#like a dad who only communicates in fishing metaphors

[badolmen]

Hang on. My forestry brain rot gave me a gender revelation.

Most people have a basic understanding of two kinds of trees - needle leaved evergreens and broad leaved deciduous trees. It’s a false binary though - there’s many deciduous needle bearing trees (larches for example), and plenty of evergreen broad leaved trees (many holly species for example). But then you dig deeper - how do you define evergreen? At the equator, almost all plant life is evergreen. Similarly, species at extreme northern or southern climes are largely evergreen. Yet, all evergreens do shed their leaves - not all at once at a seasonal shift as deciduous trees do, but they do shed their leaves. Then there’s the matter of what a tree is - that blurry line between tree and shrub, and the distinct but still shared space between trees and lianas.

And most people don’t know about that. Or think about that. It’s there, it’s real, it exists, and it can feel lonely being the only one whose favorite tree is a larch or an inkberry shrub. They don’t believe you when you tell them a tamarack loses its needles every winter - you can hardly imagine what they would say if you tried to explain tropical evergreens to them. But then you meet other tree people who Get It™ and you can talk about the definitions of evergreen and the beauty of unconventional woody plants.

[c-is-for-circinate]

So as close as I am to fully escaping Hades for the first time, I figure I might take this opportunity to write down a couple of things I'm scared of from this ending. The story is so good so far! But I have seen good stories before! And there are patterns, right, patterns it's so easy for even good stories to fall into, so yeah, I have fears, and they mostly come down to Hades himself.

(Yep, this one got long again! People seem to be enjoying my game-reaction rambles, so, for your enjoyment under the cut: themes of separation and reunion, predictions for what Zagreus is the god of, and a whole lot of discussion of familial abuse dynamics, how they're depicted in fiction, and the work it takes to change them in real life. Stay warned! Stay safe!)

(ALSO, I still haven't made it past the first couple of chambers in the Temple of Styx, so no spoilers in the reblogs/comments please! Yes, even though the whole post is me going on about predictions and hopes and concerns about the path the story might take. I WILL GET THERE SOON.)

It has been really interesting watching some of the stuff the game is doing with themes of parting and reunion, and how that corresponds to life and death. So many of our social links are about reuniting estranged loved ones: Chaos and Nyx, Eurydice and Orpheus, Patroclus and Achilles. Hades is estranged from Olympus, Persephone left. And every time we leave, or try to leave, it is both an attempt at a parting (and Meg and Than are so hurt by that goodbye, or lack thereof) and an attempt at a reunion with our mother. Every time we die it's a reunion, every time we die it's fun, it's great, we get to go back home and check in with all of our friends and be impressed by whoever made Employee Of The [Timeperiod] and sell fish to the cook and put down yet more rugs. (My Zagreus has something of a rug addiction. What can you do.)

It's at the point where I feel pretty secure in stating that Zagreus is going to discover eventually that he is both life/death/rebirth god, and god of partings and reunions. Both halves of both of those things. People leave each other when they die and re-find their loved ones in death; you go away from one group of people to come back to another; you have to depart to return, and I really think that's where we're going to end up with Zagreus. He's going to reunite his various friends with their loved ones, he's probably going to restore communications between Hades and Olympus and even Persephone, he's going to reunite with his mom, and he's going to come back to the Underworld before he leaves to see everyone up top all over again. And of course the vehicle for all of this coming and going is death, because death is the ultimate departure and reuniter. (This is absolutely a religious concept containing a whole bunch of "oh hey our culture has a lot of Christian influence, doesn't it", Greek trappings aside, but that's fine, it's a game made in 2018 not 300 BC, these things happen. They keep calling the Underworld 'hell' and 'infernal'. It's all good.) Of course he's a cthonic god. Of course he bleeds, because you have to bleed in order to die, and Zagreus has to die again and again and again. That's his whole thing.

Thing is, though, looking at those themes, I am also continually aware of the fact that some partings are for a really good reason. Some partings should not end in reunion.

Yes, of course this is about Hades the abusive dad. I have been talking about Hades the abusive dad basically non-stop since I started playing this game, where did you think this post was going.

There are a few things I'm nervous about, separate but related, and at the core it all comes down to, I'm not okay with it if we learn why Hades got to be this way, and Zagreus forgives him as we-the-audience are meant to do, and Hades promises to do better, and nothing concrete about the situation is forced to change. Actual, meaningful, practical, logistical, non-hypothetical non-metaphorical change, not just for Zagreus but for Hades himself.

Because I know how this story tends to go, in fiction. Fictional abusive parents (especially in fantasy/sci-fi stories) tend to come in two types: 'coerced their offspring into actual murder with a side of physical abuse and optional unethical lab experimentation', or 'this was here to create character conflict, we didn't mean for it to read as actually abusive, this parent just has flaws to make them a good character, we swear!' Hades isn't the first type--we have never once seen Hades strike his son, or anybody, or even come out from behind his desk--which means that the fear is, always, always, in every piece of fiction, that he's the second. That the writers are going to decide that the right response to his abuses is remorse, forgiveness, and one really good conversation. That they don't realize it's abuse in the first place.

And, like. They have to know, right? They have to. They can't have done this by accident. (Sometimes, writers get so close by accident.) They can't have done so well at drawing out this situation simply by going, 'well, people are meant to fear this god, so they'd probably react like this, and I guess based on what I've seen in other stories or vague acquaintances they'd then do this,' and never put the name on the situation. Every single time we leave to the tune of a Hades word-flash, he's being dismissive, insulting, and sometimes downright cruel. He is cruel. They have to know!!!

But oh boy have I been consuming media for a lot of years, and oh boy have I run into a lot of writers who don't know.

Reconciliation is such a loaded word, but stories about dysfunctional families really do love it. Stories based around themes of reunion are primed for it. And of course, it's nice, it ties a happy ending off with a sweet little bow, everyone gets to be with the people they love and the family is safe and nobody gets hurt, but so rarely have I seen stories that show the actual work required to rebuild those relationships in a realistic or meaningful way. So rarely do stories trying to build that happy ending actually let the victim of abuse set and maintain boundaries. The character never gets to actually just cut the damn ties to the thing that hurt them. The character so rarely even gets to be safe.

And it's so hard in this game specifically, because "THERE IS NO ESCAPE", because every single thing about this game says that the story's not over when Zagreus gets to the surface, that no matter what he's going to have to come back. It's so hard, because this is a game about reunions. I am not going to get an ending where the abused kid trying to flee his toxic home and abusive dad actually gets to leave and stay gone, not in this one. And that hurts (I have watched and supported and done my best to help multiple real-life friends get the fuck out of homes like that, and stay gone, I have seen how hard it is, how complicated, how awful, and there are never stories for that), but I can live with it, if I get an ending where Zagreus is at least safe. Where things change. Where they really change.

Which is why I need actual, concrete, material changes in the logistics and power structure of the Underworld for this ending to be okay. Understanding why Hades is Like That doesn't cut it. Remorse doesn't cut it! Because look, even if Hades wants to do better, even if he admits he's at fault and tries to be better, he is still set up in a position as an all-powerful tyrant, and trying to become a better person is hard. There is nobody around who can keep him in check when he starts backsliding, which he will. Even if he doesn't want to, he will.

Because people are people, and it's really difficult to break patterns! Especially if everything around them stays the same. Hades is going to slip at some point, be cruel, be callous, be tyrannical, no matter how much of an effort he's making. Not to mention, it is STRESSFUL to face your own crimes and improve, it sucks, it feels bad. And what do habitual abusers do when they feel bad? What's the only coping mechanism Hades appears to have established for dealing with his own shit? That's right, it's inflicting suffering on everyone else around him. (This is why it doesn't really matter what circumstances drove Hades to act this way, why it can't matter--I believe that he is suffering, but he copes with that suffering by inflicting additional suffering on everyone around him, everyone who relies on him, and that's still true no matter what made him feel bad to begin with.) So then we just get a great old guilt-->lashing out-->more guilt-->more lashing out merry-go-round of abuse even as Hades is trying to change. That's how these things work. And yes, change is possible, improvement is absolutely possible, but the environment needs to change first. The system that enables and rewards Hades for acting this way can't stay in place. Things need to actually change, with people who are around to support Hades in his growth and also check his power, people who have power of their own to stop him. And however it happens, for this story with this protagonist with these goals to feel like a happy ending, Zagreus needs to be safe.

It would be okay, though a little disappointing, if those changes were mostly based in magic and fate and, idk, divine mind-control. (This story has been so grounded in actual human dynamics that a fantastical solution to a realistic problem would feel like a letdown, but if it actually solved the problem I'd be okay with it, more or less.) It would be okay, though a little disappointing, if the responsibility for bringing Hades to heel fell upon Zagreus and Persephone, if the two family members who he hurt badly enough that they felt the need to run away from him entirely now had to shoulder the burden of helping him fix himself. (There are definitely ways to write that dynamic better and ways to write it worse, and I think I trust these writers to land on the 'better' side of the scale, but I still don't love the implications.) I think I'd be pretty into it if Hades took a vacation off to Olympus to Work Out His Shit with his own family, while a coalition of Meg, Nyx, Thanatos, Zagreus, and Queen Persephone took over running the Underworld in his absence. I think we might end up getting some combination of those things. I'm hopeful. I think these writers might know what they've written. I think they might have a sense for what it'll take to fix.

But yeah, I'm nervous. (Nervous enough that I might switch to God Mode just to get through, combat has started getting really tedious instead of fun, I want to know what happens next, and this is a game and there is no shame in making it more fun for myself by making the boring parts a little quicker and easier.) I've seen so many stories go wrong. This one has done so much to earn my trust. We'll see if it breaks.

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

call it some strange destiny or a wonderfully brilliant coincidence, but I think it was clear since I was very young to be associated with water and the ocean and find extreme comfort and kinship with the adventures of tintin, especially the 2011 film

- I am literally a pisces, sign of a fish who has to exist and thrive in water

- I literally have Scottish ancestry on my dad's side alongside ancestry based around fisherman, which includes my dad hanging around his granddad near the docks and they'd all be smoking

- I heavily project onto Tintin, of which how he looks and his age is connected to a certain part of my life where I needed help the most and the film came out around the time I was about 16-17

- My favourite colour is red and I find a huge connection with villains, and Sakharine is probs the major reason I realised I was bi on the ace spectrum

- I literally have intergenerational trauma that has plagued my family since at least my great grandparents' time and has resulted in me developing severe mental health issues involving feeling inadequate and invisible and isolated and alienated and ridiculed whilst i got the impression of how much my parents went on about their own traumas and didn't really care about how I really felt and even developed an unfortunately remarkable addiction to alcohol

- my deadname was not only an ancestor's name, but also the name of a famous ship from the 18th-19th century

- I think some of my ancestry lived right or near Sherringham?? or frequently went on holiday there, which is on the coast

- I went to the University of Southampton and a) first realised I wasn't straight, b) found many friends who were a majority part of the LGBTQIA+ community, c) studied film, d) when I left my old house, I requested to go to Southampton, e) the city was right on the coast and f) regularly visited Pride there where I met a very good friend of mine (and ended up swapping genders in the process, lmaooo)

- I had a friend who passed at a very young age and her ambition was to travel the world with her art and I couldn't help but remember her through media that involved travelling and going on adventures and just discovering things

- I literally get the most comfort out of water and I just...idk, of course I need it to survive but I adore analogies and metaphors relating to water, whether in a positive or negative light depending on how I feel and I frequently use them in my writing; I just feel a strong connection to that element

- I get very easily attracted to pirates

- I didn't think I'd move to a city or near the sea or both for that matter until I arrived back here and just felt the same familiar feeling of home and connection

it literally feels like this stuff is in my blood and the photos my dad took when he took a trip here to see me makes so much sense in demonstrating this too

[welllpthisishappening]

But Once a Year (3/5)

This is a trick.

