#i fear that in mocking it i may inadvertently make it sound like it's actually funny

[cantsayidont]

March–April 2024. A very strange, frequently tasteless, mostly inexplicable black comedy political satire from the creator of SUCCESSION — though more strongly reminiscent, presumably on purpose, of the 2017 THE DEATH OF STALIN — THE REGIME is a six-part miniseries starring a self-consciously frumpy-looking, outrageously hammy Kate Winslet as Elena Vernham, the egomaniacal authoritarian chancellor of an unnamed Ruritanian state somewhere in Central Europe.

As her hapless husband (Guillaume Gallienne) and self-dealing underlings tiptoe around her growing list of neuroses and increasingly erratic mood swings, a soldier named Herbert Zubak (Matthias Schoenaerts), notorious for his role in a brutal massacre of striking mine workers, is recruited to play a hard-to-define, ever-shifting supporting role in Elena's ongoing psychological breakdown and various political confrontations.

Winslet seems to have been having fun, although she overacts shamelessly, and what accent she thinks she's doing seems to vary from moment to moment; the median could best be described as "Margaret Thatcher, very tipsy, trying to pretend she's not sucking on an Everlasting Gobstopper." Schoenaerts, for reasons that are never clear, plays Zubak like a punch-drunk boxer trying to walk off a life-threatening concussion, leaving his character a perplexing cipher throughout.

Like THE DEATH OF STALIN (which I thought wildly overrated), THE REGIME is more often crass and uncomfortable than actually funny, and its smug misogyny would be offensive if taken seriously (which is admittedly very difficult). Also, given the current state of the UK, watching the largely British cast mock the political instability of a fictitious "Middle European" autocracy causes some seasickness. (Whistling past the graveyard, perhaps, but still.) CONTAINS LESBIANS? No! VERDICT: Much more "funny strange" than "funny ha-ha," and because it's basically a one-note joke, it becomes like one of those terrible SNL skits that just won't end.

[skz-belle]

Meeting the Team

Summary: A collection of stories detailing how Belle met each member of Stray Kids in chronological order

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: language, unedited, writing deteriorates as it goes on

Word Count: 5.8k

m.list

one: yang jeongin

The first day of being a trainee is horrifying, yet full of excitement. There was a moment where Belle was contemplating even entering the building, her fears of inadequacy were trying to weigh her down and drown her. She was standing in front of the building when someone bumped into her. 

“Oh, sorry! I was on my phone- I didn’t see you there.” The boy that ran into her explained his predicament. He looked very young and Belle felt for him immediately.

“It’s okay. Don’t even worry about it.” 

“I still feel bad though.” He looked at the ground with a small pout playing on his lips before whipping his head back up to look Belle in the eyes. “Are you a trainee?”

She was slightly startled by the sudden question and attitude change, yet she still answered. “Yep, today is my first day actually.” His smile grew even bigger after hearing her response.

“That’s great! Welcome to JYP Entertainment! I have been a trainee here for about 6 months, so I could maybe show you around?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’m sure you’re busy and I don’t want to cause trouble.”

“No! It wouldn’t cause any trouble! Plus I want to get to know you. You seem nice! What did you get in with?”

“Dance. How about you?”

“Singing. Maybe you could help me out with dancing? Oh! Or we could sing a duet together to begin our wonderful friendship!”

At this moment, all the worries Belle had melted away. She saw the pure child-like excitement in this boy’s eyes and she knew that this had the potential to be a strong friendship to help her down the harsh path they were both pursuing. They had just met, but they felt something strange with the other that felt like home. True friendship was blossoming.

“That sounds really nice. I’m Belle by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Belle. I am Jeongin.”

two- bang chan

Being a trainee at JYP meant unknowingly signing up to be part of a large gossip circle. Most every trainee knew each other, or at least of each other. It was a small pool to pull from, so every single bit of knowledge that could be obtained from the internet or primary sources was put to use; basically everyone knew a lot about Belle, and she knew a lot about them. 

Belle had heard the name Chan before, everyone had. Arguably being the most well known trainee, and having been there for as long as he had made it almost impossible to not have heard about him. He was very talented and anyone could see that.

Despite hearing about him so often, Belle did not get the chance to meet Chan until one fateful night when she was struggling to prepare for her second monthly evaluation. Belle shivered at the mere thought of failing during one of those infamous days, so she was pulling an all-nighter to prepare. The dance she had picked was very technical, which left room for multiple errors. This had Belle frustrated and ready to sleep, despite knowing she had many hours of practice ahead of her. 

She took a deep breath and played the song once more. After completing the dance for the nth time that night, she heard clapping from the doorway. She assumed it was Jeongin, the only friend she had made thus far and brushed it off. She knew she was about to get an earful for still practicing at this hour. 

Instead of Jeongin’s voice, a deep smooth voice spoke up. “Wow, the rumors were not wrong. You’re incredible.” Belle whipped her head around to see the one and only Bang Chan standing in the doorway with a small smile playing on his lips. 

“Um, thank you?” All Belle managed to get out were those few words. It was a shock to her system to meet someone so well known and to have him complement her. This earned a small chuckle from the man.

“Sorry, that did come off a little creepy, didn’t it?” Belle finally gave him a bit of a smile as he continued, “I was passing by and I heard the music, and I was kind of curious who was still here at two in the morning. Belle, right?”

“That’s me. Chan, right?” 

“The one and only. I was just about to go take a break and get a snack if you want to come with.” Shock took over Belle’s mind. This is the man that trainees swooned over, and he was asking her to take a break with him?

“Sure, I need a break anyways.” She quickly gathered her things and made her way to Chan.

“So, mind telling me why you’re working on an already great dance piece at this ungodly hour?” Chan’s question pierced the momentary silence as they began the walk to the vending machines.

“I have evaluations tomorrow. I guess practicing makes me less nervous?”

“You are already amazing, I can promise you that staying up this late won’t help you.”

“I know it won’t, but I just can’t help it.” She looked over to him to see him looking straight forward down the long hallway. “Enough about me and my stupidity, why are you still up?”

“Would it make me a hypocrite if I said the same reason as you?” Chan let out a nervous giggle and Belle just rolled her eyes. 

“That is the exact definition of a hypocrite.” She looked over at him again to see his ears flushed with the tiniest bit of color. “Y’know, you don’t need to stay late either. It’s kind of unfair how talented you are.”

“I never took you for the flattery type.” Chan jokes whilst bumping his shoulder with Belle’s.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true! Half the trainees want to date you, and the other half want to be you. You’re crazy talented, and you should know that.”

“Thank you. I think we should hang out more often, you aren’t as cold as people make you out to be. You’re fun to be around.”

“Why thank you. The rumor mill isn’t that kind to me, but thanks for taking a chance on me. By the way, if I see you spending any more late nights here I will make you get some sleep. Just keep that in mind.” And of course, she carried her promise through like a friend should do.

three: lee minho

There was always such a burden placed on those who entered the trainee life through the way of dance. There was a much bigger strain on them to improve other skills, such as rapping or singing. Belle always tried to work hard, however she tended to focus on dance, as that was a major passion of hers. Rap and other musical forms are also very influential passions, but her first love was dance. 

She was focusing on the steps to the current dance she was trying to master and failed to focus on the rest of the room, per usual. Dancing had a strange way of hypnotizing Belle and making her focus solely on the moves and flow of the song. It was part of why it was her first love- the immersive qualities of it that produced euphoria when she completed a dance without errors. However, that was not happening for her. She couldn’t get a simple move down and it irked her. She huffed as she slumped down on the practice room floor and watched the video once more to try to get her bearings. 

She focused on the small screen intently- her will to learn and improve was strong and evident in how her eyes followed the figure as it flowed across the screen pixel by pixel. She took a deep breath before attempting the step again, and failing once again. She was a talented dancer according to higher-ups in the company, so why couldn’t she get this right?

“You have to have a lot of skill to mess up a move that simple.” A voice cut through the air in the nearly empty practice room. A boy stood before her; he didn’t look to be that much older than Belle, which confused the poor dancer even more.

“I’m sorry, may I help you?” Belle’s voice was light and soft compared to his rather harsh tone. 

“Yeah, you’re Belle, right? Your scheduled time for this room was up nearly fifteen minutes ago and I have been waiting for you to get the hint and leave.” His tone became even more harsh and he sent a rather menacing glare towards Belle.

“I- I’m sorry. I got caught up and lost track of time.” She remembered looking at the sheet earlier. This was Lee Minho, another trainee who just happened to be a dance prodigy. The name stood out to her earlier and she was planning on leaving a few minutes early to avoid meeting him, but that obviously didn’t work out the way Belle planned.

“Yeah well that’s obvious. I would have been more understanding if it was a more complicated move you were stuck on. Who in the world would have trouble with that move? A child?” His voice was now higher, almost as if intentionally mocking Belle who was now close to tears, though she would never let a random, rude stranger see her cry.

“The room is yours now. See you later Lee Minho.” She mumbled as she dashed to gather her things and leave. Minho’s anger from the wait had faded, and he felt a little guilty about being so harsh, but he pushed those thoughts aside to focus on the dance he needed to learn and perfect.

four: han jisung

Friendships tend to blossom due to unforeseen and unusual circumstances, at least in Belle’s case. She had also had a knack for getting into awkward situations inadvertently, which was a true chaotic neutral gift. It was a sunny summer day, and it was one that she had off, which made it all the more better. She knew there were better ways than this to spend such a precious day, but she had to go shopping for new clothes. It’s not that there was anything wrong with shopping, it just wasn’t necessarily something Belle enjoyed doing. 

She was in the middle of the mall, which was surprisingly packed for such a perfect day. She was absorbed in the atmosphere; the soft glow of the store signs in contrast to the rather harsh fluorescent overhead lights was suddenly the most interesting aesthetic to the eclectic girl.

While being so wrapped up in the scenery, she bumped into someone headfirst with such force she fell to the ground. 

“Oh my gosh,” the other party in the collision, a boy close to Belle’s age, whispered as he took in the events that just transpired. “I am so so sorry- I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going.”

“It’s okay! No harm done- plus I was kinda lost in thought so it was partially my fault too. Sorry, by the way.” Belle was borderline rambling as she too took in what just happened; it was so sudden and it happened so quickly that her mind still had not quite wrapped around the entire tumble-incident. Plus, after looking at the boy she knew that he looked familiar, but she just didn’t know how.

“It happens. I’m just glad it was with you instead of some mean old lady.” He laughs softly as he tries to keep the conversation flowing smoothly. Belle laughed along, but gasped shortly after once she connected from where she knew his face.

“You’re a trainee at JYP too, aren’t you?” His face morphs into one of shock, then his face breaks out into one of the brightest smiles Belle had ever seen. 

“I am! I knew that I knew you from somewhere!”

“Same here! It was bugging me ever since I saw you.” They both chucked at the experience the two had unknowingly shared. “I’m Belle, it’s nice to meet you!”

“I’m Jisung, it’s nice to meet you as well.”

“Since I kinda inconvenienced you, could I interest you in some food? I can pay and we can bond over the wondrous trainee life.”

“If you think I am going to let you pay for all of it, you have something else coming.”

“Alright, it’s on.” A competitive grin was shared between the two of them, and before Jisung had time to react, she was dragging him away, presumably to a restaurant.There was something about him and the chemistry that sparked Belle’s interest. She had a feeling that this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

five: seo changbin

It had been a month or so since Belle had met Jisung, and it was safe to say that both her and Jeongin were never bored. Belle had discovered that the two knew each other, which led to group hangouts and shenanigans, which always ended with smiles and laughter fresh in their minds. 

Belle was currently with Jisung in a studio, and was listening to some of the music he had produced. When Belle found out that he produced music, she was amazed. It wasn’t that she thought he couldn’t, but she just didn’t see that vibe from him. That quickly changed, as she demanded to hear some of his work, which resulted in her becoming his number one supporter and fan. 

She also discovered that he worked with two other trainees and had formed a group of sorts. Jisung had not told her the name of the group, but did tell her the stage names of the other two trainees: CB97 and SPEARB. They intrigued Belle, as she wanted to consume all Jisung’s musical endeavors and was near rabid at the thought of what he and two other producers of his skill level could produce. 

“Hey, sweet-cheeks, it is getting kinda late- shouldn’t you get to sleep?” Jisung looked over his shoulder at the girl who was still listening to the music playing in the background before she looked to her phone to see the time.

“What are you talking about Ji? It’s still pretty early.”

“I’m not sure if eleven at night qualifies as early, but I just want you to be well rested.” Belle’s eyebrows furrow as she takes in her friend’s strange behavior.

“You’re trying to kick me out, oh my god.” Jisung’s eyes widen in shock as he frantically scrambles to get rid of the accusations.

“No no no no, I just- it was- ugh,” he takes a breath to gather his thoughts, “It was supposed to be a secret, but the guys from the group are coming soon and I didn’t know if you wanted to stay for that, or if you would be comfortable, or if it would be too weird, or-”

“Ji, calm down, okay? I can leave if you want me to with no problem, but I wouldn’t mind staying as long as it is okay with you.”

“I mean, I wasn’t sure but-” Jisung was cut off by the door squeaking open to reveal Bang Chan. Belle had not spoken to Chan too often, of course she checked up on him as much as possible, but with the life of a trainee there was not much time to spare.

“Oh, is this a bad time? I am a bit early.” Chan looked to Belle and Jisung with a bit of confusion before Jisung started explaining.

“No, come on in. This is Belle- I invited her to stay for the session.”

“We met a while ago. You better be getting enough sleep mister.” Belle looked to the man in mock anger causing Chan to laugh.

“I have been. You better be getting enough sleep too.”

“She hasn’t. She stays up to annoy the living shit out of me.” Jisung interjects, and Belle gasps in faux dismay.

“Oh, you know you love me.” She laughs as she pokes his side through an opening on the chair he was still situated in.

“I would, or else I would have slapped you weeks ago.”

“You still haven’t told me the name of this whole group yet! I wouldn’t call that love.” Belle’s teasing was cut short when Chan laughed.

“You brought her to a brainstorming session and she doesn’t even know the name of our group?” Chan’s voice was teasing, which caused a faint wash of red to spear on the younger’s cheeks.

“Yes! He is so mean to me. What is y’all’s name by the way.” Belle looked to Chan with pure curiosity glistening in her brown eyes.

“3RACHA. I’m assuming he didn’t tell you who was in it either?” Belle shook her head and Chan laughed once again, causing the blush on Jisung’s face to darken ever so slightly. “CB97, SPEARB, and J.ONE are our stage names. I’m CB97, for obvious reasons, Jisung is J.ONE, and Changbin is SPEARB.”

“Changbin?” 

“You haven’t met him yet?”

“Not yet, no.”

“You will soon- he should be here any minute. He’s cool though, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, he has to be cool to hang with us.” Jisung piped up, making Belle and Chan laugh.

“You cried when you saw a baby bird last week, I wouldn’t classify that as cool, my dude.” Chan laughed at the memory as he recalled the teary eyed boy looking into the sparrow’s nest on the sidewalk.

“And you screamed when you saw a spider yesterday.” Belle added with tears now forming in her eyes from the hilarious memory and new information combined.

“Yah! Stop ganging up on me! This is no fun!” Jisung whined as he hid his face behind his arms.

“What are you fussing about this time, Jisung?” A new voice called out as it entered the room. It belonged to a boy that Belle assumed to be Changbin. He stopped in his tracks once he saw the new face in the room, as he wasn’t expecting anyone other than the boys.

