration phase - the “everything goes wrong right before the wedding and then it all works out” plot is compulsory - the bride’s dress doesn’t fit, the groom loses the ring, the catering is late, the gang’s all here - the protag has to navigate all friction with the bride, while the love interest does the same with the groom, thus bringing the two leads closer by proxy - whatever relationship issues between the bride and groom resolved by the two leads automatically translates to their own relationship as well - solving this bickering can also lead to a “maybe I was wrong” scene between the two leads directly after if they are fighting at this point too - the bride’s mother or father will give something important to the bride / groom every time, and the protag has to find a way to implement it into the wedding - the protag will always have a “window shopping” scene with the sidekick, and that window will ALWAYS have a wedding dress or ring in it - the day is saved by the love interest coming to the rescue last minute, solidifying the protag’s love for him - during the ceremony, the protag and the love interest have that Knowing Look as the bride and groom are celebrating - if there is a child present at all they will always be the flower girl / ring bearer for the two leads at the end - if the child is a little girl, there is prince / princess imagery all over the damn place - bonus points if the sidekick also hooks up with the only other named character in the entire movie by the end - extra bonus points if the only way you know they hook up is if they give each other a look like “yeah I’d tap that”

BONUS: Signs You May Be Watching a Hallmark Movie - Christmas Edition

- ambiguously placed mistletoe (someone has to kiss that’s just the rules my guys)

- if you don’t hear jingle bells in the entire soundtrack then you’re doing it wrong - either the protag or the love interest are Not in the Christmas Spirit and the other makes them get back into it by the end - “but what about your faaaaaamily” (used when the lead(s) are disillusioned about the holidays, can also lead to Tragic Backstory™) - the “too busy to live life happily” plot is still a prerequisite, but just about the holiday season

- town festivals and Christmas parties - turtleneck sweaters and scarves everywhere, not for the cold weather but for the protag to lift over her face when she’s embarrassed about liking the love interest, and then the sidekick notices and goes “OOOOOOHHHHHH” OR - the protag conveniently leaves the scarf or some other object behind thereby forcing the love interest to return it to her in person - there is always an old man character who either plays Santa at the mall or is an allegory for Santa in relation to the protags

- the leads will go skating, one will be reluctant and one will always fall on their ass immediately - bonus points if they fall on each other, and have a moment of staring into each other’s eyes before they’re like “oh shit” and frantically apologize as they get up - “let me show you how” *~holds hands as the music chimes~*

- if kids are around, the love interest will skate while the protag watches, and him falling on his ass is supposed to convey how he’s an easygoing goofball who can laugh at himself (this is usually used if the protag is the stuffy business woman with a sidekick telling her to lighten up) - obligatory snowball fight followed by hot cocoa scene - the protag and love interest are dressed in red and green respectively for that sweet, sweet Symbolism™ (*~because RED is the colour of PASSION~*) - angel symbolism for a dead parent or a “guardian angel” watching over the protags to make sure they get together by the end - bonus points if either the parents or the sidekick mention this guardian angel multiple times throughout the movie, until the leads kiss and they look lovingly at said symbolism somewhere else in the room at the end - other symbolism in anything from deer to snowflakes (yes really) - the struggling small businesses are almost exclusively bakeries and / or a family business that was owned by one of the leads’ now dead grandmother (insert Grandma’s Famous Cookie Recipe here)

- finding the right Christmas tree or perfect present is used as an allegory for finding The One™

- bonus points if either the protag or love interest awkwardly state the words “how do you know it’s the right one?” in the context of the tree and the other responds with “I’m sure I’ll know, in time” in a different context, and then they look at each other suggestively before the scene ends - house / room decorating montage that features some kind of upbeat Christmas song over it (Jingle Bell Rock, Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, etc.), and always features the two leads who just happened to end up decorating together, usually with a child accompanying them - the two leads get snowed in and are Forced To Spend The Night Together