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

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

————

Rating: T Word Count: 9K and change, but also stuff happens AN: I cannot tell you guys how much I appreciate you continuing to appreciate this story. It’s exceptionally nice, and I think you’re wonderful. Here’s a whole slew of feelings and tradition and magic. Like, lots of magic. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the start

————

This is a problem. 

Multiple problems, honestly. Like, at least seven different problems that Emma can think of off the top of her head, and obviously the most pressing is getting back to the right part of her timeline, but only marginally less distressing is the overall domesticity of her life at this point of her timeline. 

It’s more than the pillows. Of which there are just an absolutely ridiculous amount, actually. They hover in couch corners and fall to the floor with alarming regularity because, between the two of them, Hope and Lucy are something akin to forces of nature, hopped up on Christmas-type sugar and the cookies that people apparently just hand out on the street in Storybrooke. Someone’s always got some sort of baked good, freshly out of the oven — and while Emma’s discovered she’s particularly partial to Granny’s snickerdoodles, she can’t imagine any of this is very efficient. 

For Storybrooke’s economy, or whatever. 

There’s no bank. Emma looked. And asked. Several dwarfs, actually. All of whom immediately bowed and narrowed their eyes at her like she’d totally lost her mind, which seems pretty accurate at this point. Five days after waking up on that couch, with all of its pillows and questionable comfort, and only a handful of people actually know what’s going on. 

Not Hope. 

And no one actually told her to do that, but Emma figures it’s kind of like deciding to take her boots off in the house. Polite. Plus, a growing determination not to traumatize a ridiculously cute four-year-old, even when that four-year-old appears to be far more adept at stealing cookies than anything else. 

Crumbs line the counter in the morning, and there’s usually a bit of evidence directly outside Hope’s bedroom door, signs of a late-night theft that shouldn’t make Emma smile. She does anyway. Can’t seem to stop it, which might be problem number four. Three is definitely Killian’s consistent lack of jacket, which admittedly is a very surface problem, but the button-up shirts are all ridiculously patterned, and trying not to ask who initially took him shopping is like, problem, three sub-a. 

So, no one tells Hope that her mom isn’t her mom. Technically speaking, at least. They go through the motions, and Emma smiles when she’s supposed to, and she eats what is undoubtedly the world record for snickerdoodle consumption by a wayward princess, but trying to be herself, while also not being herself continues to be a rather daunting prospect. 

Particularly because whomever Regina believed would know more about Neverland vegetation and its ability to ruin everything is taking their sweet time responding or showing up in Storybrooke, and they’ve tried what feels like several thousand things to get Emma back, but magic beans were a no-go, and some very fancy wand didn’t do anything except infuriate Regina with it uselessness, and it’s still Christmas, so there are apparently a metric shit ton of traditions and expectations, and—

“Wait, what?” Emma asks, perched on the edge of her desk in the station because that’s at least something she’s used to. Less so to Killian’s presence at the only other desk, and she doesn’t remember the only other desk being quite so close to her’s, but it’s entirely possible that’s a trick of her not-quite coherent mind. 

Might be problem six. Maybe seven. Making it six gives it power, and acknowledges how much the state of his tongue continues to affect her cognitive abilities. Of which there were already very few, especially while she was exhausted in Neverland, and Emma’s not willing to risk anymore. 

“It’s something of a requirement,” Killian says, not for the first time. Princesses have a ridiculous number of requirements, Emma’s rather quickly learned. And he can’t seem to sit straight in any chair. Also ridiculous. 

“Does that not hurt your spine?”

Shrugging, he smirks at her and that’s been happening more often. Not that she’s keeping track, or anything. She’s just—aware, that’s totally the right word. Of him, and what he does with his face and his patterned shirts, and there’s been no bare arm again, but Emma’s still not really his wife, and she knows the hours he’s spent holed up in one of the copious rooms in their quasi-mansion have been dedicated to research. 

And getting his wife back. 

That’s fine. It’s fine. Definitely not a problem. Hasn’t even crossed her mind. 

Emma doesn’t want him to want her. Like, ever. 

And they’re waiting for her dad, anyway. To report back on some magical failing in Wonderland. Seriously, everything is so fine that it's almost a problem as well. It’s too fine. Everything is—

Great. 

“Are you concerned about the state of my spine, darling?”

Melting is not an option — so far as Emma is aware of, but it’s certainly very appealing in the moment. When that moment includes tilted lips and an angled neck seemingly designed to ensure Killian’s hair falls artfully across his forehead, as if the strands are there to frame his eyes and the hint of light in them. 

She takes a deep breath. 

The light brightens. Or she imagines. 

“A tree lighting, though,” Emma says, not-so-subtly changing the subject. Killian’s brows jump. Up his forehead and past those strands of hair she’s only passably obsessed with. “Isn’t that kind of...I don’t know, it’s not very fairy tale.” “Regina lights the candles with magic, if that helps.” “So why do I have to be there?” “The monarchy usually stands on a platform, waves lovingly to their subjects and—” “—God, how is there more?” Emma balks, but that only gets her a more powerful smirk and eyes that are far too blue to be fair, and they still haven’t painted the dining room. She’s not going to ask about that. 

She’s not. 

“This is something of the central hub for the rest of the United Realms,” Killian explains, “and with Regina and the Charmings here, it makes sense that people...flock.” “Like birds.” “Not the ones your mother can commune with, but I suppose the metaphor is appropriate.”

“Who decided to hold Regina’s queen election?” Eyeing her speculatively, Emma does her very best not to wither under Killian’s expression. She’s not altogether confident it works, but they’ve almost come to something like an understanding, and it’s very easy. This, them. No, not them. There’s no them and while Emma’s done her fair share of staring, there can’t be a them now because that will undoubtedly fuck with the timeline and probably everything else, just to keep inspiring problematic lists, and her increasing desire to kiss him until he also has to deal with wobbly knees is just something she’s going to have to deal with. 

“Maybe I won’t remember when I get back,” Emma reasons, but that one word comes out as wobbly as her knees have been and Killian purses his lips. “Ok, fine—tell me something totally random, then. A fun-fact, as it were.” “Random.” “Do you not know what that means?” He rolls his eyes. “I know at least three more languages than you do, so—” “—No you do not!”

Nodding, Killian smiles over the edge of his coffee mug, and neither one of them mention that his proclivity to drinking a gallon of coffee every morning could probably be this so-called fun fact. “English, obviously, and—” “—Ok, I can clearly speak English,” Emma argues. She nearly bites her tongue in half at the force of Killian’s answering look, part amusement and even more heat and that only circles her back around to the melting thing. 

“Aye, but I definitely know more curses than you do, so that’s got to count for something. Also that’s simply my base language, as it were.” She sneers. He chuckles. Into the mug, but it feels like the emotion behind it sinks under Emma’s skin and times up with her pulse, less erratic than it had been those first few nights, and she’s actually started sleeping consistently. “Then of course, I’m rather familiar with Latin.” “Dead, it doesn’t count.” “Impressive, though.” “Sounds like you’re fishing for compliments, Captain.” “Unnecessary, when I know you’ll be all wide-eyed and amazed in a moment,” Killian promises, swinging his legs to prop his feet on the edge of her desk. “There’s also Greek, and—” Waving her hands, Emma doesn’t explicitly try to swat at his legs, but he’s just so goddamn close, and still exuding heat, and she’s starting to have some assumptions about that as well. Of the possibly magic and decidedly—no she’s not doing that. They’re not that. Not like this, anyway. And Killian doesn’t immediately move, but that only lulls her into a false sense of security, the metal of his hook is cold enough that she yelps when it circles both her wrists.

“Fairy,” he finishes, and Emma refuses to believe he leans forward on purpose. 

“No.” “You keep objecting to my facts and you’ll give a man a complex, Swan.” “Why would you know Greek, you’re a—” “—Fairy tale character?” 

Emma presses her lips together. So as not to make an undignified noise. She’s already whimpered enough, and cried more than she thought possible and the hitch in his voice threatens to shatter several things. Moving her hands is impossible, which is probably for the best, but all of her would very much like to cup his cheek, if only to see if he’ll kiss the inside of her wrist, and she’s like ninety-two percent positive he would. “Pirate prince,” she corrects lightly, and does get her a smile. “Do you have an official title here?” “Captain.” “That’s it?” “Not impressive enough, huh?”

There’s no music on in the station, but they’re clearly dancing all the same — around each other, and the maelstrom of feelings Emma is doing a God awful job of ignoring, and at some point one of them is going to have to pull away from the other. In more ways than one. 

“I didn’t say that,” she shakes, “and don’t bother telling me it’s another argument, I don’t care. I’m just—curious, I guess.” “About me?”

Nodding is the least dangerous response when she’s so worried about tripping over her own feet in this metaphorical waltz, but it’s one of the more accurate things she’s said since she got here, and now she’s got an excuse. No repercussions, nothing exactly permanent about these conversations, or this information, and no one’s told her whether or not she’ll retain her memories once she gets back, but they also don’t know she’ll get back so—

Fuck it, honestly. 

“Yeah,” Emma replies, not bothering to gloat when Killian’s the one whose eyes go wide first. 

“Oh.” “Is that unexpected?” “Maybe at this point.”

Humming, she files that away, preening slightly under the not-quite-compliment. “Not an answer though. Habit of yours.” “Not really, you’re just very demanding in this incarnation.” “Product of my situation, I guess.” He laughs. It’s something that happens more often here than it did when Emma knew him — knows him, whatever tenses get confusing in time travel. Still, the sound consistently manages to catch her off guard. Free and easy, and the magic that rustles in the back of her brain might deserve its own list. 

Or another conversation with Regina. “The Royal Navy,” Killian says, an answer Emma nearly forgot she wanted. Her eyes widen. He looks triumphant. “See, told you.” “Like an Enchanted Forest GI bill, huh? See new lands, learn new languages.” “Something like that, aye.” “How’d you get to fairy?” “Did you meet the Lady Bell before—” “—I got yanked out of Neverland?” Emma quips, and it might be a defense mechanism. Making jokes, but she also hasn’t gone into detail about the plant-thing yet, and that might be because she doesn’t want to freak him out. 