“Changbin! Finally! This is Belle, she is a good friend of mine and is going to stay and watch the coolest people she knows work on some music.” Jisung’s head perked up the moment he heard Changbin’s voice and he said the entirety of his quick introduction with a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Changbin.” Belle shot a smile to the boy, who was looking towards her with a similar smile as well.

“Nice to meet you too, Belle. Also I am sorry about Jisung in advance.”

“Hey! I am a joy!” Jisung adamantly defends his name.

Without missing a beat, Belle replied: “To get rid of.” making the other two boys cackle and Jisung look shocked.

“I’m so hurt.” Jisung put a hand over his heart and let out a fake sniffle or two.

“Awh Jisungie~” Changbin cooes 

“Nevermind- go away.” Changbin’s resolve doesn’t budge and he continues to coo at the poor boy. Belle hadn’t even heard any of their music yet, but she was already having a wonderful time with the boys. She knew she would love the music, and probably be a repeat visitor for 3RACHA’s meetings, if they allowed it.

six: kim seungmin

Vocals were a weak point for Belle. She loved to sing and to create a story using only her voice, but she was always told she was lacking at it. She took every aspect of her training unbelievably seriously, but she knew she had to improve her vocal ability, meaning she squeezed every ounce of soul she had into her vocal lessons. She also, like with her dance lessons, tended to stay after to work on some key points solo. This was a good way for her to clear her mind and not focus on anything else except improvement. 

One particular day, she was beaten down by her vocal instructor. The song that was selected for her was written in a rather high key. This was to challenge her and test her limits, as well as see how far she had come. Belle’s natural vocal register was rather low. There was nothing wrong with it, but there was pressure to conform to traditional idol standards of having a high register, as a female idol. The pressure was mainly from her vocal coach, but there was a desire within Belle to succeed and be able to do the standard in K-Pop. 

She was in the room designated for vocal coaching after hours, and was staring blankly at the sheet of music before her. Nearly half the notes seemed out of reach no matter how she tried and strained her voice. She was frustrated, yes, but she knew she needed to succeed. She glanced at her phone to see a text from Jeongin, which only fueled her resolve to be the best.

Jeongin: You got this! I hope you get some sleep soon… call me if you need anything

She sent a quick thank you message back and resumed her practice.

After a few more attempts at the piece with the same results, she heard a light knock on the door. She cracked it open to see a boy standing there with a few small chip bags in his hands.

“Hi?” Belle timidly said to the stranger.

“Hey, I know this is sudden, but the vending machine gave me some extras by accident, and I heard you in here and wanted to know if you wanted some.” The boy was obviously nervous by asking, but Belle found it endearing, and very generous to be willing to give a stranger late-night snacks.

“I would love some! Thank you for offering. What do you have?” After being shown his limited selection, Belle makes her choice and thanks him once again.

“What are you doing here so late at night anyways?” The girl questions the boy, who has grown more comfortable in her presence.

“I’m working on a song, and I just couldn’t get it how I want. I just finished, thankfully, but I guess  kinda lost track of time while I was singing.” The boy says, bringing his hand to the nape of his neck in unease just thinking about the sheer amount of time he spent rehearsing.

“I feel you on that. I have been trying to sing this damn song for hours, but I’m just not getting it.” Belle muttered in exasperation. The boy looked at the sheet music Belle was glaring at and let out a small noise of indignation.

“You have to sing that? You seem to have a lower register based on how you talk…” he trailed off in thought. “I could try to help if you want?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t ask you to do that. You already got me snacks and you were ready to go home.” Belle looked at the boy as if he had grown three heads for offering to help her. 

“Nonsense, it is practically my duty to help you. Now, what is your name?”

“Belle. Your’s?”

“Seungmin. Now, let’s hear what you have so far.” Seungmin analyzes Belle’s posture, oral movements, vocal technique, and the sheet music as she sings. It is almost scary how he switched from a pleasant and easy-going teenager to a almost professional artist within the span of seconds- and he is only a trainee! 

After Belle had finished, she looked to Seungmin who looked deep in thought. “Your technique is the only thing that needs work. I’m surprised your vocal coach didn’t tell you about this. You seem to be reaching and straining for the higher notes while still in your chest voice. Try putting a bit less pressure on your diaphram and focusing the epicenter of your voice further up and closer to your head rather than your chest.” Belle took in every word Seungmin said like it was the very oxygen she needed to breathe. “Now, take that and try it again. You’ve got this. I believe in you.”

She shot him a smile at his encouraging words, took in a deep breath, and began the song once again. The notes that moments ago seemed so out of reach were now attainable. The song flowed with such a grace that Belle herself wasn’t aware she could produce. Of course, it was not perfect, but it was so much better that Belle was teary-eyed by the end of it.

“Holy shit.” She breathed out once she had completed the song.

“Holy shit indeed.” Seungmin said with a cocky smile adorning his lips. “Again!”

seven: kim woojin

Trainee life is never easy. Everyone who knows about K-Pop knows this fact. Trainees are usually so busy and wrapped up in the monthly activities and weekly classes that they have little time to contemplate this during their actual training period. There are times when a trainee just stops the grueling activities they willingly partake in catch up with them, and they are forced to face the questions and concerns of reality. Of course this has happened to Belle, honestly more times than the girl is willing to admit. She usually finds comfort in those she is close to. However, one special day, she gets to be the calm and anchor for another.

A group dance practice had just ended. It consisted of about ten trainees and a dance coach that was instructing them on how to properly dance to GOT7’s song “Never Ever”. The class ended and Belle was gathering her belongings when she noticed a fellow trainee sitting next to his things idly. This was a red flag, as no trainee usually wasted time doing nothing; they always tried to cram their social and family lives in when they were not enduring the training. The second red flag was the crestfallen look that graced his face. He looked hurt, confused, and heart-broken. 

Belle contemplated not going over to the boy, but her hesitation flew out the window when his eyes became more teary by the second. By this point, it was just the two in the practice room. Everyone else had gone about their day to do what had to be done; these two seemed stuck in a moment that never ended.

Belle walked over to the boy. She recognized him: Kim Woojin. Belle thought him to be an amazing vocalist and she believed him to be kind, though the two had never properly met. She knelt down before the boy, “Hey, are you okay?” He looked up, startled by the sudden voice, and the sight almost broke Belle’s heart. His eyes were teary- it was obvious he was doing his best to not break down completely. 

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet and wavering. Belle frowned at his answer.

“Are you sure? I know we don’t know each other, but that could make me a good person to vent to. You don’t have to, but the offer stands if you need it.” A moment of silence passes the two and then he breaks.

“What if I’m not good enough?” His question hit home for Belle. Every trainee struggled with this, and it has caused many talented individuals to quit out of fear of rejection. “What if I am wasting this amazing period of my life for a dream that I can never attain?” Woojin lets a single tear trail down his cheek before hurriedly wiping it away. Another moment of comfortable silence passed and Woojin found solstace in another person being with him and not judging him during this vulnerable moment. 

“I know we’re strangers, but your talent is indescribable. If anyone is good enough, it is you.” Belle’s kind and true words strike a chord with Woojin. He looked to the girl and gave her a smile full of appreciation and hope.

“Thank you.”

eight: hwang hyunjin

Another month arrived and another monthly evaluation was assigned. This month was special, as it was an opportunity to show a different side of the dance-focused trainees; there was a mandatory duet opportunity that would replace the normal evaluation. Partners were assigned based on skill level, and each pair was given a genre of dance. 

When Belle was called in to meet her partner, she was immediately met with disappointment. Hwang Hyunjin was her partner. Belle knew he was talented, and everyone knew he was attractive, but there was a personal issue here. Hyunjin and Jisung were well known enemies. No one knows exactly how the feud began, but Belle was adamant about siding with and supporting her friend. 

After gaining the needed information, the two left and only spoke to exchange details of where and when to meet in order to practice. The time to do so came far too quickly for Belle’s liking, and she found herself sitting a few feet from the man while browsing their phones to find a song that fit their dance theme. The theme was hip-hop, yet every song seemed to only appeal to one of the duo.

“Can we please just agree on a song?” Hyunjin pleaded with Belle after fifteen minutes of constant back-and-forth over song suggestions.

“Suggest something decent then.” Belle knew she was being sassy, maybe borderline bitchy, but based on how he had treated Jisung, this was what she deemed best. Hyunjin groaned in frustration, and went back to searching his phone.

After a few more song titles were thrown around, he finally had had enough. “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t necessarily hate you, but you are rude to a close friend of mine.”

“That’s no reason to be this mean.”

“I believe it is the perfect reason to do so.”

“You’re so goddamn infuriating!”

“Ditto.” The rest of the day progressed similarly; nothing got accomplished with the two bickering. 

The next day, they saw that in order to survive the trainee lifestyle, they had to work together. While not happy about it, they did what they had to do. They picked a song within five minutes and began choreographing soon thereafter. 

As the days went on, they found that they were not dreading the other’s company. It was a strange shift that both recognized, yet did not speak of. It was refreshing to have another friend at the company for both Belle and Hyunjin. Belle realized that she didn’t have to partake in her friend’s anger towards the boy, which changed her entire attitude towards the boy. She saw him through her own lens, not through anyone else’s.

“Okay, so how about we do a freestyle part of the dance? We could each show off our more personal and technical dance moves.” Belle suggested one day at practice. 

“I think it could work. The other person could be a bit in the back like a hype man, y’know?”

“That would be cool. Having Hwang Hyunjin as my hype man.”

“I already am, you idiot.” He gave Belle a playful shove and they continued on rehearsing.

The day to perform for the monthly evaluation panel came too soon for the duo’s liking. They were both confident in their choreography and each other, but the perfectionist side of them craved more time to practice.

They entered the room and nodded towards each other before taking their places to begin the dance. The music began and it seemed like the rest of the room faded away, leaving only the two of them. The teamwork they inadvertently built up showed and they moved as one entity. Their emotions poured from the dance almost as if they were expressing it through a heartfelt speech, not just through movement. 

They ended the dance and bowed to the judges before exiting.

“How do you think we did?” Belle asked Hyunjin, her nerves were evident in her voice.

“I think we killed it. How about I take the best dance partner out for a celebratory meal after we get our scores.” Belle laughs at his boldness. 

“That sounds like a plan, partner.” Belle’s mind was in awe over the fact that someone she once disliked could become a friend, and that the past could be pushed aside to succeed and gain companionship.

“Stop calling me partner. You sound like a cowgirl, idiot.”

nine: lee felix

Mornings at JYP always seemed intense. Dozens of interns and managers were bustling around prepping for an eventful day, artists were emerging and beginning their daily routines, producers and executives roamed the halls at random, and hand-fulls of trainees were scampering around trying to navigate the seemingly moving walls of the company. To put it lightly, it had great potential to be overwhelming. 

Belle had become immune to the chaos of the hallways but always did her best to avoid busiest ones. It wasn’t a matter of if she could handle it, but rather an issue of could the hallways handle her. Yet one day, she had to go down the main passageway and face the hoards of people running and passing her. It was annoying and a nuisance to the girl. 

She was almost to the end when she saw a boy pushed against the wall looking up and down the long hallway with a perplexed look on his face. This wasn’t an uncommon sight, but there was something about his kid that made her want to help. Maybe it was the innocence in his eyes, or the soft presece he exuded, but she made her way over to him.

“Hey, are you okay? You look a little overwhelmed.” She had a small smile on her face, as to not scare him off, but the poor boy still looked intimidated.

“I’m looking for practice room 204.” His voice was shaky, yet he was trying to play it off. His Korean was a bit broken, yet understandable.

“I can help. Is there another language you want to converse in?”

“English?”

“Ok! Hi, my name is Belle.”

“I’m Felix.” His accent when speaking English was a shock to Belle; she believed it to be Australian.

“Nice to meet you! And sorry that this hallway is such a bear. It gets better eventually, I promise.”On the walk to the practice room, the two continued talking. Belle discovered Felix was rather quiet, but when he spoke it was well-worth listening. Though she had only spoken to the boy for a few minutes, she was already quite fond of him. The rest of the hallways seemed to quiet down and almost disappear as they focused on the other in an attempt to block it out.

“There’s actually another trainee here that is from Australia. I could introduce you two if you would like.” Belle offered, and the boy’s face lit up.

“That would be great! And thank you so much for the help.”

“It’s no problem. I got to meet you, and that is all the thanks I need.”

[obscure-sentimentalist]

old enough boys. “Not the best with words, but I’m told I’m great with a hug.”

(Here it is: that very first hug.)

From the Comforting Cuddles Starters list

Takes place between the first meeting and the ending scene of the May 2008 section of Old enough--we’re going alllllll the way back to the beginning here!

May 2008

“Well, this has been one of the more… enlightening benders I’ve been on in recent memory.”

Connor cocks his head at that, giving Tommy a just-short-of-judgmental look. “That’s an awfully nonchalant way to acknowledge the gravity of the situation,” he points out, resting his right arm on the roof of the car.

(He doesn’t remark on the classification of Tommy’s latest activities as a “bender,” though it does strike a note of concern in the back of his mind. The sinking of the Queen’s Gambit was covered extensively enough last fall that Connor was at least aware of the tragedy, but learning of Tommy’s closeness to Oliver Queen puts things in a new, more personal perspective.

Grief can be a destructive thing, if left festering and unhealthily addressed long enough. Connor only hopes that Tommy will be safe from that particular spiral.)

Tommy shrugs, conceding that point before he reaches into the back seat to retrieve his lone bag. Swinging the loosely-packed navy blue duffel onto his left shoulder with a flourish, he makes sure the door latches securely and begins to make his way around to the front of the car.

“Hey, in my defense, I’m still not entirely certain that this isn’t a side effect of getting socked in the face.” He waves a hand at the shiner around his right eye—now in full bloom, a couple days in—keeping his fingers a safe distance away as not to inadvertently graze the sensitive skin.

Connor pulls his lips into a thin line, leveling a displeased look at his maybe-brother. “I offered to check you for a concussion, first thing,” he reminds Tommy. “You could have taken me up on that then—or, really, any other time before you needed a ride to the airport—if you’re so concerned.”

Tommy makes an incorrect buzzer noise in response, pointing an accusing finger. “You asked if I had already been looked over, and in a way that was clearly meant to be a dig at me. Also, having the suspected figment of my concussed imagination judge whether or not I have a head injury seems like a faulty method.”

Alright, fair.

“Well, in that case, I guess my only advice would be to get an examination as soon as you get back, and hopefully, in a few days, we’ll have more concrete proof one way or another,” Connor says, glancing over to match Tommy’s stare.

That sobers the light, teasing mood as both men settle into an awed hush at the reminder. Neither dares verbally acknowledge the hair and blood samples and cheek swabs carefully collected the day before, now awaiting delivery to a trusted medical contact for testing—and, ideally, confirmation (multiple times over).

This is just too precarious a situation—stacked with hopes higher than Connor personally wants to admit—to not be a little superstitious.

Another plane takes off directly overhead, engines roaring and drowning out that delicate silence. The sound snaps Connor’s attention back to the present, reminding him of exactly where they are and why.

“I should probably get going,” Tommy admits, twisting his wrist to glance at a watch he belatedly realizes he doesn’t have. That arm instead moves smoothly to his bag strap, giving it a tug to ensure that it’s sitting securely on his shoulder. “Coach class, that’s what I get for catching a flight across the border when Dad has the jet, and I don’t book the return ticket simultaneously.”

“My condolences,” Connor says dryly, giving Tommy a not-so-pitying look.