- there are still always flowers but because Christmas they’re poinsettias every time ——– - honestly if I can recommend anything go watch the murder mysteries that the Hallmark channel has now (YES THEY EXIST) - seriously they still do the stupid romance and will-they-won’t-they with the two investigators, and then one of the hokey townspeople gets shot or poisoned and the sheer tonal whiplash that causes makes it a fucking riot from there - make a drinking game out of these movies if you want to die instantly

[possibilistfanfiction]

stardust brought to life (we have only just begun)

[museum au part 1/2—lexa works at the museum of natural history & clarke works at the hayden planetarium. lexa’s seen some shit but yknow they get to fall in love, all that jazz. v hap, v gay]

//

stardust brought to life (we have only just begun)

.

what we do know, and what we can assert without further hesitation, is that the universe had a beginning. the universe continues to evolve. and yes, every one of our body’s atoms is traceable to the big bang and to the thermonuclear furnaces within high-mass stars that exploded more than five billion years ago.

– neil degrasse tyson, astrophysics for people in a hurry

//

your shoulder still aches.

you try not to think about that, though, especially right now, because it’s the first snow of the year and it’s beautiful, and clarke waves to you, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. it almost knocks you off your feet, how pretty she is, so you casually lean against the railing so you don’t fall down the stairs.

‘hey lex,’ she says, settling next to you, seemingly happy to stand on the stairs instead of heading to the planetarium where she’s supposed to be.

‘good morning, clarke.’

‘always so formal,’ she says, then tugs on your arm lightly before starting up the stairs. ‘octavia is in the café today, let’s get coffee for free before kane is here and can tell us not to.’

‘clarke—’

she rolls her eyes, tugs on your hand. ‘you can get hot chocolate or tea or whatever if you’re still on your insane kick to give up caffeine.’

‘that’s not—’

she stops and turns toward you, glaring. it’s soft, though, made softer by her tone: ‘it’s the first snow, lexa. live a little.’

you sigh and scuff your boot on the marble stairs once, then nod. ‘whatever. fine.’

clarke laughs and takes off again.

your stomach hurts sometimes too, aches all the way into your chest, into your shoulder, but you try not to think about that either. you think about the size of the universe instead, about how last year there were 23,237 recorded live trees in maine.

clarke doesn’t let go of your hand all the way to the fourth floor, and it maybe hurts a little less.

//

you’re trying to eat your pizza slowly, but you’re sweaty and starving and your hands are barely warming up from the cold but you don’t really care. anya had convinced you to join this stupid intermural hockey league this year—‘you can’t keep making excuses, alexandria, for the things you still love,’ and for a moment you were sure you weren’t talking about hockey’—and you’d wanted to get in a fight right then and there earlier when you’d seen clarke and raven and octavia cheering on the bleachers.

anya had laughed when you’d checked her into the boards, especially because you were on the same team, but the game is over now and you’re at a pizza place near the park that clarke had suggested, and she’s drinking wine and laughing and she’d convinced you to have some too.

you all walk to the subway together, and clarke doesn’t hesitate for a moment before giving you a long, warm hug, the same as always, even though you’re sweaty and probably smell terrible.

you have the impulse to kiss her cheek but you don’t, and when you’re icing your shoulder later that evening with anya, passing a bottle of bourbon back and forth while you watch reruns of game of thrones, she laughs a little when you smile at your phone.

‘is that clarke?’

you debate lying, but you’re really bad at it and you’re also drunk, so there’s no point. ‘yeah.’

‘she’s hot.’

you sigh and anya grins.

‘keep showing her those big hockey muscles,’ anya says, and you roll your eyes when she flexes, ‘and i’m sure she’ll reciprocate.’

‘fuck off.’

‘unbutton that polo every once in a while, lex.’