Anymore than he already is. He spends at least an hour in that room every night. 

“Yeah, I did,” she adds,” after she kidnapped Regina and told us Greg and Tamara were dead, which...y’know—” “—Wasn’t the worst thing in the world?” “Does that make me a horrible person?” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” “Are you going to tell me you learned fairy language from an actual fairy?” “Not much else to do on a hellish island for several hundred years, and it’s a rather complicated tongue. Takes some practice.” “Oh, you’re doing that on purpose now.” The speed of his grin is like molasses. Emma assumes. She’s not sure she’s ever encountered molasses in real life. Even so, the whole thing is bordering on obscene and the opposite of the Christmas spirit and—“Alright,” she concedes, “learning fairy is actually pretty impressive.” “You flatter me, love.”

“What’s your favorite fairy curse word and do you think anyone would be totally scandalized if I used it during this super fancy, exceptionally royal tree lighting?” 

Absolutely, goddamn obscene. The tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth, and his eyes get noticeably darker, Emma’s pulse picking up until she’s sure they can hear it on the other side of town, and there’s already barely any space between them, but that appears to be decreasing with every passing second. She’s got no idea who’s moving. She might be moving. 

God, she hopes she’s moving.

Losing control of her limbs may send her off some ledge. 

And she’s just about to throw caution to the seemingly ever-present wind that comes off the harbor, because the front of this patterned shirt looks particularly yankable, but the station door creaks, and a muscle in Killian’s jaw jumps and David clicks his teeth exactly once when he walks in. 

“Interrupting something, am I?” “No, no,” Emma stammers at the same time Killian mumbles “absolutely not,” and neither of those things sound all that honest. 

She’s never gone into cardiac arrest, but if this is what it feels like, it’s kind of disorienting. 

“You hear about the tree lighting, Emma?” David asks, and that’s obviously where her inability to tactfully alter the course of a conversation comes from. Killian rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, slumping back into his chair. 

Exhaling feels like an admission of guilt, but Emma can’t have anything to feel guilty about here, and she hopes Killian’s getting sleep. On the couch. He keeps sleeping on the couch. 

Of course he does. 

“Do I have to wear a gown or anything?” “It’s outside,” David says, “there are trees involved.”

Killian’s hook pokes at his chair arm. “Only one tree, as far as I knew.” “Why are you like this?” “You’re charmed by it, I know,” he chuckles, eyes flashing towards Emma. Coincidence, she’s sure. Her cheeks are very warm. 

She’s very warm. Passably magical, maybe. 

David sighs. “No, there are no gowns. It is in fact only one tree, and Em—you don’t have to say anything. Regina will thank people for coming, Snow will open up the meal and that’ll be that.” “Should I know what the meal is?” Emma asks, and her gaze doesn’t automatically drift towards Killian either. It just, sort of—meanders there, naturally. His tongue is still doing that thing. 

“I was going to get to that part eventually.” “There’s kind of a reception,” David explains, “with cookies.” “Shit, how many cookies can one United Realm eat?” “An exceptional amount,” Killian mutters, and Emma might guffaw. While realizing why her other version had been baking so much before. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” David adds, “just show up and smile, and you’ll get some cookies out of it.” “Will I not get cookies if I don’t smile?” Not able to stop whatever noise rumbles out of him, the force of Killian’s grin makes Emma glad she’s sitting down again. “I’ll swipe you some if you don’t.” “Very gallant.” “Happens from time to time.” Flirting in front of her father is wrong. That’s if this counts as flirting. As far as Emma knows, most of their banter has been a product of their mutually ridiculous lives, and whatever situation they’ve found themselves in at the moment, but this moment doesn’t hold any danger and it is so goddamn easy. 

She smiles. 

Killian beams. 

David sighs again. “Anyone want to hear about Wonderland now? Or how the White Rabbit can’t draw any portals? Or—” “—This is a really extensive list,” Emma grumbles, and Killian’s smile is going to get stuck on his face. Permanently. She’s very charmed by the crinkles around his eyes. 

“Tinker Bell is here.” Slamming his feet back onto the floor, Killian practically snaps to attention, and Emma’s body goes through another reaction she does not expect. What feels suspiciously like jealousy rattles down her spine, rooting her to the spot and drying out her mouth and David’s far too observant. 

He clicks his teeth again. “When?” Killian asks, already standing and offering Emma his hand. She takes it, not thinking about what that means — or how it affects the half-green tint clouding her vision, and her heart misses a beat. As soon as his fingers lace through hers. 

“Just now. Went to Regina’s, but I had to come here, so one of Snow’s birds told me.” “You can talk to the birds too?” Emma balks, stumbling while Killian all but yanks her towards the door. 

“No, no, they carry messages now.” “Ah of course.” “Did Tink say anything yet?” Killian demands, David already shaking his head and they’re picking up speed. All but jogging down Main Street and towards Regina’s office, and the nickname probably isn’t important. It’s fine. Everything is fine. It’s all going to be good. 

Even when the fairy in question snaps towards the office door as it swings open, practically lighting up when she notices Killian and Regina’s eyes go noticeably thin. Staring at Emma like she’s trying to read her mind. 

Her fingers are still tied up with Killian’s. “Hook,” Tinker Bell exclaims, and she doesn’t have any visible wings so she can’t fly out of her chair. She tries all the same, arms that bump Emma as they hug her not-quite husband and he mutters a greeting. It takes a moment for Tinker Bell’s gaze to find Emma, trying and failing to keep her expression even, and Killian might chuckle. 

She kicks his ankle. 

“Emma,” Tink breathes, “it’s good to see you again, you have to get the hell out of this timeline.”

“So, that’s it,” Tinker Bell finishes, shrugging like Emma’s not dangerously close to fully breaking down and Killian’s thumb keeps tapping the side of her palm. Because he’s still holding her hand. Cool, it’s cool. She’s not totally preoccupied with that. 

Regina’s totally staring, anyway. 

“Will-o-wisps,” Killian says, “I thought that was a rumor.” More shrugging. There’s too much shrugging for Emma. “I’ve never heard of it in practice,” Tinker Bell reasons, “but can you think of another plant in Neverland that could do such a thing? That rumor you’re talking about always mentioned how it would draw a traveler in, bewitch them with lights and—were there lights, Emma?”

She nods. Swallows, or tries at least. But her tongue is expanding again, and her heart might be shrinking, and the whole thing feels like a very cruel trick. 

“Pan would have known about all of that,” Tinker Bell continues, “and used it to his advantage. If he could get Emma to follow the light, then she wouldn’t be a problem anymore.” “But I didn’t actually move anywhere,” Emma argues. “There was no following the light.” Regina exhales. “Probably more metaphorical, giving into what the light offered.” “Which was?” “This, obviously. What we talked about, and what you thought you couldn’t ever have while you were stuck in Neverland, convinced of a whole slew of wholly negative things. So, there was no walking, but—” “—I wouldn’t have just run away!” 

Voice cracking is a sign of impending mental breakdown, Emma’s sure. As are Killian’s tightening fingers, although she’s starting to depend on those fingers just a bit because sitting hadn’t even crossed her mind before and now that might be the only reason she’s still standing.

That keeps happening. 

“Doesn’t sound like you had a choice,” Regina says, “if Pan wanted to tempt you, will-o-wisps seem like the perfect way to do it. See the light, get pulled into this future, he gets Henry, and everything he wants.” “But Henry is here. He’s—he’s a grown man, with a kid and—” “—None of that is set in stone,” Tinker Bell interrupts, magic roaring in Emma’s ears. Killian’s going to cut off the circulation to her hand. “With you out of the way, Pan’s got a straight shot at the heart of the truest believer, he can change what you would have eventually done. Make sure he gets the magic that’ll save Neverland. That’s why everything else is falling apart.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Magic,” David clarifies. “All of it acting strangely? Turns out that is because of you, kid.” Scoffing makes her lean forward awkwardly, but Killian doesn’t mention the strain it’s undoubtedly putting on his arm, and letting go of her hand is disappointing for about two seconds. Before it turns into his arm around waist. 

Regina’s expression turns calculating. 

“Again,” she says, “it’s what we talked about. Things falling apart because you got pulled off the board. Into this exceedingly tempting place.”

Widening her eyes at the unspoken judgement doesn’t do anything to alter Regina’s face, but Emma didn’t really expect it to and her eyes hurt. From not crying. She can’t possibly cry anymore. “I’ve never been to Wonderland, though. How could I fuck up its magic?” “You’ve been other places, love,” Killian murmurs, “and all of that has ripple effects. Savior saves one place, and other realms reap the benefits.” “Is Neverland in the United Realms?” “No.” “Just like that?” “Just like that,” he echoes, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “What do we do now, Your Majesty?”

Taking a deep breath, Regina lets it out almost immediately — staring at limbs and their out-of-place placement for a moment, before glancing at Tinker Bell. Who shrugs, again. Emma’s going to scream. Before she cries. Maybe then all the emotions will balance out. “We figure out a way to get Emma back to the right place, so she can save Henry and defeat Pan, then we hope that things haven’t been altered so much in the past that this version of the future crumbles entirely.” “What was that about no pressure before?” Emma huffs, David laughing under his breath and the feel of something on her hair is absolutely not Killian’s lips. “And honesty, what options do we have left? As far as time travel goes.” “Eh, we're far from exhausted on possibilities,” Regina says. “Just need to get creative.” Tinker Bell’s gasp is very loud. “Have you tried—” “—No,” Killian cuts in, sharper than anything else he’s said. “That’s not going to work.” “But you haven’t tried.” “Because it’s not an option.” “Oh, that’s very negative.” He hums, and Emma waits for the rest of the conversation. Another verbal volley, but it doesn’t come and Tinker Bell looks very disappointed. She’s got another migraine. “How long do you think we have until this future just—disintegrates?” Emma asks. 

She counts to twenty-four before anyone replies. “Maybe a couple days,” Regina replies, “a week at most.” “So—Christmas, then?” “I bet he didn’t plan that on purpose, just one of those crazy happenstances.” “Yuh huh.” “Try and sound more convincing next time, that one sucked a bit.”

Hearing the so-called queen of these supposed United Realms utter the word sucked without a hint of irony is not what Emma expects to be the straw that breaks her back, but it is and her back hurts, and all of her aches, and saving people is her gig. She’s got to figure out a way to do that. No matter what. 

She can’t do that while standing here. With three matching looks of concern, and one of absolute and total fear boring into the side of her head, and Emma’s also very good at running.

That would suggest she’s got control over her limbs, though. Stumbling down the stairs, she makes it about three-quarters of the way down before the whole thing is too challenging and her lungs appear to be disappearing, or possibly melting, and something in her spine cracks when she falls forward. 