He gets a mocking face in response, but Tommy eventually relaxes into a friendlier smile. It wobbles slightly, though, as another moment passes and still his feet remain immovable, as if his shoes have melted into the parking lot asphalt.

It seems as if Connor’s not the only one who’s uncertain of where things go from here. Still, he’s willing to give it a try.

“So, uh, goodbyes,” Connor finally stumbles, tapping his hand against the roof in a one-two before pushing off and uncertainly rounding the front of the car. He stops once he’s just out of arm’s reach from his probably-brother, so as not to catch Tommy off-guard.

“Yeah,” Tommy eventually agrees on a half-laugh, shoulders hunching awkwardly to keep his duffel bag from sliding down as his hands disappear into his jeans pockets. “If there’s some sort of etiquette for meeting your lookalike—whether or not you turn out to actually be related—I sure don’t know about it.” He rocks back on his heels as his lips pull into a “what can you do” sort of expression.

Connor may have an answer to that.

“Well,” he starts, arms splaying out as his shoulders rise in a casual shrug. “Not the best with words, but I’m told I’m great with a hug.”

That brings Tommy’s feet back flat to the ground, securing him in place as bewilderment blooms on his face.

“Wow,” he starts, surveying Connor up and down with boggled eyes. “And here I was expecting you to offer, like, a stuffy, cordial handshake and your business card, or something.”

Connor pulls a sour face at that, but doesn’t back down or lower his arms. “Yeah, I get it, you think I’m boring, a wet blanket…”

“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth,” Tommy warns, giving Connor a pointed glance. A beat, then he corrects, “Killjoy, maybe. Missing a certain joie de vivre…”

“You’re just rephrasing.” Connor frowns, and blurts before he can think better of it, “And I resent those remarks. I’m not just some sort of… moody, unfeeling workaholic—I do know how to have fun, you know.”

“Sure, Connie.”

Frosty silence seems like the appropriate response to that playfully condescending acknowledgement.

“What did you just call me?”

Tommy only grins smugly back.

Oh, so that’s how they’re playing things.

“Look, do you want a hug or not, asshole?” Connor finally snaps, jerking his still-outstretched arms for emphasis. If Tommy insists on making this goodbye chock-full of lighthearted insults and teasing jabs, then Connor might as well wrap his sincere offer with the same sharp paper.

Hopefully, if anything, it’ll get his… his brother to make a decision already.

Sure enough, there’s a beat of surprised silence at the renewed offer, before it’s swept under by Tommy’s dramatic sigh.

“Well, if you insist.” The tone makes it sound like compliance stemming out of indifference, but it’s so over-the-top that it’s unquestionably a front. Still, Tommy steps forward and opens his arms, albeit a bit hesitantly.

That’s the only invitation Connor needs to latch on and drag Tommy in with a tight squeeze.

It’s hard to ignore the startle response that makes Tommy jolt and his back go pin-straight in the hold, but the fact that he doesn’t pull away at all is why Connor isn’t more concerned. From the prolonged stillness, it seems that Tommy is stunned rather than uncomfortable—almost like he’d expected something much more half-hearted, just for show. A hasty embrace that’s a hug in execution only.

Connor appends to that observation a moment later, when the tension sloughs off Tommy’s body and he clutches at Connor like the first gulp of air after a massive crying jag. It would be one thing if he hadn’t anticipated a hug like this and had simply appreciated what it turned out to be; this reaction reads like Tommy’s received something he so desperately wanted—needed—but hadn’t dared hope he would be given.  

That just makes Connor want to squeeze even tighter, both to validate Tommy’s wishes, and prove that he needs this just as much.        

As right as it would feel for this hug to last so much longer—it’s quite possibly making up for twenty-three years of separation, after all—airline schedules are not so accommodating.

Tommy draws back first (much as Connor hoped, out of concern over breaking the hug before Tommy was ready), clapping a hand on Connor’s back in thanks as he does so. In already-perfect unison, they both drop their arms from the hold, allowing themselves to move more freely.

“I actually do have to go now,” Tommy says with a nervous laugh, waving an arm at the terminal. “If I wait any longer, I might end up stranded, and with my luck, Dad’s actually going to notice that I’m not in Starling…”

“Of course,” Connor cuts in with a nod of understanding (and silently files away yet another offhand comment about Tommy and his relationship with his—their?—father). “I’ll… I’ll get back to you soon.”

Tommy acknowledges that promise with a small smile and bob of the head, before tugging on his duffel strap once more and finally heading off to his destination.

He makes it about six steps away from the car before he pivots on his heel, turning back to meet Connor’s eyes.

“You know, I really…” Tommy starts, pausing to swallow thickly. After a moment, he makes as if to continue, but his mouth clicks shut before a single sound escapes. There’s a certain wariness and alarm in his eyes as he does so, like he’s forced back an admission out of fear that giving it voice will jinx the truth, or that he’s alone in that opinion.

Connor can at least offer reassurance on the latter.

“Yeah,” he agrees softly, “I really hope so, too.”

[leveragingliberty]

To The Christian Who Is Sick of Politics

Over the past five years, I have ridden a rollercoaster of emotions regarding the somewhat scary state of American politics.

From my conversations with fellow believers, I would wager many of you have been passengers on a similar emotional journey.

Does any of this sound familiar?...

During the last presidential election, I am emboldened, impassioned, ready to speak my opinion. The stakes are high, and I am not going down without a fight.

When the election is over, win or lose, I am ready to breathe a heavy sigh of relief, hoping to return to normalcy and civility, ready to think about anything but what went on in the oval office.  

As time goes on, and it becomes apparent that peace is not in the cards, my passion dims and is replaced by frustration and disgust.

When my phone buzzes about twelve times a day, announcing another knock-down, drag-out, fight between grown men wearing suits and ties, I consider calling my cell phone company. Did they offer an insurance policy for screens that were cracked in fits of anger? Because if I see one more fake news notification I would not be responsible for my actions.

I decide to stop watching the news because it is bad for my blood pressure.

When I open my mouth to speak my opinion, I am shot down before I can finish my sentence, labeled a “bigot” because of something I don’t believe and didn’t do. I make a pact with myself to never speak of anything political in public ever again.

-I watch in helplessness as everything I stood for was mocked and belittled, dipped into deep, agonizing sadness as evil is paraded around as good.

-This time, as I go to open my mouth, I hesitate. I can either keep talking and get hurt, or I can go quiet and numb, let someone else speak for me.

I convince myself this is ok because no one is listening away.

-The talking heads keep shouting and fibbing and throwing dirt and it’s all just so jumbled and contorted and wrong I want to throw my hands over my ears and scream.

I am disgusted.

I am defeated.

I want to throw a rock at the television.

I am tired.

I am so, so tired.

This is the word I have heard repeated more than any other in regards to this election cycle-tired.

We are tired of the games.

Tired of the name calling and bullying that substitutes for proving your point.

Tired of the loss of logic.

Tired of struggling to know what’s actually happening.

Tired of the lies, lies, lies, told to us with smiling faces and smug, eyebrow raises.

To be honest, I’m tired of trying.

As I have heard a thousand times in the past few months, “I’m just ready for it to be over.”

But as I go to boycott the news, unfollow half my friends, and drown my sorrows in cute kitten videos, I hesitate.

Because this is what I thought four Novembers ago…“I just want it to be over.”

If this past four years has taught us anything, it’s that evil doesn’t give up.

“Win” or “lose,” darkness keeps gnawing away like a cancer, keeps eating away at the foundations of liberty.

And I am a fool to believe that the battle will be over when the last ballot is counted.

What is happening in our culture is so much bigger than a presidential election. This is about a clash of kingdoms. I am not here to discuss the merits of either party’s candidate, this would miss the point.  

I am here to remind myself that whether or not I choose to tune out the news, and disappear into my own little world, America has reached a breaking point.

Whether or not I want to believe it, or ignore it, the decisions of the talking heads behind the screens directly affect my ability, not to practice my faith, but whether or not I am able to publicly share my faith in an unhindered manner.

No matter how politically incorrect this sounds, and how many people stop reading after this sentence, the progressive left aims to systematically strip American believers of the ability to publicly express their faith. They want to label the Gospel, the ultimate expression of love, as hate speech. This is not my “bias” speaking, this is simply true.

We can see it happening right now as Supreme Court hopeful Amy Conan Barrett, is under fire for her Christian beliefs. Her faith may, “hinder her decision-making abilities,” rendering her “unfit for office.”  

If we think hiding in our little corners and ignoring the plight of our sister in the limelight, will save us from the same fate, we make a devastating mistake. (one that has been repeated throughout history with horrific consequences.)

The left has been pounding down the door to religious liberty for years now, hacking into our own back pockets with constant imaging rolling across our phone screens, making court decisions here and there, that may seem far away and inconsequential, but lay the groundwork to flip the legal system in their favor.

Whether or not we are given a four-year extension, someday that door is going to fall. The crushing jaws of globalism are closing in, and no matter how hard we try to wriggle free, one day they are going to shut.  

I ask myself, why does this even matter for me, as a Christian? Hasn’t the church always thrived under persecution? Shouldn’t I be excited to suffer? Ultimately, I am not a citizen of the United States of America. This is not my home. I belong to a separate Kingdom in a totally separate world, to a King who will never let me down.  

Shouldn’t I be justified in closing my curtains, cuddling on the couch with my babies, and watching “Andy Griffith” reruns until Jesus comes back?

It matters because God says it matters.

No, religious liberty is not required for the Kingdom of God to flourish, BUT Paul says something in 1 Timothy that gives me great pause and perspective on God’s view of government.

The Apostle Paul, possibly history’s greatest example of thriving under persecution, specifically commands Christians to pray, “For all people, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way. This is good, and it is pleasing in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the Truth.”

God is not interested in American democracy because He is very patriotic and wants His children to be able to relax and enjoy life without fear of imprisonment. As John Piper explains, “God approves of our prayers for peace and tranquility because He approves of the advance of the Gospel. Peace is not the main thing; salvation is the main thing. Tranquility is not the goal, the knowledge of the truth of God, that’s the goal.” https://www.desiringgod.org/messages/pray-for-kings-and-all-in-high-positions

Liberty is precious because it is an opportunity. Whether or not we have been taking advantage of this privilege, religious liberty provides an incredible and unique outlet to spread the Gospel. We should desire and seek religious freedom not so we can live comfy lives, but so that we can leverage that freedom to reach as many people as possible for Christ. Before the jaws “shut” and He comes in judgment against this fallen planet, God wants to bring as many people as possible into the Kingdom that will last forever.

So here’s my question for the Christian sick of politics…

 How are you currently leveraging your freedom for the Gospel’s sake?

In your disgust of the current cultural crisis have you inadvertently shut yourself off from the very people you are here to reach?

If you unplug, and go silent now on purpose, you may regret it when you are forcibly silenced by someone else in a few years.

So go..

Speak while you can. Tell that friend who’s been on your heart, talk about Jesus when you’re standing on the sidlelines at your son’s soccer game.

Post while you can. Share that verse. Reshare that link. Type out your testimony.

Do whatever you can WHILE you can!

“Make the best use of the time because the days are evil.”

Aren’t you glad Jesus didn’t give up when your darkness got too disturbing? When taking your sin got a little too messy?

God, give us the courage, in a time where we would rather throw up our hands and walk away, to roll up our sleeves and dive into the hard work of evangelism.

Go and love your little patch of darkness into light. Shout into your microphone until it’s ripped from your hand!

And when the hammer comes down and the door to religious liberty splinters on the floor of our nation’s capital, you’ll already know how to fight. Your sword will already be in your hand.

Let’s not waste our liberty, only to discover what a precious thing we had when it’s taken away, “The night is nearly over, the day is almost here. So let us put aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light.”

Before we can blink, the sound of evil knocking on our doors is going to sound a little different. The believers are going to be feasting with the King and the world is going to be pounding on the doors in desperation, begging to come inside.

And the King will say, “I never knew you.”

When He returns may He find us on the streets, dragging in the lost to the Feast before it’s too late.

So for Heaven’s sake, go vote! Pray for our leaders! Let’s seek to preserve religious liberty for as long as possible.

DO SOMETHING WITH IT while you still have the chance.

Whatever happens in November, don’t disappear.

[welllpthisishappening]

Four Eyes

I’ve still got prompts. I’m still filling prompts. Because I hate not responding when very nice people request fic. So here are some more words. That gif only goes with this story because Emma continues to be super attracted to her increasingly old husband. And his glasses. @technicallysizzlingcloud​ asked for a fic where Emma falls for Killian’s eyes and this is...kind of that. Would it be a prompt by me if I didn’t only half follow the prompt?

So, here we’ve got nearly six-thousand words of semi-plotless fluff, F. Scott Fitzgerald references, interventions, Snow White, and kissing. I am who I am.

Also in Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

----

Honestly, the whole thing is kind of Hope’s fault.

And Emma does, in fact, realize that blaming her six-year-old is a little absurd and, overall, kind of rude, but well, it is.

Because Hope cannot see the blackboard.

Emma’s mom mentions it one night, an off-handed comment about squinting eyes and their tendency to cause headaches and bad grades and it might not be a bad idea to make an appointment and Emma hadn’t even realized there was an optometrist in Storybrooke, but apparently Victor knows a guy and the guy is from the Land of Untold Stories and--

Hope gets glasses.

From Dr. Eckleburg.

Who is actually a very nice man. He doesn’t mention the diminishing returns of the American dream once.

And that’s also kind of absurd, but Emma’s been running on metaphorical fumes for a week and she has got to find someone else to blame for all of this besides her six-year-old.

She can’t. Because her six-year-old really did need glasses and that required an eye exam with Dr. Eckleburg and that eye exam ended with Killian squinting at a slightly antiquated sheet of paper with letters he also couldn’t read.

“Who could even see these?” he mutters, leaning against the wall of the room with his feet crossed at the ankles. Hope’s perched on Emma’s legs, her lips twisted into something that feels far too familiar because she’s not all that interested in getting glasses.

“You’ve got to sit still, kid,” Emma mumbles, and Killian’s eyes are impossibly narrow. “And I think most people can read almost all the letters, babe. That’s why this is the test.”

“Well, that’s absurd.”

“Can you not read the letters on the bottom of the thing?”

Killian quirks an eyebrow. “Do you not know the name for this particular exam, Swan?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“What’s the name of this?”

“No, no, no, I asked first.” Hope squirms again, apparently determined to prove how many limbs she has, and Emma has to tighten both her arms around her middle to ensure she’s not inadvertently elbowed in the stomach. That would do something else to Killian’s eyes. “Those are the rules,” Emma adds, but those words only cause Killian’s lips to twitch slightly and this is not going according to plan.

“It’s fine.”

“Try that one more time.”

“Fine,” Killian repeats, complete with a rather determined head nod that stopped working somewhere like two kids and several curses ago. Hope’s left foot collides with Emma’s thigh. “C’mere, you little sea monster,” Killian mutters, hauling Hope over his shoulder and it takes her approximately four seconds to dissolve into a laughter that makes every single inch of Emma’s soul rise up in something akin to joy.

It’s admittedly a weird feeling to have in Dr. Eckleburg’s office.

She always hated that book.

Far too many metaphors.

“You’ve got to stop twitching so much,” Killian continues, ducking his head to press against Hope’s neck and that works about as well as Emma expected it to. Which is to say that it does not work. She keeps laughing and smiling and for a second Emma forgets about her husband’s eyes, but then those same eyes flicker back towards the sign and—

“Read that second to last line,” Emma mutters, fully prepared for the slight glare she gets in return. Hope stops laughing.