‘suck my dick, anya.’

she takes a swig of the bourbon and then hands it to you. ‘just take your shirt off during one of those sleepovers you chaperone.’

you cough on your mouthful of alcohol, and it burns all the way down your throat. ‘there are children there.’

anya just laughs, delighted, while you sulk, trying not to cough more.

‘you have abs, lexa, children or not.’

your cheeks burn and you try not to smile. you don’t let her have any more of your bourbon that night.

//

raven invites you to a post-finals party. you think it could either be the best or worst idea you’ve ever had, willfully allowing yourself to get drunk around clarke, who will also be getting drunk, but you really do try to act your age every now and again.

apparently, you’re having this party at clarke’s parents’ apartment, because they’re out of town for a conference her dad is presenting at. as you walk with raven, she tells you all about his work in robotics, because they’re friends, you guess? she keeps rubbing at her hip as you walk and you fish around in your backpack and find your trusty bottle of advil, offer her two without a word. she takes them without pausing, throws them back and swallows them without any water or anything, and then just keeps talking about stem cells and nanorobotics and she’s let you talk her ear off about endemic plant species in south africa, so you smile into your scarf all the way down park avenue.

//

clarke’s parents’ apartment is huge, as far as you’re concerned. you grew up in a little house in a little town on the coast of maine, and you didn’t want for anything—you’d had your tide pools and hockey skates and books, a pretty girl you loved and your uncle who would let you walk to the top of the light house with him at night.

but this is something altogether entirely, and you feel a little out of place in your sweater that has a hole in the sleeve and the same boots you wear everyday to work in the winter. raven doesn’t seem to care at all, though, and clarke skids in from the kitchen wearing a t-shirt (a very tight, lowcut t-shirt that leaves very little to the imagination) and jeans, wool socks with little penguins on them, and she hugs you both at the same time, groaning when octavia changes the music blaring to bodak yellow because ‘i love this song too, guys, but it’s not even 9 and this is the sixth time they’ve put this on.’

clarke takes one look at the little bundt cake you’d brought—you’d made it in your dorm kitchen, it’s full of quinoa and pumpkin and you’d bought real powdered sugar over the top—and seems to kind of melt.

raven laughs. ‘griffin, how drunk are you already?’

clarke shrugs, tugging you both with her to the kitchen where lincoln smiles, so handsome, as he mixes drinks while octavia sits on the counter, swinging their legs and rapping every word to bodak yellow.

‘my parents took me to brunch before they flew out,’ clarke starts to explain.

‘and then we just kept goin,’ octavia says, turning to you with a grin. lincoln seems far more sober, but you think he might just be better at faking it.

‘well i guess we better catch up,’ raven says, and clarke and octavia cheer, handing you both a shot.

it feels like a bad idea, but it also feels like a really good one.

//

clarke’s parents’ apartment has a rooftop garden, and it affords you an entire view of central park and the rest of the city, which you discover because clarke takes you there later, when the place is packed and you’re pretty sure you’ve heard bodak at least twelve times. you know you could call anya if you wanted to go home, but clarke is smiling and you should be cold, because it’s supposed to snow and it’s windy, but you’re warm.

‘anyway, okay, so like, yes, i want to be a surgeon,’ she explains, ‘but also we’re so young, you know, and i want to spend time with my friends and not have my mother breathing down my neck before residency in a billion years, because she’ll probably rig it so that i get matched with her program.’

‘it is one of the best in the country,’ you say, taking a sip of your beer. ‘you said so yourself.’

clarke leans close with a fond huff. ‘you’re supposed to be on my side, lexa.’

you laugh, and the motion brings you close to clarke, closer than you’d really meant to be. you swallow, suddenly far colder and more sober than you’d been seconds ago.

clarke’s eyes dart to your lips, and then your eyes, and then your lips again.

the wind whips your hair around your faces and you credit that for the tears in your eyes as you lean forward and kiss her.

you know that the moon is 1/4000th the size of the sun, but that the moon is 4000 times closer to the earth than the sun, which allows everyone on earth to see them as relatively the same size. it’s the only place in our solar system that this happens, and you think about this as you kiss clarke in the dead of winter, the stars pulled down into streetlamps and headlights.

the city, usually so loud, quiets.