Hair brushes Emma’s knees, shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs and the volume of her breathing and the hand that lands on hers doesn’t surprise her as much as it should. “In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Killian instructs, only for Emma to flat out fail at that too. 

Becoming a very frustrating theme. “Why are you so worried about my oxygen intake?” “It concerns me that you’re not, actually.”

Letting out a breath she definitely could have used, Emma’s head lolls. Towards his shoulder and the very solid nature of him, and he doesn’t try to roll her off. Just shifts his arm so it’s back around her waist and that does make it a bit easier to keep her lungs functioning. 

“Was it all of reality collapsing, or Regina using that particular word?”

Emma groans. “Mind reading’s kind of a violation of privacy.” “Invoking my pirate excuse.” “That’s not a thing.” “Eh,” he says, and she hears the smile. That’s...nice. “Having no regard for laws is something of a requirement for piracy.” “This is not working as well as you think it is.” “I respectfully disagree. We’re going to fix this, you know that, right?” “I can’t imagine how.” “Sheer stubbornness hardwired into your personality.” Laughing hurts her very tight and anxiety-riddled chest, but Emma can’t help herself and she’d been right about the smile. Magic flutters under her skin, a steady pulse that’s slightly different than her normal pulse because it’s also more consistent and Killian’s nose is close enough to brush her cheek. If he wanted. 

She wonders if he does. She’d like him to. 

But that’s another problem, and more danger than anything Neverland could offer, and—“Fuck Peter Pan, honestly,” Emma proclaims, Killian’s response warm on her skin because it also includes a sound drifting close to a guffaw and she supposes his mouth is as close as his nose. What with the general structure of faces, and all. 

He kisses her cheek. 

Quick — barely there, really. Over before it has a chance to register, but Emma’s certain she’s been catapulted into the stratosphere, and he blinks almost hyperactively at her. She’s right about the palm thing too. 

He turns into her hand as soon as it finds his cheek. 

“Apologies,” Killian mumbles, retreating back into formalities and behind walls Emma had been clinging to only a few days before. Now they’re just kind of annoying. “Force of habit.”

“Was it the fuck Peter Pan that got you?” “You’ve always been something of a wordsmith.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Emma smiles. “Can I—can I ask you a question?” “No need to preface it, darling.” That’s something like the eighth time that’s happened. In the last two days. Second in the last hour or so. Emma’s not counting that either. “Do you remember this?” “Currently?” “Don’t be an ass,” she snarks, but his hook is around her wrists before she can even try to lift her hands. “The will-o-wisp attack. I—well, it was my turn to watch and I was kind of wallowing because of everything that had happened, and—” Telling him she wanted to kiss him then and now and possibly for the rest of time is also very appealing. And terrifying. Emma bites her tongue. Coward. 

“No,” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t.” “Is that weird?” “Decidedly.” “So, then—wait, I’ve got another question.” He lifts his eyebrows. Smirks. Has the absolute cheek to lift his thumb and brush tears away from her skin, and Emma resolutely refuses to acknowledge the shiver that goes through her at that. “What was with your huh’s, then?” “Last night, you mean.” “I said Echo Caves and you totally froze. Is that—” “Quite a lot of things happen in Neverland,” Killian finishes, “and not all of them have happened for you yet.” “Menacing.” He hums again, takes a deep breath that clearly isn’t a sign he wants to kiss her again. When he does not actually kiss her again. Fine, fine, fine, super. “Not all of it,” he says, although the words sound suspiciously like a promise and neither one of them blink when a bird flies through the open window nearby. 

“Are those birds flying in sync?” “Stop talking, you’re going to get us in trouble.” “What was that about pirate code, or whatever?” Grinning up at him and his scowl, Emma can’t help but be a little proud that she’s managed to distract the great and passably royal Captain Killian Jones during the United Realm’s annual tree lighting. Which in retrospect, does seem kind of strange since Emma can’t imagine they actually have Christmas in the Enchanted Forest. 

That’s a conversation for a different time, though. 

For now she’s willing to keep playing distraction, and it’s very fun to flirt. With Killian, specifically. She’ll consider the repercussions of that later, too. 

“As far as I’m aware,” Killian whispers, trying to keep Hope from jumping into the nearest snowbank, “your mother has instructed them to appear at certain and integral points in the ceremony. For dramatic effect.” “Kind of gaudy, isn’t it?” “A requirement of royalty, so it would seem.”

The muscles in her cheeks are starting to ache. From overuse, and that’s—another problem. Being here a tease. That one strand of hair that always manages to fall towards Killian’s right eye is the worst. 

“How long have you been holding onto that particular opinion?” They haven't turned the tree on yet, so whatever light reflects in his eyes is more theoretical than anything. Regina must have practiced this speech at some point. No way this is all improvised, not with the dramatic pauses and introductions and— “Oh shit,” Emma mutters, the ends of Killian’s ears going red because Regina is introducing them and Hope is nothing more than four uncoordinated limbs and Henry snickers very loudly.

Ella elbows him in the side. 

Emma likes her daughter-in-law. She hasn’t allowed herself to think about that title, or the granddaughter it comes with, but she’s getting very good at putting thoughts in boxes and only partially acknowledging what they mean and Killian's hand finds her again. 

Magic rushes from the top of her head to the very bottom of her feet, standing a bit straighter in another pair of boots, and Killian’s whole body moves towards her. So as to make it easier when he openly gapes at her. 

That must happen a lot too, though. No one bats an eyelash. “If you’re all done,” Regina drawls, but Henry isn’t and Ella can’t contain her laugh either. Mary Margaret looks overjoyed. Even as her birds break formation. 

Emma nods. “All good.” “Gods, the whole lot of you are annoying. You know—” Waving one hand, candles burst into flame without a word, multi-colored lights appearing on every branch, and it takes Emma a moment to realize that everyone in the crowd is holding an ornament. 

“What are they for?” she asks Killian, not bothering to lower her face over the cheers. People are cheering for the tree. “They’re wishes, Mama,” Hope cries. “From everyone!”

He nods when the four-year-old doesn’t explain anymore — already rushing towards Mary Margaret and her ornament. “That’s why people come from all over. Aside from the festive nature, and the talented birds, it’s an old superstition. Place an ornament where the candle was, and you’ll get your wish.” “What happens to the candle?” “Supposed to bring it home, and light that space with the feeling of the solstice.”

In any other situation, exhaling as forcefully as she does would be embarrassing. As it is, Emma figures she’s got a thousand excuses and the hand in hers gives no indication of letting go any time soon. So, seems like a wash. “Gods, that’s nice.” “Aye, it is.”

Hope puts an ornament on the tree. 

So does Henry. 

And Lucy. The list goes on and on, but all Emma can do is stand at the end of Granny’s counters and eat her weight in Snickerdoodles. 

She's the worst, frankly. 

Snow starts to fall just as Emma’s wavering between that happy medium of pleasantly buzzed and legitimately drunk, and she’s got to ask someone who doles out the liquor licenses in this realm because it appears Granny’s hand has grown a bit heavy over the years. 

Lucy scampers towards the far window as soon as she notices the storm, already talking a mile a minute and detailing plans with Hope and Neal — and this happy medium makes it impossible for Emma to be too frustrated by that, but she also hasn’t actually asked what happened to Neal or why he doesn’t appear in Storybrooke, so it seems it’s more difficult to rid herself of the self-imposed asshole moniker than she’d like. 

And the bell over the door rattles like it’s the goddamn town crier, another familiar face stepping through the frame. With red highlights in her hair. “Are we doing this, then?” Ruby asks, flanked by a woman Emma doesn’t recognize and another redhead who is obviously not Ariel and it’s strange to see Mulan out of armor. 

“Cap?” Ruby presses, when no one responds quickly enough, “this is happening, right?” Glancing at a wary Henry and back towards a clearly confused Emma, Killian grits his teeth. While she does her best to come to terms with nicknames, and another tradition and Hope tries very hard to climb up Emma’s side. 

So as to yell in her ear easier. 

“It’s snowing, Mama. We’ve got to play!” Emma blinks. “In the snow.” “It’s a...thing,” Killian explains. “Gets almost—” “—Bloodthirsty,” Mary Margaret says, which is not the most shocking thing that’s happened so far, but Emma’s buzz is starting to ebb slightly and someone’s knocking on the door. Another redhead, with her hair in braids and what looks like suspiciously like a crown on her head and David lets out a joyful noise when he notices the guy behind her. 

Mary Margaret tugs at the edge of Emma’s sleeve. She might be nearly drunk too, actually. If her slight wobble is any indication. “In the past,” she starts, “there’s been some notably magical snowstorms here. It was quite an event when Elsa first arrived, but then well—you helped save her, and her sister.” The redhead waves, as if she knows she’s being talked about and Emma can’t fathom how she makes that connection, but she’s getting better at puzzles. “And now,” Mary Margaret continues, “it’s become something of a ritual.”

Ruby gags. “Oh Gods, don’t say it like that. Sounds ruthless.” “Isn’t it, though?” Henry challenges. “The gist is, that Elsa shows up after the tree lighting with her snow powers and we have a snowball fight.” She’s too drunk for this. Definitely well past buzzed at this point. “A snowball fight,” Emma repeats, half a dozen nodding heads replying with equally large smiles and the almost audible sense of anticipation hovering around them. 

Hope widens her eyes. It’s a very good trick. “She practices that,” Killian mutters, more mind reading that Emma doesn’t bother to point out because the redhead is shouting "come on, let’s go'' and that sounds like a command. And bloodthirsty is a very appropriate adjective. 

Teams are quickly formed, alliances announced and the guy Emma realizes is named Kristoff claims “honor must be defended” enough times that it appears to be a catchphrase. Laughter rings out around them, dancing on the magically-induced snowflakes and off the lights, and there aren’t as many candles on the tree anymore, but some flames continue to flicker, casting shadows across faces and snowballs. 

As they fly past Emma’s ears. 

“Your aim could use some work,” Killian says, breathing heavier as he ducks behind a snow drift they’re using as a blockade. Emma sneers. “Where’d the kid go?” “Ours?” She nods. Tries not to die. Only marginally succeeds. Killian doesn’t appear to notice. Force of habit is a very strong rationalization, it seems. “She’s allied herself with her much more impressive brother, who—” Lifting out of his crouch, Killian cups a hand to his mouth, like that will help the volume of his ensuing insult. “—Has clearly been practicing snowball creation in the Wish Realm and only knows how to win by cheating!” “I learned it from you,” Henry calls back. 

David’s laugh is loud enough to disrupt a whole flock of birds. Perched on the branches above his and Mary Margaret’s head. 

Goosebumps make a glorious return to Emma’s arm — and quite possibly her soul, which only seems like an exaggeration until she notices the spots of color on Killian’s cheeks and the bits of snow clinging to his hair. His eyes get bluer when she brushes the moisture away. Have to, if only to explain Emma’s fluttering magic and fledgling pulse and a snowball slams into her left shoulder blade. “Gotta hide better,” Anna calls, the blonde behind her, who is definitely Elsa, shaking with the force of her laughter. Everyone keeps laughing. Everyone is so happy. It’s—

A goddamn Christmas Utopia. 