“Can’t you see too?” she whispers, leaning back until she’s practically arched against Killian’s forearms and the consistent similarities between Hope Swan-Jones and an actual sea monster are almost astounding.

Killian’s tongue darts between his lips, a clench to his jaw that Emma is impossibly familiar with. He takes a deep breath, slow enough that his shoulders shift with the force of it and—“I don’t want to get glasses,” Hope adds. Emma’s whole soul…shatters. Or something. Possibly something less dramatic.  

“I don’t think that’s entirely negotiable, little love,” Killian reasons, but that only gets another pointed twist of lips and a nose scrunch that Emma’s really starting to find kind of offensive. It is incredibly off-putting to see her own mannerisms reflected back on her kid.

Hope huffs, brows furrowing until there’s a rather obvious pinch between them and it takes Emma longer than she’d like to actually stand up. She lets her fingers ghost over the back of Hope’s shirt, fabric rumpling underneath it and she’s really not all that surprised by what happens next.

“Alright,” Killian continues, “what if I try and read that last line—”

“—You can’t read that last line,” Emma mumbles, resting her chin on her hand and Killian rolls his eyes.

“If I try and read that last line with whatever this doctor’s name is…”

“Seriously, this is not helping.”

Hope laughs again. It’s loud and honest and somehow still some kind of tinkling noise that Emma is certain works under her skin and wraps around most of her joints and several different internal organs, settling into a rhythm with her pulse and she’s going to blame all these metaphors on F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Like a normal person.

“I will try and read those last few lines,” Killian says, Emma’s jaw dropping just a bit with that last addendum. “Do not, Swan.”

“Did I say a word?”

“You’re doing that thing with your face, love.”

“What thing?” Hope asks brightly, any fear of glasses forgotten in banter that is also impossibly old and somehow just as easy as ever. Even if Emma is a little worried about the consistently failing eyesight of her family.

She hopes Henry can see when he travels between realms.

“That thing,” Killian says, nodding in Emma’s general direction. She smiles. He shakes his head. “And, aye, the last few lines. So—” He shrugs, another deflection that makes something spark in the back of her brain, but it’s gone almost as soon as Dr. Eckleburg comes back with a prescription for Hope and questions from Killian and, so, Captain Hook, scourge of several different seas and deputy of the All-Realm, who still makes at least half of the dwarves cower in something close to fear, gets reading glasses.

Bifocals, technically.

And it consistently and constantly messes with Emma’s head.

He looks stupid attractive in reading glasses.

Bifocals, technically.

It's been a week since the appointment and something like seventy-two hours since he did some stupid thing where he used his hook to push the glasses back up the bridge of his nose and Emma is having a difficult time coping. Like, at all.

Hope’s glasses are pink. She also looks adorable. It almost makes Emma forget that this is, in fact, all her fault. Maybe they should have discussed Lasik. Or spells.

There’s got to be a spell to fix eye sight.

“If you down anymore tea, I’m going to report you,” Ruby says, leaning over the counter until her elbows are resting on fiberglass and Emma does her best not to scowl. It does not work.

That is an oddly frustrating theme for her recently.

“I am paying for this,” Emma points out. “That means I get to drink however much I want.”

“Does it though?”

“Capitalism or whatever.”

“Yeah, yeah, following up with whatever definitely proved your point. What’s your deal?”

“I have no deal.”

“You have at least two deals that I can think of, but I’m willing to guess that the list goes all the way up to ten and I’d really love to streamline this conversation.”

Emma barely gets her mouth open, not entirely sure what she’s going to say but it is going to be something before the door to her right swings open and the bell does whatever a bell does. Rings. Incessantly. Ariel marches into the diner with a smile on her face and a kid hanging off her side and both Elsa and Mulan look like they’re desperately trying not to laugh.

It's a courtesy Ruby does not share. She throws her whole head back when she cackles, an arm around her middle and smile stretching across her face until Emma is tempted to make several jokes about wolves. She doesn’t. Mostly because she actually hates tea.

That’s definitely, like, thing number four on her list.

It's not as important as the eye glasses thing.

“Did you do this?” Emma asks, Ruby’s head snapping forward quickly enough that for a second, she genuinely believes she’s going to bite her. She doesn’t. She flashes what may actually be too many teeth for an average human, but her jaw stays still and the hint of laughter lingering at the corners of her mouth is also frustrating.

“Are you kidding me?”

“You’re telling me this all just happened—what? Suddenly? Spontaneously?”

“Well, not totally,” Ariel admits, and Emma makes some kind of noise that she hopes sounds like triumph. It just hurts the back of her throat.

Ruby holds both hands up in mock surrender. “I knew they were going to be here after the meeting.”

“There was a meeting?” Emma asks. Elsa makes her own noise, a click of her tongue and quick bump of her shoulder against Emma’s.

“Your mom wanted to talk about trade negotiations or something. It wasn’t…you really didn’t have to be there. I didn’t want to be there.”

“I have no idea what is going on.”

“You know who was there?” Ruby asks, clearly far more in control of the conversation than any of them. Emma blinks. “Your husband. Who you’ve been gawking at. For days.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you not know the meaning of the word gawk?”

“I need more tea.”

“No, I’m cutting you off.”

“You know that has caffeine in it too,” Elsa reasons, and Emma rolls her whole head in response. She does not look all that surprised. “I’m just saying. Anyway, can we focus here because—”

“—Killian’s freaking out,” Ariel cuts in, voice rising on every letter and that’s not really what Emma expected. But then again she didn’t expect both her kid and her husband to need glasses at the same time and she probably should have realized she’d be into the glasses thing.

She’s kind of…into everything that has to do with her husband.

It's ridiculous.

But, like, in a romantic way.

“Well, that was subtle,” Mulan mutters, dropping onto the stool next to Emma and ignoring Ruby’s shouts of indignation when she leans over the counter to grab the baked goods stashed just underneath. “Please, you are very bad at hiding things.”

“Much like Captain Killian Jones,” Ariel adds. “Please, be impressed by that.”

Emma tilts her head. “By what…exactly?”

“My ability to keep the conversation focused. You know your mom tried to show us a video of your brother and Hope riding a bike no less than twenty-six times. It’s a miracle we ever get anything done.”

“Yeah, but she feeds you so…”

“I feel like I should be offended by that,” Ruby muses. She’s leaning against the container behind her, head resting on the door and the light in it makes her hair look almost phosphorescent. Emma clearly needs to get some more sleep.

She’s a little annoyed her mom didn’t invite her to the meeting.

“No one should be offended by anything,” Elsa says. “That’s the point of this.”

“And this is, what?” Emma asks. “An intervention?”

“That sounds very aggressive.”

“Which is not what we’re doing,” Mulan adds, but it’s difficult to take that promise seriously when most of the words get caught in the blueberry muffin she’s eating.

Elsa clicks her tongue again. “It’s not. Also, your mom had a reason for not inviting you. Aside, from well—you know…”

“Killian knows how to get everywhere,” Ariel interrupts, only to be met by several exasperated sounds. Emma makes a gesture at Ruby, an unspoken command for her own blueberry muffin that gets her a rather pointed tongue and distinct eye roll.

And a blueberry muffin.

So, points or whatever.

“This is not the direct conversation I was promised,” Emma says, unwrapping the baked good so she can immediately flip it over.

Ruby scoffs. “You’re an animal. Who eats a muffin like that?”

“Why are you judging this right now? Also, I am saving the top for the end, which is the best part, and everyone knows that. Also, also, you weren’t invited to my mom’s super top-secret meeting either.”

“That’s because I have a real job. Also, she didn’t invite you because she needed Killian’s sea-faring expertise and well, if you’re there, then—”

“—You’re making eyes,” Elsa shouts. Several heads from several different realms turn their direction.

And Emma has to glance down to make sure she hasn’t immediately combusted on the spot. She hasn’t, but there’s a definite energy lingering in the spaces between the fingers that aren’t holding a goddamn blueberry muffin and the whole thing has reached absurd levels far quicker than she expected.

“That’s definitely true,” Ruby agrees. “It’s like…it’s stupid.”

“Stupid,” Emma echoes. She’s got blueberry under her nail.

“Excessively stupid. Especially since he hasn’t really noticed.”

She almost drops the muffin. Also stupid. “Wait, what?”

“This is kind of the reason we’re here,” Ariel explains. “Because, uh…well, we know you’ve been kind of busy, so maybe you didn’t notice and—”

“—What the hell are you talking about?”

“Killian thinks the glasses look old. You think the glasses make him look good. Someone should say something and then you should stop making eyes in such public places because I’m, like, ninety-two percent positive you’re making your dad really uncomfortable.”

She drops the muffin.

Ruby groans.

“I am…confused,” Emma says slowly, mostly because her brain cannot possibly process these words in this specific order and it hadn’t even crossed her mind that Killian would think anything of the glasses. That’s not great. That’s… “Oh, damn,” she breathes, and Elsa’s staring at her with something far too close to pity to be entirely comfortable. “Are you serious?”

Ariel hums. “I mean he didn’t say anything, but—”

“—But?”

“Well, I mean, Hope wasn’t all that into getting the glasses, right?”

“You think Killian doesn’t want to wear glasses because our kid didn’t?”

“No, I think Killian didn’t think he needed glasses, was slightly stunned to learn that Hope didn’t want them because she was worried about kids making fun in class—”

“—Oh my God.”

“This does not make you a horrible person, Em,” Ruby reasons, but her gaze has turned a little placating too and Emma genuinely does not remember standing up. “You’ve got some other things on your mind.”

Emma huffs, a breath of air that makes most of her body ache and she digs the heel of her hand into her back. “Ok, ok, ok,” she says, stepping dangerously close to the muffin, but it’s also kind of difficult to see over the swell of her stomach now and she can’t stop clicking her teeth together. “So, wait a second. You’re telling me, honestly, right now in this diner that Killian, my Killian, is nervous that…what? He’s got to wear glasses, so I think he’s old?”

“I mean, I think he thinks he’s old,” Ariel counters. “He’s mostly annoyed by the whole thing.”

“Shit.”

“Should I repeat the horrible person thing from before?” Ruby quips, and if Emma were more dexterous she’d totally pick the muffin up off the ground and throw it at her. As it is she can only glare and glower and Ruby snickers when she moves her hand over her mouth.

“It’s the dumbest thing we’ve ever seen, honestly,” Mulan says. “Mostly because most of the All-Realm is almost too aware that you’d like to—what’s the phrase Snow White used?”

“Jump his bones,” Elsa answers, and to her credit, she manages to get the words out before dissolving into something akin to hysterics.

Emma’s jaw pops when it falls open. Again.

She steps in the muffin.

“Oh my God,” Emma repeats, Ruby still laughing, and Elsa’s actually draped over the counter now, her whole body moving with the force of her laughter. Ariel is very clearly biting her lip.

“I mean,” she shrugs, “you glance his direction a lot.”

“We are married,” Emma cries. The heads snap her direction again. “Oh, look at something else,” she adds, voice turning rough and the magic between her fingers feels like it’s very close to some kind of metaphorical breaking point.

She’d have to ask Dr. Eckleburg about the metaphors, though.

“Yeah, see, we know that,” Ariel promises.

Ruby still has her hand over her mouth. It makes it slightly difficult to make out the words she mutters into her palm. “Everyone knows that. It’s like…obvious.”

Emma will also have to ask Hope how she manages to move quickly enough to give the allusion of extra limbs. As it is, all she manages to do is flail her arms limply at her side, head thrown back and another groan tearing at the back of her throat.

“Is there a point to this?” Emma asks, but the question sounds like it’s begging, and Elsa’s fingers are surprisingly warm when they curl around her wrist.

“Stand still. You look like Hope.”

“This is probably where she gets it, honestly.”

“Absolutely,” Elsa nods. “The point is that everyone in this entire All-Realm is far too aware of just how much you appreciate your husband and whatever advancing age he may be undergoing.”

“Did you tell him this? Like did you use those actual words in conversation?”

“Are you kidding me?”

Emma lets her head loll forward, some of her annoyance dissipating at the vaguely scandalized look on Elsa’s face. “We don’t have a death wish,” Mulan mutters. “And that would have annoyed your dad.”

“We are going in circles,” Ariel announces, hitching her daughter further up her side and leveling Emma with a stare that could probably summon several different mythical beings in a variety of waters. All of which, she has no doubt, Killian brought up in detail that afternoon. While wearing the goddamn glasses. Maybe it’s actually Snow White’s fault.

That seems better than blaming Hope.

“The actual point,” Ariel continues, “my dear princess of Misthaven, is that while it may be obvious to everyone with a pulse that you are ridiculous attracted to your own husband and his new glasses—”

“—Bifocals,” Emma mumbles.

“I swear, that is not important. Everyone knows. You stare. Openly. Consistently. It’s almost kind of romantic in a True Love sort of way. But I will tell you something else, the prince consort of Misthaven does not realize it. He’s far too busy worrying about that gray at his temple.”

“I’m kind of into that.”

“I mean, obviously you are. Tell him that.”

Emma lets out a breath, half disbelief that she’s been intervention’ed to flirt with her own husband and half laughter because she is undeniably staring longingly at her own husband. She nods, quick and a little jerky, but also slightly appreciative, doing her best to, at least, get the remains of the muffin into a sweepable pile with her foot.

It takes her two seconds to remember she has magic.

“Oh shit,” Emma mutters, twisting her wrist and the muffin is gone. Ruby rolls her eyes.

“I’m going to tell him you’re overexerting yourself.”

“I will get Regina to stage an unannounced health inspection.”

Ruby bares her teeth. “Go make out with your husband.”

“Honestly,” Elsa adds with a smile. She’s trying to get a croissant without actually climbing over the counter. It’s not going well.

Emma sighs again, but she can’t actually make it sound annoyed and she supposes that’s kind of nice. The bell above the diner door is still ringing when she turns back to the lot of them, one side of her mouth tugged up and it’s not exactly heroic, what she says next, but this whole thing has been some other level of ridiculous and—

“I’m going to tell Killian that you referred to him as prince, Ariel,” Emma announces. “And then he’s going to refuse to watch your kid anymore.”

Ariel opens her mouth to object, but Emma’s already twisting her wrist and it’s kind of excessive. The magic, that is. It’s not really that far of a walk, after all, and she does it almost entirely for the reaction she gets, Killian’s head jerking up as soon as she arrives in the dining room, a puff of smoke lingering at her ankles.

“Swan, what are you—” he starts, but the rest of the words get lost in the air and possibly just under his tongue because Emma does a pretty goddamn good job of making sure his tongue finds its way into her mouth.

She moves into his space almost immediately, crowding against his chest and it takes far less time than she expected for her to practically be straddling his hips. Killian’s hand comes up to rest on her waist, the curve of his hook pressing into the bottom of her spine. It makes Emma’s back arch slightly, trying to touch as much of him as she possibly can because it’s been years and kids and optometrist appointments, but she’s still way better at doing than saying.

So she tilts her head and lets her mouth open against his, fingers carding through hair that isn’t quite perfectly dark anymore. There are noticeable streaks there, especially by his temples, bits of light and dots of silver and every single one makes Emma’s pules thud erratically in her veins.

Emma rolls her hips, a practiced rhythm that gets exactly the sound she wanted out of Killian. His breath hitches and his head drops slightly, nosing at the curve of her shoulder and the side of her neck, dragging his mouth up underneath her jaw and that one, specific, spot just behind her right ear.