//

you kiss her for a long time, until one of your sniffles snot from being so cold and the other laughs and she leads you back into her parents’ apartment. the party is winding down and you’re getting sleepy and when people start to leave and she invites you to stay the night, you want to say no but then you think of how tired you are and how much you want to be held.

she leads you to her old room, which is full of paintings and sketches and polariods, certificates of awards for a variety of academic achievements, a letterman jacket from her highschool still slung over her desk chair.

you run your fingers over it as she goes shuffles through her drawer for pajamas for you. ‘what’d you letter in?’

she laughs. ‘chess. i was nationally ranked, actually.’

‘wow,’ you say, delighted. ‘that’s—‘

‘—nerdy, i know.’

‘no,’ you say. ‘i was going to say impressive.’

‘sure, sure,’ she says, laughing. she turns and hands you pajamas and you want to ask, maybe, how she can sense you don’t want to have sex, because you’d just kissed her for at least twenty minutes on a rooftop in manhattan and most people would probably get some mixed messages from that.

you’re so drunk you don’t really care about going into a bathroom or whatever at this point to change, because you’re pretty sure clarke doesn’t care at all, so you start to take your pants off while clarke changes too. ‘did you letter in anything?’

‘hockey,’ you say.

‘right,’ clarke says, slightly muffled by her shirt. ‘makes sense.’

‘do not tell anyone this, but i also lettered in jazz band.’

clarke lets out a laugh. and you turn to her as you slip into some of her worn, soft boxers. they’re a little big so you roll them up and she takes a deep breath and then lets it out through her nose. you smile—you’re a little pleased and a little apologetic—and then she starts to ask another question, something about a saxophone or a trumpet, as you pull your sweater over your head. you’re drunk so you’d forgotten, for the first time in years, but when you go to deposit your sweater in a pile on top of your socks and jeans, clarke is quiet and fighting between staring at you and the corner of her room.

‘you’re my same age and you’re from maine,’ she says, things seemingly clicking into place.

you take your sweater and pull it over your head again, and your hands start shaking and your eyes press with tears.

‘lexa,’ she says, stepping toward you quickly, which only makes your heart race more. you’re drunk, you’re drunk, and you know you’re safe but your ears are ringing. ‘i’m sorry i just—i didn’t—god,’ she says. maybe she notices you trembling, maybe she notices the way you’ve seemingly forgot how to button your pants, but she straightens up and says, ‘lexa,’ just firmly enough of your to meet her eyes.

they’re so blue. you want to find comfort in them, and maybe you will, but everything is too loud right now.

‘i have to go,’ you get out, barely, all gritted teeth and you remember what it was like to choke on your own blood.

‘lexa,’ she says again, differently this time, pleading. ‘i’m sorry.’

you shake your head. ‘i’m not mad,’ you say, and you’re surprised you were able to express a thought as coherent as that. ‘it’s not—i have to go.’

she very gently helps you button your pants and then nods. ‘okay.’

you breathe a sigh of relief because clarke is kind, because clarke is fun and young and wild but she’s gentle, and your brain is trying to convince your body that it’s about to die again, but later you’ll remember this moment with such tenderness.

‘let me get your coat. i’ll get you a car too.’

you follow her out, nodding, maybe, and she helps you into your coat, walks you down and makes sure you get into a black towncar, makes sure her driver knows your address.

when you get to your dorm, you knock on anya’s door and she lets you in, mostly asleep, without a word.

‘you’re here,’ she tells you, helping you out of your clothes and into her bed, while she sets up a little nest of blankets on the floor. ‘you’re in new york and it’s winter and—‘ she pauses for a moment, then lets out a laugh— ‘you have a hickey on your neck, for sure.’

it shocks you just enough, happily, that your heart slows down a bit. ‘from clarke,’ you say, and her name feels solid on your tongue, quiet and present.