“You did offer yourself up a bit,” Killian reasons, Emma gasping at the betrayal. Pulling on the front of her now-damp jacket, he tugs her back against his side and they’re very close. Too close. Possibly not close enough. 

“And what would you suggest o ye master strategist?” “Little wordy, don’t you think?”

“I retract my compliment, then.” “Ahaha,” he chuckles, “a compliment, was it? Well that’s totally different, then. Now, if you just stay here with—” The rest of the sentence gets caught up in his grunt and groan and Emma’s not particularly disappointed to see Hope’s return to this side of the snowball fight, but she’s also fairly certain there was a me looming on the tip of Killian’s very distracting tongue and she’d like to hear that. Selfishly. “Oh, switched allegiances again, have you, little love?” “Henry can’t enchant the snowballs,” Hope says, like that’s supposed to make sense and it almost does because Emma has magic, but she’s never tried to use it on snow. At least not yet.

“I don’t—” she starts, only to cut herself off. At the overall circumference of Hope’s eyes, and the color of Killian’s and there’s something to said for sheer force of will. “Gimme a snowball, baby.”

Excitement immediately colors her daughter’s face, smile wide enough that it’s probably a record and Killian doesn’t say anything. Watches without a single shift of his chest, which means Emma is staring at his chest, but he’s also obviously not breathing, and her lungs can’t stand up to much more of this. 

An admittedly lackluster snowball gets plopped in Emma’s upturned palm, and she blinks away the cold like this is old hat. Or something less lame sounding. Snow packs together like—well, magic, she supposes, a perfect sphere that isn’t quite iced over, but won’t fall apart when one of them throws it and obviously Hope’s got to throw it. 

“Ok,” she says, nodding encouragingly. “Who did you want to take down?” Killian’s lips disappear. Behind his teeth. To stop himself from grinning like a maniac, or so Emma very quickly convinces herself. 

“Uncle Kris,” Hope announces, and this family’s apparently only grown in the last decade or so. Maybe Emma should be more concerned about her heart. And its ability to burst. 

“We can do that. Just—toss it up, and…”

She’s got no idea, really. Just generic hope, and a surplus of feeling, but Emma’s always been told that magic is emotion and she’s not sure she’s ever been more emotional, which is a scathing commentary of her life, but this is also her life and— Killian scoops Hope up, an impressive act of balance and dodging incoming snowballs, and Emma will use that emotion as a reasonable excuse for what she does next. Reaching forward, her fingers curl around the brace at the end of his arm, not able to actually touch skin because he’s wearing a leather jacket, and that’s only sort of messing with her mind. But the motivation is the same, and she’s got all those suspicions and thoughts and—

The most powerful magic in the world. 

“Throw it, love,” Killian directs, Hope’s arm pulling behind her like she’s a professional baseball player, and Emma squeezes her eyes shut. Warmth curls at the base of her spine, inching up her vertebrae until it takes root at the base of her skull, spreading out through her brain and the rest of her limbs and he definitely kisses her hair again. 

She’d been counting on that, just a bit. 

Muscles loosen under her skin, no sense of tension or that ever-present anxiety Emma’s always just assumed was part of her genetic makeup. Shouts echo around her, in addition to the snow, but she can’t quite hear any of it over the explosion of magic between her ears, and Hope’s cry of success will probably be branded on Emma for the rest of her life. 

She hopes so, at least. 

Opening her eyes to find Kristoff sputtering, and Anna as impressed as she is indignant, Emma only barely has a chance to catch her breath before there’s a kid flying into her arms. It’s harder to hold her when she doesn’t let go of Killian. And Killian doesn’t pull away. 

He watches both of them. Traces over Emma’s face, the same way she had in the hallway, and something happens. Something important. Passing between them, and cementing itself in her gut and her soul and his lips twitch. At her magic, probably. “Thank you,” Killian mouths, Emma nodding against Hope’s hair. She kisses it. Out of habit, or whatever.

Strands of hair are damp against Emma's temple by the time they traipse back to the house, Hope asleep on Killian’s shoulder. Enchanted snowflakes linger on the back of her jacket, hovering on her eyelashes for maximum effect and peak cute, which didn’t need any help if Emma’s being honest and she might be willing to err on the side of that particular feeling right now. So as to keep the feeling, all year long and maybe even indefinitely. 

Or whatever they said about Ebenezer Scrooge. 

After he learned to love Christmas. And other humans. 

Emma’s still not thinking too hard about that particular word, though. So, maybe complete honesty’s something of a stretch, but the kid is undeniably adorable and it’s admittedly difficult to think straight when Killian is—

Killian. In italicized and underlined lettering, meeting Emma snark for snark, and snowball for snowball, and she really wants to know his Monopoly cheating strategy, but that’s a problem for an entirely different list because that list has impossible words and improbable feelings and he’s staring at her.

Where she’s leaning against their front door. 

Using possessive and collective pronouns isn’t helping her cause. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. For the benefit of the sleeping kid, Emma figures. Not the state of her pulse, or the magic he could feel, and the cyclical nature of time is just toying with her at this point. 

She nods. “Better than, somehow.” “Oh, that’s a little negative, Swan.” “Kind of my schtick, isn’t it.” “Not always,” Killian says, another pair of words that shouldn’t sound like a promise and clearly do not care. Emma feels her smile. Like, possibly in the very core of her being. At least between her ribs, where the growing sense of belonging has decided to linger, this feeling of home and possibility and staying here is not a possibility. Tinker Bell will figure something out. 

Emma will — that’s how Savior’ing works, after all. 

“You know,” Killian adds, Hope humming into his neck and there’s quite a lot of neck. Emma might be staring at his neck. “At some point we concoct this very impressive buttered rum recipe, that’s notoriously good at warding off chills.” Digging her teeth into her lips does not do anything to disperse the butterflies in Emma’s stomach, but she’s also not all that interested in them leaving. “Concerned about my breathing and my overall body temperature?” God, she’s an idiot. 

Flirting isn't quite second nature, though — and Emma’s even less accustomed to flirting as a two-way street, but this feels as easy as it has and will and there’s those tense-based issues all over again. Killian grins. Slow, and measured and inching almost close to lecherous, sparking a handful of other other ideas that—

Immediately disappears when the four-year-old wakes up. 

Brushed teeth take precedence, as do picking out pajamas and Hope is in possession of more pajama sets than Emma knew could exist in one set of drawers. Then there’s a bedding routine, lifting comforters and crawling under sheets and Emma doesn’t know the story requested of her. 

She’s got no idea what happens after Prince Charles spun around with his sword. 

It’s got to be impressive, though. 

“Oh, Hope I—” she exhales, fear creeping back into the forefront of her mind. Until fingers find they’re way back into hers, and they’re just as warm as they always are and it takes Killian less than three minutes to promise a different story on another night. 

No tears are shed, so that’s got to be a victory and Hope’s eyes are already fluttering closed when Killian flicks off the light. Lingering in the hallway, Emma’s not sure what she’s supposed to do or where she’s supposed to go, but there’s a hook pressed into the small of her back and buttered rum turns out to have a ridiculous amount of cinnamon in it. “Shit,” Emma mutters into her glass, and Killian looks far too satisfied. “This is really good.” “Took some trial and error, but we got there eventually. Or get there for you, I suppose.” Sipping instead of responding is another cowardly move, one Emma won’t ever admit to and it doesn’t matter because he can read her mind. At least her face. Open book, and all that. 

“I’m sorry.” Killian blinks. “For what, exactly?” “God, throw a dart. Everything I—showing up in your life and making the right Emma disappear, maybe, and that’s got to be fucking with you, and—” “—You’re not the wrong Emma,” he interrupts, with enough force to pull her up short. Buttered rum drips on her chin. So, she’s a picture of romance and flirting potential. “Just a little early, that’s all.” “Not what you said when I got here.” “Aye, well that was the bastard version of me. He’s a—” “—Bastard?” “Absolutely,” Killian nods, “and maybe a little unsure of himself when it comes to you.”

It’s her turn to blink. More than once, only a little concerned the scene in front of her will change, but it doesn’t and it won’t and there’s got to be a limit on time travel. Emma’s reached her quota by now, she hopes. “Because I’m a mess now? I mean, this version of me. Not the wife one.” “You’re worried about Henry. And I understand that, did then as well. I just—you want to know why the Echo Caves gave me pause? Because if you got tugged right after that, then all you’re sure of is that I think I could move on from Milah, but nothing else has happened for you yet. No promises or—” Swallowing, he sets his glass down and there wasn’t much room between them, but there’s even less now and Emma’s got nowhere to put her hands. Except on his thigh. Where it bumps hers. “Leaving behind that bastard who wouldn’t give you the magic bean was always something of a challenge, but you made me want to. Made it easier to do just that. Because eventually you do trust me, and you believe in me, and—”

He exhales. Licks his lips. Emma can’t move. “The thought of losing that terrified me,” Killian finishes. 

They’ve stopped dancing. Are standing stock-still in the middle of the floor, while other people twirl around and wait for them to get their rhythm back. And Killian doesn’t blink, which is equally frustrating and overwhelming and a much more positive adjective that Emma can’t be bothered with because she’s too busy saying, “I...like you?” “Was that a question?” “Maybe,” she admits, “it’s not really my forte, and I told Neal a bunch of shit in the Echo Caves too, so—is...did my parents name their kid after him?” “Yuh huh.” “Don’t sound particularly pleased.” “We’ll get to that,” Killian says, “Rehash the liking stuff, please.” Maybe laughing at inappropriate times is actually his greatest talent. Emma’s head drops, bumping Killian’s shoulder, but then there’s an arm back around her waist and there’s so much of him, and that’s always been the problem. Opposite of a problem, really. 

“You just—” Emma mutters. “Came back, for us and me and I...that kind of terrifies me too, but you always make sure if I'm ok, and that’s—not a ton of people do that.” “Becomes something of a habit.” “I’m going to ask you a question.” “Still don’t need to preface it.” “Are you Prince Charles in the story?”

Surprise is a good look on him. All of them are, but Emma’s already crossed one emotional threshold and like wasn’t really the word she was thinking about before. “Aye,” Killian says, soft enough that it’s difficult to hear. 

“Does that make me the princess?” “In almost every story I tell.”

The warmth moves to her cheeks, and the same skin Killian’s fingers graze, coming dangerously close to the edge of her mouth and barely parted lips. “So, uh,” Emma stammers, “not our first time travel adventure?” “Gets confusing when you haven’t done that other part yet.” “Time travel might be overrated, honestly. But we get back, right? That’s—I mean, you’re here.”

Nodding, his nose replaces his fingers and it’s oddly endearing. “If you remember this in the past, I refuse to be held accountable, alright?”