And it really is going pretty well, Emma’s heart expanding and her vision swimming just a bit because she can’t even begin to form a rational thought when Killian’s teeth nip at her skin, but then well—

“Ah, bloody…” he grumbles, leaning back to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He uses his right knuckles.

It's almost as good as the hook thing.

And there is a very large smudge on one of the lenses.

Emma hates that she smiles. She does. But the whole thing is so, impossibly endearing and her heart refuses to follow the laws of actual physics and there’s got to be something magical about that too.

True Love, or whatever.

For…old and older and distractingly good-looking glasses. Bifocals, technically.

“Why do you hate the glasses?”

Killian leans back further, brows pulled low and that same muscle jumping in his jaw. “I…I don’t hate them. Why do you think I hate them?”

“They said—”

“—Who said?”

“Would you like it in alphabetical order or by who had the most scathing opinion?”

“I would bet you quite a bit of gold that Ariel had the most scathing opinion.”

Emma is very confused again. Maybe they should kiss some more. She shakes her head slowly, trying to get her thoughts to settle and, maybe, her pulse to calm down a bit, but Killian’s hook has found its way under her shirt and has started tracing tiny semi-circles against her skin, so she figures that’s a losing battle she’s not even interested in beginning.

“Are you a soothsayer?” Emma asks, stabbing her finger into his chest. He catches her around the wrist, tugging her hand up and pressing his lips against her knuckles.

“Not as such, no.”

“Did you know that they were going to intervention me?”

“I had a generic idea that they might, yes. I didn’t think it would be quite this soon, though.”

Emma feels like she’s been hit by lightning. Her jaw is getting one hell of a workout today. It pops again. She hopes that’s not a sign of impending age. And yet…”Are you kidding me?” she snaps, Killian’s eyes absolutely getting bluer the longer she gapes at him. “Did you know?”

“Be more specific, Swan.”

“You’ve got to tell me what’s actually going on here.”

He chuckles, low and a little dangerous, as if that’s something a laugh could be, but then his teeth nip over the tip of her nose and Emma’s magic leaps. Killian’s eyes widen. “Has that been happening a lot?”

“Babe, oh my God!”

“I’m worried about your magic, Swan,” he reasons, hook moving around to her front and there is something decidingly cheating and wholly piratical about it. “That’s romantic.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Admittedly less romantic.”

“Start at the beginning,” she says, doing her best to make it sound less like a command. It does not work. She didn’t expect it to. Something about Jay Gatsby, probably. “You didn’t want glasses, right?”

“Who would?”

“Killian Jones, I swear to God—” Emma doesn’t finish, another repeat and that tongue thing is quite possibly her worst enemy. In a scenario where Emma actually really likes her worst enemy. It’s admittedly convoluted.

“I did not want glasses,” Killian confirms. “Because, as the little fish was very quick to point out, glasses are for—”

“—Four eyes?”

“Something like that, aye. So, I didn’t want them because it felt like…well, a sailor needs to see, right? The horizon and general sense of direction and the stars.”

“You realize this will help with that, right?”

“I do,” he promises. “I was, however, rather despised with the initial idea of them.”

“Why?”

“Aside from how quickly they get dirty?” Emma hums, tugging the glasses off his face and using the end of her shirt to get rid of the smudge. It makes him smile. And she’s not entirely sure if Killian is actually breathing when she pushes the sides back over his ears, but then he’s turning into her palm on his cheek, kissing just inside her wrist and—“It is an altogether far too obvious sign of aging, don’t you think?”

“I’m fairly certain that’s how the human body works.”

“Aye, your mother was rather quick to point that out.” Emma’s jaw cannot hold up to all of this for much longer. Killian hums, another kiss to her skin. “She was rather adamant about it. That this was a natural progression of…everything and I—well, I did hate them to begin with.”

“But?”

“But,” he echoes. “Your mother has a stubborn streak several miles long. I’m sure that’s where both you and Hope get it.”

“These are not compliments, Captain.”

His eyes are getting brighter. Emma is positive. He also may just be flirting with her. That’s rather wonderful, all things considered. “I was told, in no uncertain terms, to stop sulking about the glasses. Because—well, your mother said several things that I dare not to repeat in front of a princess and—”

Emma swats at his chest with both hands, an incredible exercise in balance that only succeeds when Killian’s fingers tighten around the curve of her hip. He smirks at her. “You are incredibly annoying, you know that?”

“Yes, that was one of the things your mother mentioned. But, well, it did leave me thinking and—” The smirk turns genuine, far too much emotion when Emma’s still got her legs on either side of his hips. “It’s been a very long time since I even considered the possibility of something like this,” Killian breathes. “The chance to…it shouldn’t surprise me anymore, love. All of this. A family and the wee little sea monster and,” his hand moves over her stomach, thumb brushing across the front of her shirt in a move that is a little possessive and a little wonderful and the light above them flickers.

Killian laughs, a quick kiss that leaves Emma leaning forward and she gets to blame hormones for the next few months. Then it’s just the glasses fault, really.

“It’s still a little difficult to believe sometimes,” Killian admits. “Because I’m—”

“—Super old?”

He mouths at the side of her chin, scruff scratching against Emma’s cheek. “Aye, something like that. But that’s never really been a problem before.”

“Is it now?”

“I thought so at first,” he says. “That this was…I don’t know, a sign of…the end does sound slightly macabre doesn’t it?”

“Kind of.”

“And I realize it’s not that. Even without Snow White’s assistance.”

“Mom got around apparently. She’s definitely the reason I got interventioned today too.”

“I don’t know many more efficient people than your mother,” Killian mutters, eyes flashing again and he hisses in a breath when Emma’s nails shift. “What I’m trying to say is…the whole thing was entirely vain and only a little self-serving and I…well, I don’t quite hate the glasses anymore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, a pale imitation of her voice that makes Emma scrunch her nose. “Because, and honestly get ready to swoon, Swan. I realized that the glasses were a sign of…life, I suppose. One with you and the aforementioned sea monster and that change wasn’t necessarily some harbinger of doom—”

"—You are the most dramatic person in all the realms, your highness.”

Killian growls. “This is not swooning, love.”

“How many times do you think you can refer to our kid as a sea monster before it starts to get weird?”

“When she demonstrates consistent control of all her limbs.”

“Ah, yeah that’s fair.”

“Right,” he nods, another kiss pressed to the bridge of her nose. “I don’t mind them so much. I…I’d still rather not have them because the bloody things do get dirty just by existing, but,” Killian shrugs, a tilt of his head and one strand of hair falling across his forehead. Probably just to torment Emma. “I appreciate what they mean. For both of us and this life we’ve built.”

Emma doesn’t respond immediately. It is her great failing, like just…as a person. She’s not great at conversation or doing anything except letting the emotion currently rushing through both her arms settle into her veins and drift into her bloodstream and circle back around to her heart. She should say that out loud.

That would be kind of romantic.

As it is, she stays frustratingly silent, staring at this 300-year-old pirate who very clearly loves her and their kids and they’ve got kids and a life and this house and this goddamn All-Realm and--

“This is the part where you appropriately swoon, Swan,” Killian mutters, but there’s a hint of nerves to his voice that does not belong there.

Emma gasps.

Idiot.

Because everyone was right. And he might not totally hate the glasses anymore. But he absolutely, positively does not know.

“I think they make you look unfairly good,” Emma announces, far too loud to be even remotely dignified. Killian’s eyebrows soar into his hairline. “Like it’s so absolutely stupid how good the glasses make you look. It’s been driving me insane since you got them.

He blinks. Once, twice, three times, lips parting with a soft pop and another head tilt. She’s going to magic that one strand of hair back.

“Honestly,” Emma continues, because once she starts, the emotions don’t ever seem to stop. Like Pringles. Emotional Pringles. “It’s…genuinely kind of offensive how good looking you are as an old person. I hate it. I mean—you know, I don’t hate it, but it’s just—”

“—Did you just call me old?” Killian cuts in, and there’s got to be some dentist in Storybrooke Emma wasn’t aware of too. Her teeth are going to need it.

“In a way where that’s actually a compliment.”

“Because you’re attracted to that.”

“How were you not getting that? I’ve been staring at you all week.”

“You do have a tendency to stare rather often, love.”

“Because you’re attractive! That’s how it works.”

“Does it, just?”

Emma scowls, but it’s difficult to stay consistently frustrated when he’s staring at her like that – glasses sliding down his nose and eyes distractingly blue and the hair moves when he shakes his head in what she can only imagine is disbelief. “I just,” Emma continues lamely, waving both her hands near her ears. Killian tugs his lips back behind his teeth. “This whole silver thing is…it’s working.”

His eyes widen.

“Like, really working.”

“Yuh huh,” Killian muses. “And the glasses thing?”

“You’re fishing for compliments.”

“I absolutely am.”

Emma laughs, pulling herself closer to Killian, but that’s starting to get a bit harder every day and whatever noise she makes quickly evolves into a giggle when he presses a line of kisses across her collarbone. “You’re going to mess up your glasses again,” Emma points out. He does not seem to care all that much. “I’m…oh God, if I use the word distinguished are you going to laugh?”

“You’re the one laughing, Swan.”

“You look distinguished.”

He does, in fact, chuckle against her skin, but that only serves to leave goosebumps on her skin and Emma has no idea how she’s managed to stay on his legs this entire time. It’s probably True Love again, honestly. “I’m not sure that’s exactly the reputation I’m going for, love.”

“Ariel referred to you as a prince today.”

“That’s because she’s mad at me for being, her words, stupid about the glasses.”

“Yeah, well, the glasses look good and you’re—”

“—A worthy prince consort?”

“Something like that,” Emma mumbles, if only because the butterflies churning in her stomach make it difficult to speak any louder. It’s nice that that hasn’t changed. She doesn’t imagine it will. “And I’m glad too, you know?”

“About?”

“This,” she says, glancing around the dining room. There are several dozen maps on their table. “All of it, babe. The interventions and Snow White’s interference and out of control magic—”

“—Has your magic really been out of control?”

Emma clicks her tongue. “I’m seriously going to blame the glasses. And your hair. God, I hate your hair.”

“I love you, too.”

“Yeah, that was my point.” Emma ducks her head, lets her mouth move against his like it has for years and several kids and a variety of curses and it’s just as easy as it’s ever been to be ridiculously attracted to Captain Hook, scourge of a variety of seas, but it’s somehow even easier to love Killian Jones, a good man and a better father and the only person Emma would ever be willing to refer to as prince consort. If only because it makes the tips of his ears go red.

Every single time.

And Emma isn’t all that surprised when the front door nearly flies off its hinges, the undeniable sounds of a backpack hitting the wall and sneakers landing somewhere. Hope sprints towards them, clearly unsurprised by their current seating arrangement if only because she’s already talking several miles a minute. Or whatever the nautical version of that is.

Leagues. Leagues a minute.

“And we had to read off the board and I didn’t miss a single word and Mrs. Jewls gave me a Tootsie Roll Pop—” Emma jerks back when Hope brandishes the candy, clearly proud and there are still glasses on her face. Her eyes flicker towards Killian, his own smile tugging at the ends of his mouth.

“What did you have to read?”

“Dr. Seuss!”

Killian’s gaze darts Emma’s direction. She shakes her head slightly. “Not magic. As far as I know, at least.”

“I knew that.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure you did. What’s your favorite story so far, Hope?”

Saying that the question opens up the floodgates is another metaphor, but Emma is far too busy being charmed by her own kid and she supposes, in his own way, Dr. Seuss also deals in metaphors. Particularly when she is presented with what, at first glance, appears to be Dr. Seuss’ entire life’s work.

There are books everywhere, including some falling out of the half-zipped backpack that is, in fact, propped up against the wall in the hallway.

“How did you carry all of this?” Emma asks, clamoring off Killian’s legs when Hope lifts her arms in the air. “And where did they—”

“—I’ll give you three guesses,” Killian mumbles. He’s already flipping through the books, each one stamped with a familiar brand and he’s not even trying to hide his smile anymore. “Did you go scour the library after school, little fish?”

Hope pushes her glasses up before she answers. “Henry took me and Lucy when he picked us up. There are lots of books there and Aunt Belle—”

“—Aye, I figured. Well, you’ve got quite a treasure trove here. How do you think you’re going to get through all of these?”

Emma’s heart bursts. Kind of. Metaphorically. She can feel Hope’s smile when she buries her head into the side of her neck. “You know,” Emma muses, “Dad’s got some pretty great reading glasses now and he's very good at making sure he doesn’t skip the words too.”

Hope lifts her head. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. We used to do that a lot. When you were little and even before you were born. Dad’s a very good story teller.”

“Will you, Daddy? There’s a bunch there and you can have some of my Tootsie Roll Pop!”

Killian’s tongue presses into the corner of his mouth, ears coloring and eyes as blue as ever. Emma hugs her daughter just a bit tighter. “You eat the lollipop, little love. And we’ll make Mama pick the book, huh?”

Hope nods enthusiastically enough that her chin nearly collides with Emma’s shoulder more than once. She can barely get one word out before the next one is already bubbling away and there’s another fish pun to be made there.

Emma picks Fox in Socks. Killian rolls his eyes. And kisses her cheek.

And they make it through half a dozen books before Emma’s stomach starts to grumble and then three more books after dinner before Hope’s eyes start to flutter, Killian tugging the glasses off her face so they don’t risk disaster.

The whole thing is unfairly adorable and just as attractive, Hope clinging to Killian while the three of them trudge up the stairs. Emma magics the smudges off his glasses when he crawls into bed next to her, muttering about limbs and sea monsters and she falls asleep with a smile on her face and magic fluttering in the air around her.

[mrjoelgarcia9]

Let’s Talk #Disney’s #TheLionKing 2: Simba’s Pride

In 1998, four years after The Lion King became one of Disney’s most successful films, the studio produced a direct-to-video sequel. It went on to become one of the most successful direct-to-video films ever released.

Also, it is one of Disney’s rare good direct-to-video sequels.

For a review of Disney’s The Lion King 2: Simba’s Pride, feel free to keep reading. There will be spoilers.

Before I begin, I should note I am aware this film was originally released in theaters outside of the United States. I am also aware of Disney Junior’s The Lion Guard and that some of the film’s characters appear in the series. 

This is only a review of the sequel, so I will not be pointing out any continuity issues relating to the show. With that noted, here is my review.

The film briefly starts with Rafiki introducing Simba and Nala’s daughter Kiara. As a cub, she meets Kovu, another cub from an outcast pack of lions formerly loyal to Scar. Simba refuses to let her see Kovu ever again. Kovu’s mother Zira sees their friendship as an opportunity to avenge Scar’s death. She proceeds to brainwash him for years to be the one to kill Simba and take back Pride Rock. Will Kovu listen to his mother or his heart?

This sequel is one of Disney’s rare good Direct-to-Video sequels. However, like Aladdin and the King of Thieves, it has several issues preventing it from being as great as the original film.

Multiple characters were introduced in this film: the aforementioned Kiara and outcast lions Zira, Kovu, Nuka, and Vitani.

Kiara is technically a returning character by her brief appearance at the end of the first film, which was recreated for this sequel’s cold open. As Nala briefly tells Simba, Kiara is a lot like him by how she acts out and winds up in trouble. She also struggles to be independent, due to Simba regularly ordering Timon and Pumbaa to keep her safe despite her objections.

The only explanation given about the outcast lions is they were heavily loyal to Scar and then banished by Simba. It inadvertently creates a plot hole involving Kovu. A throwaway line states he is not Scar’s biological son, avoiding any fears of incest, but chosen by him to be his heir. It seems unlikely the two ever met unless Kovu was chosen before being born or is actually older than Kiara.