‘i never would’ve guessed,’ anya drawls from the floor.

it takes you a while to fall asleep and you have nightmares, but you do have a hickey from a very pretty girl when you wake up the next day, so.

there’s that.

//

it’s all very confusing: one minute you’re holding your piece of pizza, walking to the table you always sit at, every day, with your girlfriend and your friends. you’re tired and your hip is sore from hockey, your eyes hurt from reading the same history primary sources over and over again on the shitty library computers. costia is beautiful, though, and the pizza today looked less burnt than usual, and your uncle had promised to take you fishing this weekend.

one minute you’re holding your piece of pizza, and you’re sixteen, and then there’s a very distinct series of pops, a single click, and your pizza is on the floor because you can’t feel your hand. your arm is on fire and it takes you a few moments, but then everyone is screaming and there are so many pops, and it’s loud.

it occurs to you that you were shot, that this is a school shooting, that all of your classmates—your friends—are dying. Dead.

costia is rushing to you and then there’s another pop and you’re doubled over, because you can’t breathe and you can’t see because pain is shooting up from your abdomen and everyone is screaming, everyone won’t stop screaming, and costia is brushing hair out of your eyes but you can’t breathe, and it hurts.

‘lexa,’ costia is saying, ‘lexa.’

you swallow and you nod and costia is crying, and she presses down on your shoulder and then on your stomach, and you think you might pass out from the pain.

‘don’t go to sleep,’ she says, and her tears are falling onto your face. ‘don’t fall asleep, lexa, please,’ she says, chokes out on the edge of a sob.

‘it’s okay,’ you say, taste the copper and iodine of your own blood. you don’t know what drives you to say it, because there are so many gunshots and you know there are so many bodies but you can’t look away from costia’s perfect skin, her dark eyes, her pretty mouth. you don’t know where your friends are, and it registers somewhere that you might die, that you were shot and you have to have massive internal bleeding because you’re coughing up blood and you can’t feel your left hand.

but costia is saying your name and trying to keep your blood in your body. she’s saying your name, over and over again, her hands pressing hard into your skin, your gut. she’s saying your name until she’s not, until she’s slumped over you in a single instant.

you want to scream, and you hadn’t been scared until now. you want to scream but you can’t, and her breathing is ragged and she coughs up blood into the crook of your neck.

‘it’s okay,’ you say again, as clearly as you can, as best as you can, and you feel her nod, just slightly.

one minute ago you were sixteen years old, thinking about pizza and calculus and the federalist papers, walking to a table where you were going to sit with your friends and kiss your girlfriend, tuck your hands into the pockets of your letterman as you walked home.

costia’s breathing stops, you feel it stop, and it’s so loud, but you hear her heart stop. maybe you don’t, maybe that’s not possible, but you’re sure you’re going to die, and costia already has. it makes you feel sick, but she’s on top of you and you can’t move anyway, you can’t feel your hands or your legs and you can’t breathe.

one minute ago you were a child. you think you are going to die.

you will never be a child again.

//

anya tells you that you were asleep for four days. when you wake up in the hospital—in boston, with your shoulder shattered, your arm in a sling, two of your fingers still numb, your stomach cut open and stitched back together, from three different surgeries—when you wake up in the hospital you don’t think you’ll ever breathe again.

anya tells you, solemnly but without crying, that 27 people died. your friends, your classmates, people who have annoyed you since kindergarten.

you don’t have to ask if costia died because you know she died, but you ask anyway. your uncle is slumped over silently on the other side of your bed and you’re shocked you have tears left in you but you do, and the sob that works its way through your body burns.

they send a therapist in to talk to you, and you know you have ptsd and you tell her that you don’t know if you’ll ever feel real again, that you don’t really want to try to fall in love again. that you used to care about calculus and hockey ap us history, that all you wanted to do after school was make out with a very pretty girl in the back of your jeep. that you were excited about pizza.