“Seems fair,” Emma laughs, and she thinks she hears him swallow before he responds. “You give up your magic, for me—which is something else I never entirely pay you back for, but then we get pulled into the portal, adventures ensue, including that very impressive spin move, and then your magic comes back.” “How?” “With that wand Regina used before, that’s why she thought it would work.” “You’re skipping over things,” she accuses, and flirting might not be the only two-way street. He’s getting easier to read. “Was that was it you? Helping with my magic?” Shrugging isn’t easy when they’re so tangled together, but Killian’s ears are as red as Ariel’s hair and Ruby’s highlights and—“The only reason I magic’ed that snowball was because I was holding onto you. Control’s not something I’ve got much of right now.” “You would have been able to figure it out.” “Not with a kid waiting, and all those people and—” Problems be damned. Lists be damned. Time itself, be goddamned. “Paying me back is a stupid thing to think.”

“Swan.” Shaking her head, Emma moves before she can reconsider how incredibly dumb this is and possibly even more dangerous, but he keeps staring at her and it’s so easy and normal, and if she were someone who breathed with any sort of regularity, that wold be an appropriate analogy. Killian shifts too, so that helps. 

And she definitely mumbles kiss me like some harlequin romance heroine, but he doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t object and the fingers that find her hair help ground her. To this plane of reality. Nice exists for about half a second, before it rather quickly evolves into need and desire and there are hands everywhere. Emma’s and Killian’s — tracing each other like this is the first time all over again, and her back arches once she clamors into his lap. 

Rocking down at the same time he rocks up draws out several sounds Emma’s never heard before, and would not mind hearing on loop. Fingers search out skin, pushing into the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck, and she can’t tilt her head enough. To get the right angle, or more of his tongue and his tongue’s already swiping at her lips. 

He groans again. When she opens her mouth, lets him trace as much as he’d like, and Emma would like even more, but she’s always been kind of greedy when it comes to him and really oxygen is vastly overrated. 

She can’t keep her eyes open. 

Can’t imagine how anything gets better than this, or them and there’s that pronoun again. 

Both of their shoulders heave when they finally have to pull apart, more black than blue in Killian’s eyes and— “We’re really good at that,” she mutters, working a laugh out of him. That he presses against her neck. And under her chin. Drags across her jaw, and up towards her temple, kissing whatever he can reach and everywhere he lands and it takes a power she did not know she possessed for Emma to keep herself from demanding he take his clothes off as well. 

She opts for the next best thing. “Thoughts on sleeping in your own bed?” 

The eyebrows, honestly. Flying up, and reacting quicker than he can respond and Killian kisses her. Soft and easy, and as normal as anything. “Vast,” he says, mostly into her mouth, “and it’s difficult to fall asleep without you, so it’d be nice to actually do that.” “Yeah, ok. That works.”

[writingpuddle]

“Don’t you ever get lonely?” Nicky asked, digging in his pack for a chocolate bar. To their left, the cliff dropped away precipitously, sheer granite cliffs like sentinels at the end of the world.

Neil stared at Nicky. “No,” he said.

“What, never?”

Neil looked out across the sweeping vista of mountains before them. A speck that could have been a hawk or a raven or a sparrow spun against the sky, too small and distant to judge. He’d stood in the middle of busy cities; he’d gone to school with hundreds; he’d even tried out for a track and field team once. He’d been surrounded by people, and he had been so ferociously lonely it had been like a knife in his chest.