Kovu is somewhat of a tragic character. He was brainwashed to be the new Scar by his mother, raised to believe he was right, and to avenge his death by killing Simba. He doubts what his mother told him when Simba tells him what actually happened. He falls in love with Kiara, making it impossible to fulfill his mission. When he fails, he is considered an outcast by both his family and Simba.

Zira serves as this film’s main antagonist, being written and visually presented as a female Scar. She is far more memorable than most Disney sequel villains due to Suzanne Pleshette’s great performance. Even though the film shows her favoring Kovu over her other children, she does cares for them by her reaction to Nuka’s death being the only time she is shown to be remorseful.

Nuka, the lion voiced by comedian Andy Dick, is strangely sympathetic. He is shown to be jealous of how Kovu is treated by their mother and treated as a joke by his sister Vitani. When finally given the chance to impress his mother, it leads to his death indirectly caused by both Simba and Kovu.

Of the film’s returning characters, the only ones who play major roles in the plot are Simba, Rafiki, and strangely Mufasa.

Simba is shown to be a cliche overprotective dad. He sees Kovu as a reminder of Scar and worries history will repeat itself. This is shown by a nightmare he has of seeing his father die, Scar transforming into Kovu, and being thrown down by him into the wildebeests. He is also shown to be just as strong as Mufasa by surviving an ambush and barely able to get away.

Even though he died in the first film, Mufasa plays somewhat of a major role by Rafiki. The film implies he wants Kiara to be with Kovu, with Rafiki helping him out by setting up the two to be together. A bonus feature on the Blu-ray had an unused take of James Earl Jones as Mufasa commenting about the Circle of Life coming to an end, likely meaning he would have played a bigger role with their relationship. Outside of Rafiki’s brief moments, Mufasa only appears in the cold open, Simba’s nightmare, and vocally during the ending.

Other characters were very superfluous to the film. Zazu’s only major contributions were sending out alerts and reminding Simba about his father’s laws. Vitani only served to mock her older brother and randomly confront Nala. Some might say that Timon and Pumbaa waste too much time onscreen, but they provide some of the film’s few funny moments.

The sequel’s music is better than most Disney’s direct-to-video sequels, primarily consisting of callbacks to the original film’s songs alongside new music.

“He Lives In You” does a great job replicating the tone of "Circle of Life” and is the sequel’s best song. It was originally written for a concept album, then brought over to the Broadway musical, and finally this sequel. The song was also played during the end credits of the live action remake.

“We Are One”, on the other hand, is the film’s worst song. It sounded like it was explaining the Circle of Life to a younger audience in far more simpler terms than Mufasa’s explanation in the first film. It comes off as corny and something which would be far more appropriate for a Disney Junior show.

“My Lullaby” is this film’s equivalent to “Be Prepared”, with Zira bragging about her future plans to her pack. It is a good song but has mediocre singing from Suzanne Pleshette that makes Andy Dick’s line sound great by comparison. 

This song was notably co-written by Joss Whedon, creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and director of the first two Avengers films.

“Upendi” was clearly written to give Robert Guillaume an opportunity to sing. It is good and one of the film’s major highlights, with visuals reminiscent of “I Just Can’t Wait To Be King” and a fun catchy beat.

“One of Us” is the only song not performed by any of the main characters, instead sung by the normally silent animals. While its dramatic tone stands out from the other songs, the singers' performance sounds more irritated than angry.

“Love Will Find a Way” is reminiscent of “Can You Feel The Love Tonight” but sounds generic. While not as bad as “We Are One”, it sounds like the first draft of what could be a great song.

The climax appears to have been sloppily edited to make Zira’s death ambiguous. Kiara tries to save her only for the next scene to be of Zira falling to her death. She is heard yelling but the animation shows her grinning.

While villains falling to their death is nothing new for Disney, it is always either caused by accident or an act of God. It appears the film originally had Zira committing suicide rather than be saved, which would have her made the first Disney villain to intentionally end her life.

Despite these flaws, there are several positives.

The main plot is really good. Basing it upon Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet similar to how the first was based on Hamlet, and Kimba The White Lion, works to present consistency between the films. Since the first film underplayed Simba and Nala’s romance, this sequel makes up for it with Kiara and Kovu’s relationship. The division among the lions may have been underdeveloped, but it is interesting seeing a pack of lions who are against Simba.

Kiara’s clashing with her father may be the cliche father/daughter conflict, but Simba is justified by how he tries everything to make sure she doesn’t make the same mistakes he made as a cub. Her declaration to Simba that he will never be Mufasa serves as a wake-up call for him.

The climax may not be as intense as the original��s, but is far more dramatic than those in some of Disney’s other direct-to-video sequels (such as Mulan II).

Most of the original film’s voice cast reprise their roles and they all give great performances. Rowan Anderson is one of only two missing actors, with Zazu now being voiced by Edward Hibbert, who would also play him in the following sequel The Lion King 1 1/2. Jeremy Irons does not reprise Scar. Jim Cummings, who sang part of “Be Prepared”, instead voices Scar’s cackling.

The animation is, to an extent, great. Compared to the two Aladdin sequels, which looked like slightly better episodes of its eponymous TV series, this film almost looks theatrical. It has muted colors like some of the studio’s other direct-to-video sequels, the main characters have a new car shine, and certain background characters looked like sticker cutouts. 

Since the sequel was theatrically released outside of the United States, it was originally produced for the widescreen aspect ratio and looks great in HD.

The Lion King 2: Simba’s Pride is a good sequel to the original animated film. It has a good story, great new characters, memorable songs, and near-theatrical animation for a direct-to-video film. All of these elements make up for some plot holes, lackluster singing, and many superfluous characters.

If Disney ever decides to make a sequel to The Lion King live action remake, it would be great to see a live action remake of this film with a few improvements. It already set up the possibility by introducing Kiara in the very last minute.

If you only want to see or own one other The Lion King production besides the original animated film, this sequel comes Highly Recommended.

The Lion King 2: Simba’s Pride is available to own on Blu-ray and Digital.

Until next time, thank you for reading!

[recentanimenews]

Mushoku Tensei: Jobless Reincarnation – 23 (Part 2 Fin) – Be Strong and Wait

My interpretation of Eris’s reasons for deciding to sleep with Rudy and then run off with Ghislaine is twofold: First, she wanted her first time to be with Rudy, whom she loves more than anyone else. Second, her note about not being “well matched” should be taken literally: she is overmatched by him. Their encounter with Orsted proved it. So off she goes.

She couldn’t have imagined this would cause Rudy to revert to his old self, the one who, once shamed at school in one of the worst ways possible, could no longer leave his room, despite being surrounded by love, understanding, and kindness—first his parents, and later his neighbors. He rejected them out of paranoia they were all laughing at him. So in he stays.

This episode seems to hint that the isekai world is merely in Rudy’s head, and that he wasn’t actually hit by a car as he would have us believe. If that’s the case—I have no idea, and I’m also fine if it’s meant to be ambiguous—the isekai world is no longer an escape. He may have been reincarnated and given a second chance, but he’s the same depressed, paranoid, emotionally stunted man he was in the old world. Eris leaving him and him not being able to understand why was the straw that broke the ground dragon’s back.

He may not be surrounded by the same support system as the old world, but things are definitely looking up in Fittoa. I realize that part of why it looked so wasted and bleak last week was because Rudy and Eris (and we) were comparing it to how it once looked before the disaster. But also the bleak washed-out look reflected Rudy’s post-Eris leaving mood. But color is slowly returning to the land, and there’s hope in the voices of the survivors as they plant new crops.

As they  toil and sweat, the people of Fittoa long for a “return to normal”, but the old normal is gone and never coming back. That’s true for everyone, as Ruijerd confirms that the curse that makes humans afraid of him is gone. I’m so glad we got to see the big guy one more time, and his exchange with the three friendly townsfolk is one of som many scenes this week that moved me to tears.

Another one of those scenes is where Eris confirms my interpretation of why she left Rudy (not that it was very much in doubt), with touching details like observing how the hands of the one she relied on for so long were smaller than his. The wind blows her cat-hood off her freshly short-cropped hair as she climbs atop a rock to shout out her love of Rudy to the mountaintops, and her resolve to become strong enough to protect him when next they meet.

We also get brief check-ins with Tona, Zoruba, Geese, and the young adventurers they met in the Demon Continent. Everyone is moving forward, with their experience with Rudy and Dead End being something they’ll always treasure, even if they never see them again. Roxy, meanwhile, inadvertently becomes Kishirisu Kishirika’s newest savior when she pays the tiny troublemaker’s bar tab from the rowdy night before.

I love how we get the briefest peeks of that party that pack a punch when we see how drunk Roxy got and how bad her hangover must be. But she’s rewarded for her generosity to Kishirika by learning that Paul, Lilia, Norn and Aisha are safe and sound and reunited in Millishion. We get to see—and cry from—this reunion scene. But Norn still wants to know where her mama is, and we learn that Zenith is alive somewhere in the Labyrinth City of Rapan on the Begaritt Continent.

Roxy also learns from Kishirika that Rudy is in emotional turmoil, but rather than go to his student, she trusts that he’ll pick himself off and be able to move forward without her assistance. She and her party are headed to Begaritt. At the same time, it’s a beautiful memory of Rudy, taking over the end-of-the-evening chores for Zenith when he sees she’s tired, that finally gets Rudy to sit up, get out of bed, and step outside his tent with his cloak and spear.

He’s able to push past the fear of everyone laughing and mocking him, because Zenith is family, alone, and in need of help. Unaware that Roxy is also headed there, almost ensuring a reunion, he has to go find her. For that, he has to get up and take one step, and then another, past the pain of being left alone.

In the real world, Rudy does the same thing, and while it’s a mystery whether this is symbolic look back at his past life or his actual life running parallel to his fantasy life, it’s a major breakthrough for our protagonist. Like the people of Fittoa planting new crops, Rudy doesn’t give in, stays strong, and looks toward a future where his family is reunited.

Meanwhile, at Ranoa Magic Academy, Sylphiette, sporting Oakleys and whose hair is now white, makes the case for the academy recruiting Rudy. It’s clear he too will need to be stronger if he’s going to defeat the Dragon God. But with Sylphy here and Eris working to become stronger, he won’t be alone in that effort. He just doesn’t know it yet, but hopefully he can follow the advice of his original parents and continue to be strong and wait, just as we must all be strong and wait for Part 3.

By: magicalchurlsukui

[ticklishhpickle]

Worth The Whisk (7/?)

Summary: When superhero Dan Howell gets paired up with fellow hero and arch nemesis Phil Lester for an important mission, he’s pissed beyond belief. But as the two are forced to work together to take down the evil Dr.Bickletwist, Dan finds Phil might not be as awful as he first thought… 

Previous Chapter

Ao3 link

“Mate, you’ve got to be shitting me right now.” Dan deadpanned, looking at the old man with a look that would have made any sane person wither. The man just laughed.

“I am 100% serious right now, son. This is the only boat we’ve got left. We can give it a clean before you go, if that will make you feel better.” Dan turned his head to Phil, the withering look on his face slowly being replaced by one of mock enthusiasm. He shot finger guns at Phil purely because he knew it would make him cringe (and giggle).

“Well let’s get started then, shall we?”

-

Two hours.

It had taken them two bloody whole hours to scrub the entire canoe, stern to bow, of all residual mould, moss and… mice. Dan was bloody exhausted. He threw his lanky body onto the ground, moaning as he did so. Fisher Price simply burst into another fit of chuckles at this, not looking tired at all despite the laborious task they’d all just participated in.

Dan vaguely noticed the sound of lighter, youthful laughter and he cracked his eyes open. He didn’t even have time to react to being poked in the side before his hands were grasped by someone else’s and was gently pulled off the ground.

“Come on, Danny. There’s no time for rest when we have children to save!” The black-haired man exclaimed cheekily before plopping himself into the boat. Dan gave him one of his signature withering looks, but Phil was as unaffected as the old man was. Was Dan losing his edge?

Phil thanked Fisher for all his help, before asking him to detach the boat from the dock and to send them off on their merry way.

The boat rocked slightly as Dan rolled his long body into the canoe, cursing when his cape snagged on the dock. He stretched his legs out and realised that to sit in comfortably in this canoe, his feet would basically have to be tangled with Phil’s awkwardly. He cursed again, this time silently.

“Oh look at you two, all cuddled up! How adorable!” Fisher Price cackled, undoing the rope tethering the boat to the dock. Dan pursed his lips. Not this again.

“I’m sure you lovebirds will have a great time on your very private trip together. Snuggled up real nice on this boat.” Two oars were thrown at them which they barely caught. They looked at each other incredulously, then Fisher.

Dan wasn’t sure if he wanted to respond, and even if he had wanted to he had no idea how to. Despite his superior social skills, it seemed Phil didn’t either.

“Aha! That’s- that’s something! Thanks again for the help, Fisher!” Phil replied, voice an octave higher than usual. If Dan hadn’t been so caught up in his own feelings of awkwardness perhaps he may have noticed the blush that was dusting Phil’s cheeks.

Dan waved goodbye and mumbled in agreement, and with that, Dan gripped his oar tightly and rowed as hard as he could. He couldn’t risk hearing another suggestive comment from the eccentric fisherman.

-

His joints ached. His legs were numb. He felt like he was going to throw up.

“You know, Phil. It would be nice if you could get your foot out of my ass.” Dan snapped, wriggling to give himself more room but only succeeding in tipping the boat in the process.

“It’s not my fault the boat’s so small!” Phil squeaked out in defence, his bottom lip stuck out.

“Well it is your fault that we’re fucking failing this mission! We should have just busked again and gotten enough money to get a plane or something. Not just taken the first crummy boat we could find!”

“That is as much my fault as it is yours. Maybe you should have mentioned this earlier , instead of being a twat about it now.”

“Oo! A naughty word from such a pure man! Did something I say touch a nerve, ‘I-think-the-sun-shines-out-of-my-ass-man’?”

Phil gritted his teeth at this and gave Dan a look that would even have wilted Fisher Price.

“Dan. Shut up.”

“Oh what, like you did six years ago? Just started fucking ignoring me for no reason? There’s a thing called communication, Phil. Maybe you should learn it sometime.”

The boat rocked and Dan found himself clutching at the sides in desperation, scared of falling out. He looked to the horizon. There was nothing to be seen.

“Well I’m sorry I actually had social capabilities greater than that of a shoe and didn’t run away from basically everyone else at the academy.”

Dan’s jaw dropped at Phil’s words. He did not just say that. Tears welled at his eyes but Dan was quick to will them away. He wouldn’t let Phil see him like this. He was fine with Phil seeing him angry, but sad- that was something much more personal. Something Phil had lost the right to see the second he broke the best friendship Dan had ever had up.

How dare he? Phil fucking knew he got extremely anxious talking to new people, a problem he’d confided in Phil about in the days they were friends. And now Phil was using it against him.

He was brought back to his first day of superschool. Dan had been young. Twelve years old only, an actual fetus. Scared of practically everyone who wasn’t his big brother, the second he’d stepped into the academy he’d been shaking like a leaf, scared of the unknown.

-

“Mason, I’m scared.” He whined, nestling his head in his older brother’s embrace.

Dan had never felt particularly close to anyone in his family. No one except Mason. His dad was rarely there, seeming to be more interested in work than his own children. His mum had died when he was a small child, and as much as he hated it, he could barely remember anything about her.

Mason had always been amused, but supportive of Dan’s obsession with superheroes. And now he was the only one sending him off to superschool. As if his dad would care.