she sits down and she sighs and she tells you that those things might never go away. but you tell her, a few weeks later, while you’re squeezing a stress ball as hard as you can, even though your hand isn’t working quite right, and your entire abdomen still aches when you try to stand up straight—you tell her that you still love trees. the ocean. your tidepools and all the words that have gone along with them.

you get to go home. it’s not the same—it’s hollow and it’s empty and gustus offers to move so you don’t have to go back to the same school. but you’re better enough now to wander along the craggy cliffs with your arm tucked around his study one. you have to pause a few times climbing to the top of his lighthouse, but you make it.

there’s a meteor shower, and you should’ve died.

you will never be a child again but there are shooting stars. you watch them above your head, and you watch them fall silently into the water below.

//

clarke finds you on sunday morning, far before the museum is open. she has flowers and two coffees and you’re blushing already.

‘first of all, i don’t want to trigger anything,’ she says, in a rush, and it makes you smile, ‘so i just wanted to say i think you’re beautiful and maybe some time you could stay and i promise not to ruin it.’

she kind of thrusts the bouquet in your face and you grin. you’re thrilled, because clarke is usually so confident and sure, and maybe she likes you just as much as you like her.

‘someone shot me and half of my school,’ is what comes out of your mouth, even though you hadn’t intended for it to at all. you hurry to keep talking after that one. ‘you didn’t ruin anything.’

she sighs in relief. ‘okay,’ she says. ‘i’m still—you know.’

‘yeah.’

she waits a beat for you to say anything else, and when she senses that that’s it, she smiles gently and wraps her hand around your arm. you’re holding a bouquet of chrysanthemums in the dinosaur room and a pretty girl is laughing about the compsognathus, and you correct her because they lived during the jurrasic era, not the triassic, and when you’re kissing her again, beside the triceratops skeleton, it doesn’t feel nearly as terrifying as the end of your world, as the end of anything at all.

[inwinterhaze-blog]

Believe in me

This is an old story that I never got around to posting. It’s based on the movie ‘Rise of the guardians’ and explores Jack’s life. It’s based on the idea that, because Jack could only be seen by people who believed in him, his sister would’ve been able to see him if they’d run into each other.

1873

Jack loved winter.

“Time for bed Jack” Jessica Overland told her over-energetic son.

“I’m not tired yet, mommy.” Her five-year-old pouted. Jessica laughed at her adorable son and ruffled his hair. “Besides, daddy’s not home yet.” He added and Jessica’s heart sank. Winter was a hard time to get by in such a small village, Thomas was forced to stay out working till late so that they wouldn’t starve and tonight he was still out collecting firewood, preparing for the winter.

“Daddy will be home soon sweetie.” Jessica promised, tucking him in.

“But what if something happens?” Jack asked looking up at her with those innocent eyes of his.

“Nothing bad is going to happen, Jack. The Guardians will protect you.” Jessica smiled.

“Can you tell me about the Guardians again?” Jack asked with a yawn.

“Sure.” Jessica sat down on the edge of Jack’s bed. “The four Guardians: Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and the Sand Man are tasked with protecting children and their dreams. As long as they’re watching over you nothing bad is ever going to happen to you… Now go to sleep baby, let the Sand Man guide your dreams and don’t worry about a thing.” Jessica kissed her son on the forehead and left his room, only then letting the smile drop from her face and anxiously glancing out the window.

As Jack looked out his own window and saw the snowflakes starting to fall he felt something warm settle in his chest. Somehow the winter brought a sense of calm for the boy and he fell asleep, feeling safe under the Guardians’ protection.

Three years later Jack got a baby sister. She was tiny and beautiful and Jack loved her. But Emma was a strange little thing, crying and fragile, his mom always seemed to be busy with the little girl, his dad was home even less and when he was, he always seemed worn out. Jack loved his family but he was worried and scared, so he remembered the Guardians and sent a little prayer in his head, asking for a little help for his mommy and daddy and protection for his little sister.