“No,” he said, because he didn’t know how to explain—didn’t even want to, really. He’d felt more alone back in the so-called real world than he’d ever felt in the wilderness, miles from any other person. When there was no one around, there was no one to miss.

~~~The Long-Distance Hiker AU (A Bullet Point Fic)~~~

So after Neil’s mom died he kinda of ghosted around for a while and eventually ended up in a small hiking town in California

He met a bunch of thru hikers and figured, hey, my dad probably won’t find me if I’ve fucked off into the wilderness

So he starts hiking

And pretty soon he realizes it’s the best thing he could imagine

He spends all summer in the mountains and when winter rolls around he finds a temporary job in a skiing town working in a second hand gear shop

He’s an ultralighter in the most accidental sense possible

His gear is weird and cobbled together and his shoes are held together with dental floss

He sleeps under a tarp with a down blanket and a thin foam mat and he’ll eat the same shit day in day out without even registering it while he covers frankly obscene distances every single day

It basically gives Kevin an ulcer

Kevin’s an ultralighter, but in the stuck up, rich bitch way; his gear is probably worth thousands of dollars and he’ll lecture anyone who listens about ripstop nylon and is super snobby and elitist about who is a so-called “real” thru hiker (hint: anyone who doesn’t do it his way isn’t a real thru hiker)

(don’t worry he’ll get smacked around a little by people like Dan and stop being such a little bitch about it but he grew up rich so even though it might’ve been shit living with Riko he really doesn’t always take into consideration the context of how much fucking money gear costs when he’s preaching about ultralighting)

(yes I’m taking out my dislike for pretentious rich ultralighters on him, okay, but the difference is he’ll have character growth versus the people I met are probably still being preachy and self-important to this day)

Andrew’s like the exact opposite

His pack weighs like seventy pounds and he’ll pull a six-inch knife (a gross misuse of smart gear weight management) at anyone who comments

He has a completely contained single person tent that’s big enough to sit up in and a four-inch inflatable mattress

His sleeping bag is rated to like -20 even when he’s hiking in the summer

Nicky swears he once saw him pull a full-sized chocolate cake out of his backpack three days down the trail and everyone says that’s stupid and made up but secretly think its totally true

Andrew likes to hike alone but somehow he’s never more than a day away from Aaron and Nicky and when he keeps showing up near them it gets harder and harder to pretend like he doesn’t actually care about them

Nobody says anything, obviously, but Nicky gets a little teary when he starts to notice the pattern

It was Nicky’s idea; in this universe Erik got him into hiking when he was in Germany so he got the cousins into it as a bonding exercise and then it turned out it was the best family activity they had ever found

This is several years after they graduated and they’ve scrounged together enough time and money to hike the Pacific Crest Trail

Now the upperclassmen:

So Stephanie Walker is a trail angel: one of those people who lives near a long trail and provides snacks and rides and somewhere to stay and basically helps out anyone who comes by with whatever’s going on; she’s pulled a lot of people out of frankly dangerous situations and she’s not afraid of anything the trail has to offer

So Renee finds herself and her faith while living this life of meeting new hikers every day and it’s almost inevitable that she starts to hike and find solace in the wilderness

Allison is one of those Wild types: she’s done some hiking (much to her parents’ chagrin) but she’s never done a thru trail or even much overnighting before, but she’s ready to throw herself into it and doesn’t care how dirty she gets

She totally carries a tiny spa package though

The other women are very skeptical because they take pride in being free from societies expectations and make up and shaving but they come around after Allison pulls it out one time when they’re seven days into a ten day section and gives them face masks and they all have a little pedicure pampering session (so, so needed when your feet are being beaten and bruised by hard terrain all day)

She has a lot of new, expensive gear and is super touchy about people trying to help her (because a beautiful woman absolutely gets people trying to “help” all the time and it’s infuriating and condescending) but she learns to accept help from her closest friends

She was showing off near the beginning of the trail drinking with a bunch of guys and probably got too sloshed trying to act tough (alcohol hits you waaaay harder at high elevations dude, if you’re not expecting it you can get Fucked Up really fast)

It’s Seth who realizes things are getting out of control and pulls her out before the guys can do anything shitty which is how their friendship and eventually their relationship gets started

They piss everyone off with their constant breaking up and getting back together on the trail, sometimes hiking together for days and then splitting up and going to hike with other people but they find a lot of healing out there in the woods

Seth’s mom is totally dismissive and condescending of his hiking, she thinks it’s a stupid waste of time, but she thinks everything he does is a stupid waste of time so at least when he’s out there without cell service he has an excuse to not respond to her

Now Dan

Dan’s trailer trash, right

She’s got no fucking cash but she has this dream in her head to hike the PCT and she’s going to fucking well do it

Her gear is probably most similar to Neil’s except where his is a mess of weird priorities and held together by spit and twine

Hers is meticulously planned

It’s cheap, some of it’s over forty years old, but it’s hers

It’s probably the only stuff in the world that’s actually hers

She accumulated it over about four years, hitting all the second-hand gear events, saving up every penny, packing and repacking and writing everything out in great detail until David Wymack got wind of her plans at a gear event

He’s one of those guys who hiked the PCT thirty years ago back before anyone knew what it was except instead of feeling superior about that it means he knows exactly how much impact experiencing the wilderness can have for disenfranchised people

He approaches Dan and offers to sponsor her hike

She’s resistant at first; she planned this hike, she got all the stuff together, she was going to do it without anyone’s help

But he comes back and says he just wants her to write about her experiences and publish it on his website

He’ll pay her for the work, of course

And she wavers and finally caves because this will move her plans up by about two years if she can make money while she’s hiking instead of having to hoard up enough cash to take six whole months off

Her blog posts are a huge hit

She doesn’t preach about how the mountains saved her, or get too metaphorical about hiking or anything like that

She just talks about the real, raw experience of hiking

The friendships, the trials, the triumphs

The infuriating people whose mental image of the hiking community doesn’t include poor black girls who grew up in a trailer park, who say she’s an inspiration like they actually mean something else

She talks about the days that she flies up the mountains and the days that she can barely drag herself out of her tent and the day she realizes that Allison and Renee, these women she thought could not be more different from her, are the best friends she’s ever had in the world

And she’s takes fucking amazing pictures

She’s also very determined not to have a trail romance

That’s stupid and cliché

Look that guy Matt might be hot but she’s not interested

He’s clearly working through some stuff and she’s not here to be some guys savior or whatever

So Matt then

His mom helped him get sober a couple years ago and he’s been struggling with it ever since

She got him into hiking as an outlet and a healthy hobby and he took to it like a fish to water

He’s got legs for days and he doesn’t mind carrying a heavy pack, he can hike for hours without stopping

(The fact that he’s faster than her pisses Dan off a bit, but sometimes you gotta accept that you’ve got short legs and just hike your own hike, there aren’t any prizes for speed)

He relapsed again a couple months before his hike started and he and Randy weren’t even sure if he was going to be able to do it but he’s damned well going to try

So anyway

Pretty much everyone is trying to actually hike the PCT except Neil

He drives everyone bonkers

His motivation isn’t really about the trail so much as staying out in the wilderness where there are no gangsters to murder you

So he just does whatever he wants and keeps showing up at random points

He’s technically got one of the thru hiker permits but he frequently goes off on side trails not on the PCT and ends up hiding out in the woods so rangers won’t find him

He’ll just hitchhike straight through boring sections or anywhere that you pass through too many towns where he’d rather not be remembered

He keeps coming back to the PCT but it’s more like it’s a rough guideline of where to go than an actual route he’s taking

He’s got his natural colouring back because who’s dying their hair or wearing fucking contacts on the trail?

But also

Who would ever associate a runaway mafia kid with a guy with overgrown hair and a stained t-shirt who’s sitting serenely on a mountain pass in a photo on David Wymack’s website?

Nobody

That’s right kids, Nathan doesn’t have a role in this one because he doesn’t find Neil

Maybe he gets killed in a shoot out or something and some other gangster steps up and takes over, and in the shuffle Neil’s just kinda forgotten

Maybe he finds out months later and he just stares at the computer in shock because he should have known, shouldn’t he? He should have felt it when his father died

He should have realized that he was free

That happens later though

Who fucking cares what Riko’s doing honestly

Kevin has somehow attached himself to Andrew and is driving him up the wall with advice to improve his hiking/base weight/distance/etc and he sees this guy (Neil) who regularly covers like thirty or forty miles a day (obscene!) and is like YES this guy is my people!

Except when he starts talking to Neil he realizes he’s this total weirdo who doesn’t even have a cook set he just eats cold food (a common enough thing among ultralighters, but not like this. Oh god, not like this)

Neil’s just sitting there gnawing on a pack of uncooked ramen like a fucking animal

And he’s not! Even! Hiking! Properly!

You’ll never finish the trail if you hike like this!

Neil just gives him a blank look

He’s got no interest on getting on some “verified” list of people who hiked the PCT, he just likes hiking

Andrew likes him

I mean obviously he despises him what the hell is with that janky ass setup but also he’s so unconventional and unapologetic how could Andrew not be into that?

They’re the kind of people who give wilderness rescue personnel grey hair, but for completely opposite reasons

Neil keeps running into them because even though he covers so much ground every day, his meandering route means he doesn’t actually move down the trail very fast

They’ll be like wait weren’t you like a week ahead of us and he’s like oh yeah I heard about this cool waterfall and took a sixty mile side trail to visit it and nearly ran into a momma bear with two cubs, it was awesome

And they all start to grow on him, and each other, almost accidentally

Look none of them are out there romanticizing the trail as some kind of magical place where the problems of the real world disappear and the people are somehow more pure and true or whatever

People are people and they bring their issues wherever they go

But there is a paring down

When your daily concerns are just mileage and shoes and food and weather, a lot of other stuff fades into the background

And well the truth is a lot of people are on those trails to work through stuff

And they find each other

Gradually, without even really noticing

They team up in June, groups of three or four with crampons and ice axes to get over the Sierra’s.

Neil was planning to just do side hikes and wait for the snow to melt—he isn’t so reckless he wants to go over the ice alone, but Kevin insists he join them and for the first time he hikes in a group with Kevin and the cousins all together.

It’s weird

He’s not used to people talking to him when he’s hiking and he frequently doesn’t respond and it’s not because he’s being rude he’s just so focussed on what he’s doing and what’s around him that he literally doesn’t hear them

And then

Nicky slips

It’s not his fault, they did nearly everything right (Kevin may be a pretentious ass, but he does know his shit) but sometimes shit just happens for no reason

And they’re at the edge of the ice sheet so Nicky’s just untying himself from the rope that links them together, he’s not even moving, and the snow beneath him shifts and he doesn’t even have time to scream before he’s hurtling down the snow below the trail towards the cliff at the bottom of the ice sheet

Neil doesn’t even hesitate

He dives after him, ice axe in one hand like a fucking gladiator and gets his arm wrapped around Nicky’s waist

He slams the ice axe into the snow and it drags behind them, and it looks like it’s not going to catch, and the edge is getting closer and closer—

Until the axe catches something, and Nicky and Neil lurch to a halt, clinging to each other, hanging off of Neil’s one arm and the axe.

Neil looks up and sees Andrew, Aaron and Kevin in various places on the slope above them, their axes dug in and long gouge marks in the snow beneath their heels, strung together by a ropeline that’s still attached to Neil’s waist

That rope is probably the only thing that slowed them down enough that Neil could stop them without ripping his arm clean off

It’s hardly a by-the-book rescue, and in fact it was pretty stupid, but they’re okay, they’re okay, that’s all that matters

That night they light a fire down by a lake and Nicky cries on Aaron’s shoulder and Andrew keeps clenching his fists because he’s never felt so helpless in his life and it was Neil that jumped, not him

He knows that he was at the far end of the line and he would’ve made it worse if he had, but doing nothing while Neil risked his life to save Nicky

They don’t really talk about it

But you kind of can’t help being friends after that

And even after they’re out of the high mountains and back on solid trails Neil keeps tabs on them

And Nicky befriends the others and without even meaning to they start to develop a sort of loose trail family vibe

They’re not hiking together all the time like some of the groups they meet, but they check on each other all the time and wait up in resupply villages and bond over firepits and shitty hot chocolate mixes and swap tips on how to keep the butt-chafing at bay

Neil sticks to the outskirts, mostly, but he starts to open up a little, in fits and spurts, tiny non-specific things that wouldn’t even register to most people but that this particular group knows means more than that

He’s slowing down, too, sometimes hiking entire days with people and covering half his usual distance even when there’s no cliffs or glaciers threatening him

He likes hiking with Andrew the most, though

Because neither of them are big talkers when they’re hiking and Andrew’s pack might be absurdly heavy but he’s got legs the size of tree trunks and endurance to match, so he might not be fast but he can outwalk half the people on the trail by sheer relentlessness

They both like to camp up high, near treeline (so Neil can set up his tarp) and in the places that it’s legal they’ll start a small fire and Andrew will loan Neil his pot so he can actually cook his fucking ramen for once and sometimes they’ll watch the Milky Way rise and share secrets under the open sky, not looking at each other so they don’t break the illusion, and sometimes they won’t say anything at all but it’s okay, because they’re saying nothing together.

It’s nice

It’s maybe more than nice

The summer draws to a close and Neil is starting to realize that he doesn’t want it to

He never wants the hiking season to end but this time it’s different

This summer has been perfect

And he knows deep in his bones that once they leave the trail things will change

The others have lives to return to, and Neil…

The trail is all he has

And if he’s barely hiking alone at all these days, well, who’s going to call him out on it?

The others like having him around because he stops them from getting too fixated on the Trail to see the trail

He still takes side trips but now sometimes people will come along and he’ll stand at the base of a canyon staring up at the glossy white walls and Dan will snap a photo for her blog and smile, because the PCT is just a line on a map, but the hike is all of them; together

He’s hiking with Andrew in September when a storm hits, this time vicious

Neil huddles under his tarp in resignation

Storms suck, he always gets wet, no matter how much he lowers the tarp, but he’s used to it; he just waits it out

But it’s just getting worse

Hail lashing at the tarp and pummelling the ground and maybe for once he regrets camping so high up

And Andrew has to shout to be heard but finally Neil realizes he’s offering to let Neil come into his tent

You’re going fucking freeze, just get in here

Neil goes

It’s weird

It’s instantly weird

The tent is not built for two people, so they’re both sitting cross legged with their heads ducked to not press against the roof

The storms probably not going to let up soon, Andrew says

Yeah, Neil says.

Andrew sighs