“Hey little dude, it will be okay. I have to go now, but you’re going to be the best superhero ever. I just know it.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

And with that, Mason gently pulled him out of his embrace, smiled, and left him there in the Supernova Hero Academy. He was terrified.

His morning classes had passed rather slowly. He didn’t know anyone except the Ocean Liner, and even then they’d only met once for the admission interview. His familiarity with his trainer mostly resided in the fact that he was a huge fan of him, and had been following his work for years. Not actual personal contact or anything ridiculous like that.

Come lunchtime, Dan was sitting alone. That was no surprise. He’d always thought his real superpower was the ability to maintain superhuman levels of awkwardness in nearly every social situation.

He looked up from his sandwich (toasted with his own fire power) when he saw a kid about his age, black hair and glasses come sit next to him. The boy smiled.

“Hello, my nem’s Phil.” He said, sticking a hand out for Dan to shake. He has an accent, Dan noticed.

“Oh. H-hello.” Dan stuttered, looking at the boy with wide eyes before remembering to shake his hand.

“Are you alright? I noticed you looked upset during flying class.”

To say that he’d looked upset would be an understatement. Dan had been sobbing in the corner for most of the class, the Ocean Liner having to stop the class to calm him down. Dan would have liked to think that he was upset because he was bad at flying- but no, that wasn’t it. He was upset because it had felt just like the first day of primary school, where he found himself surrounded by strangers he had no idea how to talk to.

“I’m okay.” Dan lied, but his red eyes told a different story.

Phil seemed to contemplate something for a second, frowning a bit before he replied.

“Okay, but if you ever need to talk to someone I’m here, you know.”

Dan didn’t reply, but risked a peek at the boy’s face. His eyes were a brilliant blue, a hue so striking Dan could only compare it to that of the ocean. His large, but not jarringly so, nose was lightly dusted with freckles. They were so small you’d only be able to see them up close. His dark hair contrasted starkly with his pale complexion, and Dan felt himself grow calmer the more he looked at him.

“Thanks.”

Phil grinned, his smile stretching from ear to ear. The blue eyes seemed to sparkle as he did so.

“You’re welcome. It’s Dan, right?”

-

“Fuck. You.” Dan gritted out, fists clenched so tightly around his oar he thought it would break.

Phil simply raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, daring Dan to react, to throw a hissy fit or something of the sort.

“How dare you throw that in my face? I had no fucking friends in primary school because I was too scared to talk to anyone, and you think it’s okay to just make fun of that, you fucking prick?”

Phil’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to say something, probably to apologise, but Dan wasn’t having any of it.

“I fucking hate you! You know, I was actually starting to think you were okay-”

“Dan-”

“Shut up! It’s time for me to talk, because according to you I haven’t done enough of that in my life! You ignorant piece of-

“DAN!”

“WHAT?”

“The boat’s on fire!” Phil said, and suddenly Dan noticed that despite the ghostly look of fear painted on Phil’s face, his complexion was red, too red- unhealthily so.

He looked to the left of Phil and his stomach dropped as he saw the bright flames of vermillion scorching the boat that seemed even more pathetic in comparison.

“Fuck! Look what you made me do!”

Dan growled, immediately extinguishing the flames he’d inadvertently caused. His face was bright crimson now, partly from anger,  but mostly due to embarrassment. (Nothing to do with the fire- he was heat resistant, after all.) Phil probably thought he was even dumber than he actually was now.

He quickly checked the exterior, then the interior of the boat. Nothing seemed to be gravely burn, shockingly. He heaved a sigh of relief, before glancing sheepishly at Phil to check that he was okay. Even though he’d been an ass he didn’t want him burnt.

Phil was leaning floppily in the opposite corner of the boat, clearly out of breath from the inhalation of smoke. Dan’s stomach twisted in guilt, and as little as he wanted to talk to Phil right now he needed to make sure he was okay (for the sake of the mission, of course).

“You alright?” He said, anxiously scanning Phil’s body for any signs of injury. “Yeah. Don’t worry.” Phil said, not looking up from the bottom of the boat. His knees were huddled to his chest and his forehead was visibly sweating. Dan frowned at this, even if Phil wasn’t physically injured he was definitely shaken up. Unfortunately for them both, Dan was in no position to comfort him. Not with the fight they’d just had.

The air was thick with tension now, and not the good, sexual kind you read about in gay fanfictions. It was the awkward, terrible kind where everyone involved knew there were things yet to be resolved, that probably were never going to be.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dan wondered if Phil really meant to hurt Dan like he did. If he really hated Dan as much as he seemed to for the past six years. Or maybe it was just something angrily spewed out in the heat of the moment, a stupid thing he would regret for days, weeks, or even months to come. Dan prayed for the latter.

He saw no further point in overthinking, and tried his best to accept the fact that the person Phil was six years ago when they were actually friends was probably long gone.

He inhaled, exhaled then hesitantly turned his back from Phil. He was still  mad, the fact he’d nearly burnt Phil to a crisp didn’t change that, as guilty as he felt about it. Dan picked his oar up once again, his hands now slightly blistered from how tight he’d been gripping it during the fight and continued rowing. This was going to be just super.

[sirwaddlesesquire]

Loved the Stars

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

- Sarah Williams

Dipper Pines knows what it is to be in love. It’s a shooting star across the pitch black sky.

It’s the sudden explosion of light, illuminating in its radiance. It’s the streak of brilliance, spinning and twirling as it makes its journey, incandescent beams trailing behind and touching all that it passes. It’s the new capability of vision presenting the opportunity to drink in sights previously unknown. It’s the captivation caused by flash-point intensity.

It’s her.

In back-alley bars, old men and rough men, their clothes and their prospects as faded and tattered as their stories, warn him of his folly. They caution him, that he is too young to know of love, that his naiveté and his dreamer’s whimsy have led him down a fanciful path. They tell him tales of going steady and drive-in movie theaters, of sweethearts and summers spent at the beach, of beaus and of letters home from the war. This, they cajole, is how you love. This, they remonstrate, is how you know it is love. This, they exhort, is how love is properly done. He listens and he thanks them and he pays for their drinks. And he knows that they are wrong. It may not be how things were done, but there was a world of difference between how things were done and how things just simply … were.

She had appeared so abruptly. She had always been there, of course. A perk, or maybe a quirk, of being born five minutes apart. But one day, she was there. Like a sudden blaze of fire across an empty canvas, she grabbed his attention and he could not look away. She was everything. Her presence was intense and total, dominating his every waking moment and the entirety of his sleeping as well. She lit up his entire world.

She was a force of nature, a swift bolt of wild color that improved on anything, no matter how dim or bleak it might be and he was no exception. She was a pagan goddess, resplendent and savage, noble and free, and he was an eager worshiper. She was a celestial being and he was happy to be caught up in her tail, basking in the white hot sparks she left like puddles after a storm.

In mid-town coffee shops, lawyers and capitalists, their suits pressed and their ties crisp, pause in their industry and mock him for his folly. There are exchanges of barbs and taunts, the presumption that a jovial grin and a jabbed elbow may soften the invective contained within.  They inform him of the locations of topless bars and nameless backrooms, of street corners and hourly hotels, of unfettered dance clubs and liberal-thinking coeds. And if he is too timid to visit any of those, they smirk, he could at least have the balls to tell her. He joins in on the banter, even giving some of his own, knowing all the while that only he is privy to the cruelest joke of them all.

He tells her all the time.

Sometimes it is in line with the propriety of a moment and sometimes it is by finding an opportunity to espouse it. But he will often look her in the eyes and pronounce that he loves her. The words, which when within him are a melody of exultation and ardency, sound hollow, course, and foreign when exposed to the space around them. She will reply that she loves him too, and he knows that she means it as well.

But there is a chasm of disparity between what they each say and what they each mean. With each exchange of those three little words, this crevasse grows deeper, even as it already leaves him shuddering at its expanse and its treachery. Because while she helped create it, at least her assistance was inadvertent. His was purposeful. She stands upon the edge of the precipice and she does not know it, unaware of the looming fall which threatens to swallow her whole at a single misstep; be it a misstep of hers, or a misstep of his. She remains on the escarpment where he has placed her, heedless and oblivious of its danger, as he remains in the ravine where he has placed himself, conscious and embracing of its safety.

Betimes a call of warning will well up inside of him, imperative and demanding, and he can feel himself begin to shout, only for the cry to die on his lips.

For as he stares up at her from this abyss of his own creation, she is apparent, discernible, unmistakable, and he cannot bring himself to disrupt, fearful that this may be his final chance to observe it all. Her beauty, composed not of the odist’s limpid eyes or pallid face, but rather of the blaze of self-assurance and the gleam of irrepressibility. Her nature, one of bubbles and glitter, of midnight coffee and comforting talks, of helpless exuberance and thoughtful chagrin.  Her character, unabashedly frank and unapologetically extravagant, freely given without question and without regard for what might be taken. Her stance, her smile, her poise, her laugh, her intellect, her allure, and a thousand other things that are uniquely hers. Most of all, her gaze, forever on the horizon, sweeping and seeking as it searches for what comes next.

There are times when her gaze falls upon him, and he is breathless in the sensation of being stripped to the core, of being laid bare, of being utterly exposed. He is certain that everything inside of him, all of it, must be freely discernible; written in his face and in his eyes. In these moments, he is afraid. For even when he is sure that it is all revealed, he cannot bring himself to hope. Instead, in these moments, he feels only fear; the fear that now she must see and the fear of what exactly it is that she now sees.

But her gaze moves on. And he is left to wonder.

Does she know him, as he knows her? Knows the gentle swaying of her movements, knows the soft shadow which a midsummer sun creates by playing across her dimpled cheeks, knows the sound of her thousand and one sighs and their thousand and one causes?

Does she think of him, as he thinks of her? In the reflections of the bitter dregs of last night’s dream, the vestigial remnants of exquisite bliss interrupted by morning’s routine? In the idle musings of a second’s pause, a respite of warmth snatched from the otherwise apathetic day? In the deep hours of the night, when shame takes a backseat to desperation and ruminations on lips and skin and touch and breath and heat will no longer be ignored?

Does she view him, as he views her? She is consistency: vivacity and indomitability, glamor and charm. She is contradiction: eminence and indiscretion, havoc and harmony. She is felicity itself, an axiom independent of all else. She is the source, wondrous in its possibilities, and she is the conclusion, absolute in its finality.

He is not sure. Maybe he does not wish to be sure. If he’s honest, maybe he does not care, in the treacherous manner that is the wanton abandonment of good sense. For here there is a touch of beauty and perfection. So long as he imagines himself content instead of complacent, considerate instead of cautious, commiserate instead of contemptable, then he can create for himself an ethereal eternity. Because if it never truly begins, then it can never actually end.

So he is left wondering. And so her gaze continues moving on.

It always moves on. Even after it returns to him for a time, it never lingers long. With each successive departure, her gaze moves further and further away. It is the ellipses of an empyrean that was never truly bound by gravity to any object it orbits. He knows there will come a time when that orbit ceases all together. He dreads that day. He welcomes it.

And he does nothing.

In late-night sushi haunts, colleagues and peers, their eyes bleary and their spirits buoyant, try to convince him of his folly. Outwardly educated but inwardly timid, their bookshelves full but their suitcases empty, they quote tragic poets and golden-age starlets, tweed clad professors and insightful sitcoms, weary philosophers and folksy country musicians. He laughs at each one, raising his cup before slamming it back. And each time, as even the liquor, undiluted and acrid, fails to dull the sharp burn of the yearning inside of him, he is made certain that their confidence is ignorance. Ignorance that they will dismantle his delusion, ignorance that they will at last unmask him, ignorance that one man’s practiced wit is comparable to another man’s artless and persistent being.

Where others might aspire for her to hear the songs of his heart or to see the affection rife in his words, he does not. To have even allowed himself the smallest of wishes would be to create obligation upon her. And what he gives her, he gives freely; a devotion as unequivocal as it is unavailing. He knows that it is not wasted.

As he stumbles out into the street, he looks up. The canopy of night above him is bejeweled with a million tiny stars. Their twinkling existence is enough to make any man notice and revel in the beauty of such a sight. He is no exception, for the sight of this dusky tableau moves him dearly. Not because of the spread of numerous stars, vast and incomprehensible, but because of the knowledge that one star, the only star that ever really mattered, is not there.

And so…

The shooting star continues on its journey, that sudden flare of illumination rapidly receding as it passes over the horizon, leaving behind only the now unfamiliar inky black sky.

His soul sets in darkness.

The sense of abandonment and of singular solitude is so pure as to be nearly heaven itself, and it can only be embraced anew each and every day.

He will rise in perfect light

He closes his eyes, breathes in the stillness of the moment, reflects on the all-encompassing nature of the void above and within. There is futility and indignity in attempting to keep that light in his life, and he will indulge in neither. He is at peace.

He smiles.

He has loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

[rennyji]

June 4th tweets...onwards...

June 4th tweets...onwards...

Can’t emphasize this enough...I don’t know the alleged group of kids, the girl, or any of the other orchestrators...that being said, if it’s not directly from me, probably not true. To state the obvious, how do you know as much as you do, about your best friend?-

-Through interacting with them directly. Who else would know things better than the two people involved? I think the stalkerish kids of the past or orchestrators figured out that I just wanted to study IN “college.” I mean there’s my stalked habits, my writings. -

-I think I’m pretty clear. I think some wanted to pose a hindrance to studying. Don’t quote me on this, but I think I was broadcasted as not liking noise. Why? To get the randomly hateful following to make noise. Always from afar, and never understood the reason for the spite.-

-Probably the reasoning behind getting me to hear sounds in the house. A group of kids empowered, perpetuated by established individuals of a school. Then the continual teaming up against me as a school, a city, a country...the massive game is a hate crime...

moving on...-

- for a while, you think all of this is one angry girl...but why? how is she mind controlling or getting people across places to do her bidding? I mean the no studying, tons of noise, wanting you to cry, all girls not talking to you, boys and girls making out in front of you...-

- this whole thing about friends,...why am I in need of friends? sounds like something an angry girl would say... i mean if someone's my friend, cool, but if not, i'm not on any initiative to make the world my friend, as this program/"situation" puts out... because the orchestrators attract attention, i gotta tell people things like the obvious (about my take on friendship, relationships, etc) amidst rumors...-

- and another thing...be it the girl, kids, the school- is it because i complained about you that you're having me write away my life for 11+ years? Satisfied? I mean all of this seems much. When the party school got involved, a man with the last name "Berg", said, so that I can-

- hear, "oh we went the wrong direction. we were helping them?!  but you can't talk to him about it, cuz one of the school VP's forbade you from speaking to faculty at the school about your "situation." This was a professor speaking. So was there a girl? Kids? Are the professors-

- going crazy and acting on your suspicions of kids? Was there a girl/kids? Are the professors actually talking to these kids, making the kid's situation worse, and realizing they have to legitimize their actions of inadvertently furthering the kids agenda of ruining me?-

- i mean WTF?! why are these people against me and screwing with the people of a person's world? I MEAN YOUR ENTIRE WORLD! Regarding the professors, I would sit in their faculty area and study. Never caused any problem. Why are they talking 2strange kids?! If the have the nerve-

- of saying, so you can hear, that they went the wrong direction, why can't they listen to your request of making things "natural?" or back to the way things were, before these kids?!

next thing...