Two years later Jack lost his father. The man got sick and faded faster than Jack could understand and suddenly his mom was struggling with work at a local bar while his aunt stayed with him at home, always wearing a bleak expression and Emma, although only two years old wouldn’t stop crying. Life was bleak for the Overland family and Jack couldn’t understand how this could have happened.

When winter finally came and ten-year-old Jack stood there in the cold, letting silent tears roll down his cheeks and listening to Emma throwing another tantrum inside, he finally realized that his father truly wasn’t coming back and that it was up to him to protect his tiny family. He wiped his tears and strolled back inside, swallowing his grief and putting a smile on his face instead. He annoyed his aunt and acted silly until he finally got Emma to laugh and that was the day he became the trickster of his family, always up to another scheme. His aunt and mother scolded him, saying he’d never achieve anything if he didn’t learn to be serious, but Emma thought he was fun and he could always make her, or anyone else laugh.

Jack loved Emma.

When Jack was sixteen and Emma six, Jack stole Emma from her daily studies with her aunt and brought her to the forest, where the snow had painted all the trees a breathtaking white. The snow was to her knees which made her fall, a lot.

“Perhaps you’re too small to be out here.” Jack laughed already knowing the answer.

“I’m not small, I bet I can run here faster than you.” She replayed sticking her tong out.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” He said quickly throwing a snowball at Emma, which knocked her off balance and caused her to once again fall on her butt. She got up laughing, already forming her own snowball. They spent the day playing in the snow and that night Jack told Emma about the Guardians that would protect her from all harm.

In the end, Jack was Emma’s guardian.

He really didn’t think the ice would be too thin. Maybe it was his confidence, maybe his trust in winter, in the Guardians or maybe just his impulsiveness but he honestly never though they could be in danger when he brought Emma to that lake. And then the ice began cracking under Emma’s feet.

Jack breathed out a sigh of relief when his sister was safe and then he went under. Cold was seeping into his body, paralyzing him, fear gripped him as he struggled for air. Even underwater, he could still hear Emma’s screams. And then there was darkness, there was nothing. Until there was everything.

Emma was eight years old when her brother died saving her.

She stood there screaming and crying for a good twenty minutes before she finally realized Jack wasn’t coming back up and then she ran like hell, screaming so loud it took five minutes for the people of her village to understand what was wrong. They never found the body. And it was all her fault.

Emma’s life changed after that. Her mother retreated into herself, completely throwing herself into work, and her aunt stopped showing up… and she couldn’t laugh. Laughter was too much Jack’s thing and so even months after the incident Emma still felt like laughing without Jack would equal betraying him. So she didn’t. She didn’t allow herself to have fun.

Emma believed in Jack.

It was two years after the accident when Emma dared approach that lake. It was winter, the lake was frozen over, but she didn’t step foot on the ice, never again. She did however, break down crying on the shore.

“You seem upset.” Emma heard a voice behind her. She jumped, only to see a hooded figure standing by the trees, the moonlight illuminated him, but all Emma could see through the hood was white hair. The voice though, even after two years, was enough. She held her breath, sure that if she blinked he would vanish.

“Jack?” Emma forced out in a tiny voice.

“You can see me?” His voice held amazement, but also cautiousness.

“Jack.” She repeated, her voice breaking and tears coming back to her eyes. She couldn’t decide whenever she was scared, happy or just in shock, but what she did know was that she wanted for him to come closer, to hug her and comfort her.

“Hey now, don’t cry.” He said taking a hesitant step closer. Emma couldn’t take it anymore, she ran towards him, trying to throw her arms around him. Startled at the unexpected and unfamiliar gesture Jack flew over and to the other side of the girl and sent an unnatural gush of cold towards her all in one motion. Emma froze as the cold hit her face, forcing her to stumble. She turned around, once again facing Jack and staring at him with wide eyes. A part of her was hurt at the rejection and another afraid of the unnatural abilities from her unnatural dead brother, and so for a moment they stood, both frozen and staring at each other.