-I wonder...would anyone be jealous or envious of my position in all this? If that’s the case, ur not being told the whole story. The orchestrators don’t tell you what they do to me out of fearing the crowds. -

-I’m pretty sure a filtered version of my writing-in favor of the orchestrators-is what’s being passed around. Back with my 2012 twitter and now, I never could understand why anyone would feel anything negative, as a reaction. Regarding money and opportunity in this, in 2012, -

-for the school and the upstate city of Albany teaming up on one side against me and then causing chaos on the day of final exams in 2012, I was going to sue them for my tuition money. -

-When being u, u think of the people in the apartment area or the surrounding city, u figure, despite instruction following, they don’t know any better,and on some unknown premise, they think they’re “helping” by never talking 2 u. So how can you be mad at an entire city then?-

-You then think, to confront this, you gotta hold the source accountable, for misleading all these links in the chain. Despite the world turning Upside down, my beef/squabble/whatever, is with the ones in charge for screwing me and putting this sin on everyone’s heads. -

-This too, I wrote in my hacked and possibly relayed police complaint. -

-I remember, coming back from the party school, I started submitting my tale through a series of character limited crime tips, kind of like my series of backward tweets. -

-As I’d write in the crime tips in my old house, traffic on my street would increase with suspicious looking youth, as it coincided. Years later, I remember when I was at my allergist, I told a saint of an Irish woman of a nurse a tale about emails I sent a girl. -

-No offense to them,  but I think they were talking to someone over what I told her. Not even she could tell me what was actually happening. Good people do this too. It overloads the brain, and everything you figure. becomes fair game.-

-That’s just it, it’s a game. You think it’s fun. America is all about fun, not compassion. Life in general is not like, say India,especially now. Here life continues, people wear masks, get vaccinated. There life came to a pause and people die left and right.-

-You as a people take part in this nonsense, cuz in one or more regards, ur life is perfect, otherwise why not see the whole thing as bull sh*t?-

-For the second chance at a college with a new major, I told my parents Id take a loan, & they volunteered a private apartment and delivery of food, so that I could study in peace. 50 grand & making everything natural was my goal or what I sought from the, then, orchestrators,-

-to overcome my wasted school tuition loan. Admission into a solid business school was what I requested. It never amazes me, that despite me explicitly saying what I’m after and experiencing, you continue this illegal activity. -

-After 11 years, perhaps the orchestrators realize 50 grand and restoration to natural, was pretty reasonable. Now it will be much more, for placing someone else’s interests over a student’s mental, physical, and academic well being.-

-The money and opportunity I’m seeking? From lawsuits and easy to win. Opportunities? I’ll start domestic and international businesses. -

-Wait till they tell you everything. I think the word for someone, who just does, whatever another says, in slang, is “tool.” Are you a “tool?” Leader or follower? How are you living/showing that? I think some of you enjoy the power over another individual.-

-Some of you like having me in the wrong. It could be due to whatever bias. But for your overall happiness and satisfaction and mine, you got something to say to me, be direct.-

-Doing something from afar or concealing ur true misplaced negativity, elevates me, because in comparison, you have no b*lls. You know how Ive been living for 11+ years? Assuming the worst. -

-I feel, in this case: 

 “Pessimism is the road to take, in order to obtain the fruits of optimism, in one’s reality. 

 I assume, I’m relayed in any/all shape or form all day/everyday, that everyone’s in the know about just about-

-everything. I say “just about,” because I don’t think the orchestrators tell you about my run in with the police, or what they had done to me during my time away from work. Compliance? You practice it for 11+ years. But, be sure I’m grinding the axe.-

-No surprises, no disappointments in the end, due to the aforementioned pessimistic route.. Just actions to take. You know what the sounds do when I write sh*t like this... they play a “oh really I can take it sound...” we’ll see. -

-You screwing with me like this, regarding the people of the world, it indicates you intend to conceal the truth. Like I keep saying, in me understanding this, one of us between the orchestrators and me, is guaranteed to be ruined.-

-If you, the orchestrator or follower, feel any thing negative toward me, why would you want to elevate me, in any regard? Interactions with me should be direct. I’m all ears, and otherwise ready, with 11+ years and mankind’s betrayal fueling me. -

-I may not be as strong as before, but I go into things, having lost it all, nothing to gain, and With 100% of me. With what I believed to be the FBI leaving me to rot, the local police not helping, my school not helping, the school’s VP and Conflict Resolution not helping, -

-and me not being consulted about this cr*p about people acting oddly, I used to carry a baseball bat in my car, if any of these instruction following idiots took things too far. My father, in denying anything’s going on, hid it, years ago.-

-You come at me with cr*p, it will be reciprocated, win, lose, big, small, whatever...a shove, a kick, end of day, is a shove and a kick...so long as I get a scratch in, I can rest peacefully. -

-Now if that bothers any of you, does it even make sense for you to be bothered when ur taking the initiative to bother someone, who wants you to take no extra effort, and leave things natural and possibly even a little MYOB: mind ur own business?-

-In hindsight, seeing these idiot skinny little freshman at this party school, thinking they’re doing something for you and you should worship them for it, when they’re actually turning things upside down for the orchestrators: It compounds: they’re kids, old people, -

-they’re idiots, they’re stupid, don’t know any better, being manipulated...then they follow the random instructions, some even mocking you like they have power over you...you wait till they go that extra mile against you and beat the cr*p out of them.. -

-But it never came 2 that. I mean u can only push a person so far..u talk, write, 11 years, illegal things happen, the law doesn’t protect u, u find ur on ur own, &thinking, grow a pair &come at me. In the end who’s fault will it be? Mine? 4 being abused &lied to for 11 years?-

-In every endeavor, from having to walk barefoot when the police came, to what was done to me while away from work, February to May...I was compliant throughout everything...in the end pointless. No mistakes on my part.-

Moving on from irritation,-

-This whole thing, 11+ years and all? For a while, I kept thinking, all of this is the girl network of a girl I “knew of.” -

-What Im calling the “girl network” is a network of women friends spreading &sharing things thru cell phones &texts &maybe even word of mouth, (If shes not involved in anyway, its not fair 2her, 2give her spotlight,when all of thisNonsense should not have been publicly relayed.)-

-Then this “1day magic” or results!- never really did make sense. But the interesting thing is, it would seem the orchestrators talk 2a group that has their own intentions &doesn’t know me. I feel like everyone is acting like this girl, in her indirect means, from long ago.-

-Was “not being direct with me” broadcasted as the “way to go with me? It’s like everything from one time period just continued for all ages. One group, whoever they are, brings in their cr*p, to “legitimize what I did not want, by making everyone else do it.” -

-I’m all about being direct, and natural. And then, there’s the school. Trying to legitimize what transpired at their school, with the instilling of instructions beyond the city of their school, and into my hometown of Yonkers. -

-They brought this nonsense to the country of my background in India. WRT Indian women, while women as a whole do not talk to me at this moment in time because the orchestrators tell them, (and while I’m open to all women and men )for friendships and whatever , -

some Indian women passing by,seemed angry when I was talking 2my friend, Nicole, or playing cards withHer. Thru this indirect anger, am I supposed 2understand this? Do any of u realize, this is all against myWill &what I know is thru my own brain processing &remembering things?-

-The orchestrators, this program, "this situation" perpetuates nonsense of the past, by having me talk about things over and over, through screwing with the natural setting of my environment, where people are susceptible to following the orchestrator's instructions...-

-If theyre broadcasting me as dropDeadGorgeous, I accept what Im today &what Im not. Stick with(w/) the present, what u learn from a direct interaction w/me, being direct w/me, -

-being natural w/me (coming 2 think or act based on what u experience upon seeing me, &/or from whats directly from me.)

On a separate note/section-food for thought: -

The orchestrators, or these kids, or possibly a girl from long ago-I dunno...I don’t understand this hold you have over all these people. How do you get someone to do something because you want them to?-

-I may be in the mind cr*p, buts it’s the people of my world who do something because someone wants them to. When I give insight upon doing something that’s right for you, right for your life, without caring about what others-

-think, or about cultures and traditions, you won’t adhere to it or take it seriously. You probably pass over it as “nice sounding.” Someone says to make a face or something, you do it. I mean it’s like asking someone to bend over and you doing it. -

-Why? But clearly all of you, are you, and I’m singled out as me.

and now, normal tweets: -

I feel law enforcement should place compassion over the their indulgence of authority over others...

Lamb gyros with tzatziki sauce from local Greek restaurant or a Greek rack of lamb...epic...

Sodastream is a great way to make your own soda. It’s healthy and tasty and sugar free. You just add these strawberry like ,blackberry like, watermelon like , pineapple like,  etc. flavors...a good water substitute...

i saw a girl propose to a guy on facebook...i cannot imagine a girl even asking a guy out, let alone, proposing...such is real life vs. the media...

Being an American should be a privileged label requiring compassion and the Golden Rule. You’re not just anyone, you are an American. Rise to the occasion, rather than indulging and being plugged into the Matrix of your world. Expand ur mind, gain insight. -

-These people involved in this should be ashamed to call themselves Americans. Would you allow this on ur kid or loved on?

Wipex Fitness Equipment Wipes from Amazon - easy way to wipe down sweat from exercise machines in your home, that you finished using...

Heard of calm app, headspace app? try yoga international dot com or art of living courses...

The party school hacking my police complaint & telling students involved &students theyre talking to,that theyre in the complaint, increases the random vendetta of these kids, & gives them an incentive to mess up &control ur world..serious mishandling bySchool acting asPolice...

- now the professors, kids, or whoever the orchestrators are, are trying to save their a*ses from the content of the complaints, by legitimizing their past actions, through having the world take part, and making things about making a point with hacking people, computers, etc.

[sending-the-message]

If the eclipse lasts longer than two minutes and forty seconds then we’re as good as dead. by darthvarda

Listen up, America, we’re about to be royally screwed. Not because of anything you might’ve seen or heard on the news, but by something worse, something they’d never dare show publicly. Something that’s been hidden for years, decades, centuries.

Riddle me this, have you ever heard of the deep state?

No? Yes?

Well, I’m sure whatever you’ve heard—or haven’t—is nothing compared to what I’m about to tell you.

See you may think that the world runs, loosely, as organized chaos. Slightly controlled by the many, many governments around the world; humanity barely kept in line by laws and checks and balances.

But what if I told you it’s not organized chaos at all, but orchestrated chaos. I’m not talking crisis actors or shills or terror, I’m talking about science. Bending spacetime. Altering reality. Mind-control. And, yes, aliens.

I’m talking about the Great Pyramid of Giza being an ancient power generator and Stonehenge being a long-lost communication portal. And there’s crazier shit than that, much crazier.

I’m talking about things that are balked at and dismissed and waved away in disgust.

And I’m here to tell you that, sorry, but it’s all real.

See, the world seems like it might be controlled by those elected into office, those most capable, those we have chosen. No, no, no. The world is not controlled by them, not really. But by people who are themselves controlled by something worse than hatred or fear or bigotry or even hope.

Greed.

Those who seek fame, fortune. Those who’d sell their goddamn soul for a little bit of attention or money however ephemeral it might be. Those who put their own self-interest first, always. Who’s first sentence is a self-promotion. Who’s last is a sale’s pitch.

Well, here’s the thing, apparently I’ve been working for those kind of people for the past three years and have inadvertently helped them create a piece of technology—let’s be real here, a weapon—that could alter nearly everything we know about the world.

Everything.

How do I know this, you may ask?

I’ll tell you how.

I am—or was—an engineer at the appropriately named Terrolab located in Buttfuck Nowhere, Kentucky. I was told on my first day that it was built out here for security reasons, but after the second year I realized that, no, it was most certainly not. It was built out here so we had space.

Lots and lots of space.

Space enough to test particle collisions in secret deep, deep underground.

And test we did.

Locals made up stories to account for the strange occurrences that happened out there. Whenever I heard them while I was in town, I’d just smile and encourage the rumors. Wasn’t any point in telling anyone otherwise. I didn’t really want to lose my job.

I worked there for years without questioning, I mean really questioning, what we were actually doing. I listened, followed blindly under the false assumption that the things we created would help the world.

I was wrong.

The morning I learned how wrong I was, the boss walked in with two people I’ve never seen before. A man and a young woman. They both looked out of place and the woman looked like she’d been crying. He rushed them through the lab and into the elevator, and I watched it slowly descend until it reached the Abyss.

Never saw them again.

But, with the Great American Eclipse right around the corner, I was much too busy to pay them another thought and soon they slipped from my mind.

We were planning a special experiment, see, one that would take place right when the eclipse reached totality, and we needed everything to be perfect, or else we’d have to wait years until we could try again, and by then one of our competitors could and might crush us. We couldn’t let that happen.

Ever heard of The Lunar Laser Ranging Experiment? Measures the distance of the moon to the earth. Terrolab, being a place that secretly smashes particles, is interested in a little something called dark matter.

What does dark matter have to do with the moon?

I’ll tell you.

One of the scientists who worked there concocted a plan, a crazy brilliant plan. It would involve scientists shining intensely powerful gamma ray lasers at moon reflectors in an effort to create axions, a candidate particle for dark matter; we don't know what dark matter is, but axions are one of the things it theoretically could be if they exist. That’s where I came in, I helped build these lasers. Lasers so powerful, the radiation pressure from them would, ideally, be enough to affect the moons orbit, causing the eclipse to last one or more second(s) longer, allowing us to determine success or failure.

The catch was that this experiment absolutely had to be done during an eclipse because the moon acts as a solar shield, blocking rays that would contaminate the measurement.

As such, everything needed to be perfect.

So, I worked, and worked, and even picked up another shift to make sure the experiment would be a success. I was at the Lab long after the last stragglers from the graveyard shift left and was just leaving the ground level laboratory—the non-classified one—when it happened.

Two guys in tactical gear came swooping around the corner and, before I could even react to them, the one nearest to me wrapped a gloved hand around my mouth and held a finger up to his lips. The one behind him swept a flashlight with a red beam around the darkened room, then gave a signal that might’ve meant “all clear.”

They were both wearing goggles that almost fully obscured their faces and wear carrying a varied array of weaponry. The man holding me spoke.

“If I let you go, promise not to scream?”

I made a loudish noise, but the sound of it was smothered against his hand.

“Not good enough. Will you cooperate or no?” I felt something cold, hard press against my temple and realized it was the barrel of a gun. I nodded. “Good. Don’t scream.” He slowly released his hand and lowered the gun. “A man came in earlier. With a girl. Where did they go?”

“That was like seven hours ago. They went down to Abyss. Never saw them again. I have no idea where they went. How the hell did you even get in here?”

“Abyss?”

“It’s just what we call the lowest level here. The place we, you know…”

“I do not. Tell me.”

“You know.” I lowered my voice. “Smash particles.”

The guy just nodded, like he did know, like he was expecting me to say that even though he couldn’t have possibly known. “What if I told you that the project you’re working on isn’t what it seems.”

“What do you mean? How would you know anything about the project I’ve been working on?”

“Let’s just say I do. Let’s just say I know what it can and will be used for.”

“And what is that?”

“You know,” he said in a mocking tone.

“No. I don’t.”

He sighed. “If you fire that thing at the moon, if they fire that thing at the moon, during the eclipse, all hell will break lose. You know it will.”

“I—I don’t know what it’ll do.”

The man nodded. “That’s kind of my point. No one does. Sure they think it’ll be some huge jump forward for science, but what if it’s not. What if I’m right, what if something else happens? Something impossible. It won’t be pretty.”

“And?”

“And I can’t let that happen.” He gestured at the other man. “We’re going to stop it. And you’re going to help.”