Jack scolded himself. He hadn’t meant to startle the first person who could see him and in hindsight he realized she hadn’t meant any harm, but after two years of being alone he had become cautious of people.

Luckily, even at her young age, Emma knew her brother enough to recognize his reaction as self-defense rather than malice.

“Who are you?” Jack finally broke the silence. Emma’s heart broke. Although she was certain the person before her was Jack, she finally realized he wasn’t the Jack she knew. He didn’t know her, to him Emma was a stranger.

“I-“ She cut off, trying to see Jack’s face under the hood, but was unable to. She wanted for this moment to last longer, to be with her brother no matter how he was acting, but he had already freaked out when she’d tried hugging him so clearly something was wrong, if she told him she was his sister now, would he react even more severely? Would he believe her? Would he leave? She couldn’t bare losing him again. She wanted to say ‘I’m your little sister, and I love you, and you love me. I’m so sorry, God please don’t leave me again’. “I’m Emma” She said instead. “Can I… can I come closer?” She asked carefully. She wanted to touch him, to see his face, to convince herself he wasn’t a fragment of her imagination.

“Sure.” He said confused she’d want to approach him after what he did earlier. Emma walked forward without hesitation until they were face to face.

“Can I see your face?” She asked then, so Jack raised one hand, amazed when she didn’t flinch even thought this small girl had just witnessed his abilities, and took off his hood.

Emma gasped. It was Jack, only his eyes and hair were unfamiliar. “Who are you?” she asked a bit hopeful.

“Jack Frost.” He answered. “Why are you crying?” He asked when he noticed the girl’s tears returning. He didn’t know why, but something inside of him couldn’t bare seeing this girl upset.

“I lost my brother… you remind me of him.” Emma explained vaguely.

“Oh, is that why you were acting so strange?” Jack asked, realization coming to his eyes. He looked around trying to find something to cheer Emma up with, there was almost an instinctive need to protect Emma. So he raised his hands and carefully created a butterfly out of the snow, then he made it fly around Emma. She looked at the creature with amazement, her tears finally stopping.

“That is so beautiful.” She said carefully touching it only for it to break into thousands of small snowflakes and dance around her. A laugh escaped Emma’s mouth before she even realized it.

“There you go.” Jack said happily before she could start feeling guilty and somehow seeing his eyes light up from her laugh made the guilt fade into the background. She wanted to see him happy, so she allowed herself to laugh again and before she knew it they were fighting in the snow just like before, except now with snow flying around on its own it was so much more than that. That ability Jack had possessed to bring people fun was now so much more pronounced.

Emma wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him everything. It didn’t matter if he had strange abilities or if he was supposed to be dead.

“Will you stay?” She asked instead.

Jack stared at her like she was the strangest creature he’d ever seen. “I-“

“Emma!”

Startled, Emma turned around only to see her mother running over.

“Oh Emma, what were you thinking, coming out here on your own?” Jessica was looking over Emma frantically, her eyes frightened.

“Mom, I’m okay.” She reassured and then turned towards Jack, excitement bubbling inside her-

He was gone.

Again.

“Goodbye.” She whispered.

Jack remembered Emma.

It was many, many years later that Jack remembered who he had been. At first, with everything happening, there simply wasn’t time to process what he’d learned. Only after, when the frill of simply being seen settled down that Jack really thought back on his lost family.

He thought about the one time before that a human had been able to see him, it’d been so long ago that the memory had almost faded away, in fact, he’d often wondered whenever he’d simply made it up. But now he froze with realization. Emma. It had been Emma. She’d seen him… because she’d believed in him. Warmth spread through Jack at the thought.

Jack loved Emma.