Lie down, he says, and Neil does, and Andrew lies down next to him, shoulder to shoulder

It barely works, only because neither of them are very big people

Neil’s pack is outside wrapped in his tarp and all he has is his damp down blanket but he’s not cold anymore, not with Andrew bundled up in his ridiculous sleeping bag right next to him

The storm rages for nearly two days and what passes between them in that tent, nobody knows

If they’re barely ever seen apart after it, well. You only see people so often on the trail. It could easily be a coincidence

And if Neil doesn’t even set his tarp up on rainy nights anymore, well. They never camp near other people anyway, so who’s to know?

In early October the snow blows in, blocking the route to the finish.

They drift around a resupply village for almost two weeks, waiting for the trail to reopen, but finally even Kevin accepts that it isn’t going to

After all of that, none of them are going to finish the trail

It’s a disappointment—of course it is. For most of them, the end of their trip is now a nondescript exit into a village, no fanfare, no closure; they didn’t even know they were done for days

Still, it’s not so bad

They’re all together

Allison suggests Vegas, but they all laugh it down; they wouldn’t even know how right now, bearded and hairy and ravenous as they are

They go to South Carolina instead

It’s not really even discussed that they’ll stay together, they just all go; Allison hosts them at her resort and they laugh at the incongruous weirdness of seeing each other in real clothes, and it’s different, but it’s also okay

They stay for another two weeks, and they don’t hike another fucking inch

We should try the Continental Divide Trail sometime, Dan says

Her blog is so popular now that she’s got sponsorships from more than just Wymack waiting for her

She could make a career out of hiking and blogging and doing gear reviews and it’s a dream she’d never even realized she wanted until she had it

And if she accidentally fucked up and ended up with a hot trail boyfriend? Well, nobody’s perfect

And he has a great butt

(she has photos of it on her blog, from when they jumped into a glacier lake naked back in August)

Everyone is jealous

How about that trek in Iceland? Matt suggests

Or the whats-it-called in New Zealand, Allison says

Oh, I bet there’s some good ones in Europe! Nicky says. You guys can all meet Erik!

And it’s going to be different, but it’s not going away, and Neil feels calm in a way he never has at the end of a hiking season before

Eventually everyone has to start making plans to return to their lives, and jobs, and Neil sneaks out to the back of the house to sit in crisp fall air and watch leaves spiral down out of the trees

Andrew follows him

They sit together, watching the moon rise over the hills, and when Andrew asks Neil to come home, Neil says yes

[addictwithapen-anon]

A Conspiracy  Theory About the Original Happy Feet Movie

Okay, so I was on Netflix and I saw a bunch of movies from my younger days, so I decided to watch them tonight (Happy Feet being one of them). Anyway, I believe that Happy Feet is about being gay or coming out. Here’s why.

At the beginning, you see the father dropping the egg (Of course this has nothing to do with why Mumble hatches late but it was just there.) and when he hatches he does the thing with his feet. The father tells him not to do that because it's "Not penguin". He also says "When your mom comes, stay still." And instead, Mumble keeps being him. Later on we learn that unlike the other penguins, he doesn't have a heartsong because he doesn't know how to sing. (Doesn't know how to "be straight"). The parents take him to a teacher to learn how to sing (Conversion therapy maybe?), but alas, he still can't sing and can't help his "Happy feet". He then is made fun of by the other kids and sits in the back of the class (Like a gay kid would experience this alienation for coming out. Also keep in mind while the mother was supportive of Mumble's "Happy feet", the father was not, and he was worried about his reputation.) He wants to be like the others, so he attends the graduation ceremonies even though the king penguin doesn't allow him to graduate (Maybe a religious leader, maybe irl this would be a Catholic school). The kids, now adults continue to alienate him by not letting him join their songs. He then finds the mexican penguins who think his "happy feet" are cool. He made friends who accept him as he is. They then go back and his friends make a song for him, which he then lip synchs for Gloria (Maybe irl would be known as "Bearding"). Gloria find out the truth, but Mumble then decides to come clean and keeps moving his "Happy feet" in hopes that he will be accepted. All of the penguins of the class eventually accept him, then all of them join in with him. You then hear the lead penguins saying "Disgraceful! Who do they think they are? Where is Noah? This is getting out of hand!"(I'm assuming Noah is the overall leader). The find Noah and say "Behold, this was an omen from the start! And now we have this uprising!" Referring to Mumble and his "Happy feet". Noah then starts yelling, "Stop! Stop this unruly nonsense! A little self control if you please! You bring this disorder, this apparition to the very heart of our community!Have you lost your mind?! " The penguins, confused, stop, and one says "We're just having fun, harmless fun!" (Maybe how we reference gay marriage as harmless. It hurts nobody.) Noah's reply, " Harmless? It's this kind of backsliding that brought this scarcity upon us!" Mumble then realizes the leaders think the food shortage has something to do with his "Happy feet". The leader says, "Do you not understand that we can only survive if we live together in harmony? Then you and your foreign friends lead us into your easy ways? You offend the great Guin! (God?)You invite him to withhold his bounty! He controls the seasons! He giveth and he taketh away! (A Bible reference)" Mumble then replies, "Happy feet can't cause a famine!" Noah says "If happy feet didn't cause it then what did?" Mumble then explains that he believes there are forces out of our control causing it. "Things we don't understand". The city then starts to call Mumble insane. A leader then says, "He drove the fish away, and now he's ranting this rubbish!" He then calls Mumble's "foreign" friend "Filthy vermin" and slaps him. Noah comes in "Descent leads to division and division leads us to doom! You, Mumble 'Happy Feet', must go!" The mom then tells Mumble not to leave and says "You have just as much right to be here as anyone else!" The dad, angry, then tells his wife to let him handle this. He says to Mumble, " You must renounce your 'so- called friends', your peculiar thoughts and strange ways . If we are devout, sincere in our ways, the fish will return. Listen boy, I was a backslider myself (I used to "be gay" myself), I was careless, and now we're paying the price." The dad then says it's his fault Mumble is the way he is (Kinda how fathers blame themselves for their sons being gay). Norma Jean then says "There's nothing wrong with him!" the father says "Face it, our son's all messed up!" They go back and forth, the mother arguing that there's nothing wrong with Mumble. The leader says "You father is right. Heed his suffering heart and repent (just like priests tell you to repent from being gay because it's a 'sin'.)" The father pleads, "Please son, you can do this. It ain't so hard." Mumble then replies, "Don't ask me to change, Pa, cause I can't. (just like you can't change your sexuality.)" He then leaves. Gloria then says "This isn't fair!" Then her parents quickly quiet her. The leaders then chant "Together, we prevail!" Then the city repeats it, almost like it's scripture in a church. Later on, Gloria and Mumble reunite. Gloria proclaims her love for him. He then tells her to go back because they can't keep an egg safe. He adds, "That's... If we ever had an egg"(Maybe Gloria metaphorically is a man, which would be why they couldn't have an egg together). Gloria quickly replies, "We don't need an egg (Baby) to be happy. " Mumble then says, "You say that now, but what about later, when all of your friends have eggs?" Gloria says, "Then I'll have you." Mumble then pushes her away and they fight. She calls him stubborn. He says he doesn't like her singing, she says, "You have a problem with my singing?" And he replies, "No, it's fine... If you like that sort of thing." Maybe then Gloria wouldn't in fact be a man? He says he likes it but it's a "Little fru- fru for his taste" Meaning he isn't into girls. They then leave. He eventually goes back to the city and tells everyone about his findings on why the food is gone. He then starts with the "Happy feet" again and the leaders, again, try to stop it, but everyone else accepts him. The leaders then start chanting their chant again. Mumble then finds the dad depressed. The mom then says "dance with your boy" and the dad then says "Forgive me, there's no music left in me." Mumble replies, "It's just like singing, but with your body (Just like being gay is still love, only the person is the same sex as you). The father then starts dancing. The rest of the movie is pretty irrelevant though, with the humans coming and restoring the food .

[emletish-fish]

Worst Prisoner rambly notes!

Lovely readers,

In these notes I'll ramble about Aang and Zuko's relationship, birthdays in ATLA, the northern lights, and Pakku's growth.

So this chapter was a little more serious, but I hope you all enjoyed it anyway.

Aang is actually under a huge amount of pressure in the seige of the Northern Water Tribe.  He's twelve, he's only just started water-bending. He's struggling with the Avatar state. Yet everyone expects him just to solve the problem.

But jeez, it's a huge ask for the poor kid.  Look at him, he’s so nervous!

I just wanted Aang to have someone he could confide in about how much his responsibilities freak him out. It's a little awkward for him to tell Sokka and Katara, because they had a very obvious vested interest in the outcome.  I think he would choose to confide these things in Zuko. 

I just think he would be a good listener for Aang's struggles. He encourages Aang to be more honest about his fears and responsibilities, and Aang in turn, feels like there is someone who is listening to him non-judgmentally. Aang is a massive people-pleaser who has a hard time saying things he knows people won’t like, but he isn’t as worried about that with Zuko.  Developing more honest communication can only be a good thing for Aang’s growth. 

Also, I just love their friendship, okay!

So ATLA takes place nearly over a year. I reckon everyone would have had a birthday at some point during ATLA. Sokka's was in the autumn, so he'll have to wait until after the comet.  I think Katara, Zuko, Aang and Toph would have been born in their corresponding season. Powerful earthbenders are born in spring. Powerful firebenders are born in summer (though I think Zuko's birthday is late summer – for reasons I'll get into if I ever get around to writing season 3). Katara is born in mid-winter, the time for badass waterbenders.

I ascribe to the theory that Air Nomads engaged in big procreating solstice festivals* – but the result would be everyone would be born around the same time. This time would be around the autumn equinox. So I think the Air nomads would probably celebrate everyone's birthdays in a two-week long festival.

*Imagine Zuko's surprise when he finally steels himself to have “the talk” with Aang, only to find out group sex/orgies is what Aang perceives as normal.

I think the Water Tribes wouldn't do extravagant presents, as they are people of limited resources. Instead they would give practical gifts, and honour each year with a practical gift that the child would need, up until they reach the age of adulthood. I think these gifts would be gender segregated, eg hunting stuff for the boys, and housework stuff for the girls.  So Katara gets her bone needles.

I think the Fire Nation would probably do birthday candles and individual gifts.  We see when he is dating Mai that Zuko, other faults aside, is actually quite a generous boyfriend. Some of this comes from him being in a position of wealth and opulence during the relationship, but I also think generosity is in his nature. Zuko was willing to give that knife to a kid he had only just met when he had next to nothing, just so Lee would feel safe. It doesn't feel like a stretch that he would try to give the knife to Katara. I think he would have lost track of time a little bit, hence his surprise that her birthday is so soon.

He gives it to her because it's her birthday and he wants to give her something nice. But it really is the only thing his got. This would be one of the moments where the loss of his status would really bother him, because he really doesn't have two coppers to rub together at this point. He's a prince with a generous nature who can't spoil his girlfriend on her birthday, and that's gotta suck. 

He just wants to do nice things for her. So he gives her a metaphorical piece of himself.

He also has an ulterior motive for giving the knife to her. He wants to know someone will tell his Uncle what happened to him, just in case.  He doesn't want to just disappear on Iroh the way his mum disappeared on him. (He is confident that no matter what goes down, Katara is going to live through sheer stubbornness. He knows what a badass his girlfriend is). The movement of the armada has made Zuko re-examine how precarious his position is, when previously he had been lulled into a false sense of well-being because he was getting' some.

I think Zuko would be in a more pessimistic frame of mind after having to write to his dad and the realisation that he's on a ticking clock before he's deemed no longer useful.  The request for a letter to his dad would have thrown him. Zuko would realise for the first time that he doesn't really have anything to say to his father; I mean anything that he would feel safe saying to his father.  He can communicate quite freely with his Uncle, but he has never been able to talk to his father.

The northern lights are great! But I didn't want to call them that in this fic because I think they would happen in the south as well, just like we get the Aurora Australis sometimes. So I called them spirit-lights instead. I think this would have been a particularly amazing display.  There are heaps of legends regarding the northern lights, but red is consistently interpreted as foretelling war and death.

Tui has been watching this whole time, and been very entertained.  I haven't said anything was a metaphor for their love for a while, so I'll say it here. The fish are a metaphor for their love! I just really enjoy the balance, the push and pull, that was present in Zutara. They pushed each other to grow into better people. They pulled each other forward, and pulled each other up when the other was down. They grounded each other, supported each other and understood each other.   Rather than being locked into stagnant roles, one giver and one taker, they had such a beautiful balance between them.

So the Frozen Pit is quite dark and spooky – and the origin of all cannibalistic rumours! Pakku's thought back  when the Gaang first arrived about how glad he was that the tribe no longer imprisoned people was in reference to this place. The Northern Water Tribe has always been very unwelcoming to foreigners.  I think that there is always a dark side to isolationist policies that dehumanises “other” people.  In a war-torn world, full of refugees, (who are willing to walk across deserts, and other life threatening geographical obstacles) the Northern Water Tribe is actually an ideal refuge. Yet no one tries it. I think there was a very strong good reason for that.

So Pakku is not very supportive of Katara's relationship with Zuko here, but I honestly don't think he would be.  They had to be explicitly forbidden from one another by someone, and Pakku was my guy for that! The Northern Water Tribe has had a policy of isolation for over 80 years. That does not make it the most welcoming place for an inter-racial relationship.

I think Pakku would be tolerant of people from other nations and feel compassion for them (eg. his deep regret about the frozen pit).  However he does not want any foreigners marrying into his tribe/family. His threat against Zuko isn't anything personal. He doesn't have a problem with Zuko per-see, but he certainly has a problem with Katara dating outside the tribes, especially someone who is “the enemy”. Like all white-lotus, Pakku is working towards maintaining balance, but I think he would see that balance as everyone staying in their own nations, rather than mixing. (Hey-hey, kinda like Bryke in the comics!)  

Pakku is incredibly set in his ways and very inflexible in his thinking. He was willing to make sure Aang was never able to master either water-bending or the Avatar state just so he could maintain an extremely sexist custom and belief in male superiority.

He let Katara learn waterbending for very personal reasons, but he didn't let any other girls learn did he? The lead up to war would have been a great time for that sweeping change in gender roles, with women being taught to fight based on sheer practicality. There is a very real threat coming and logically, everyone knowing basic self defence would have been beneficial. But we don't see that.

I think Pakku developed a personal attachment to Katara, and she did make him question some of his values. However, shifting perceptions of a man that age takes a lot, and Katara's got other shit to do. Pakku is going to have to do some of the growing on his own, and he is also going to have to have a solid mistake to learn from – rather than some nebulous realisation of the fact that he has been a dick to women for sixty years.  

Pakku is very controlling here. He is used to being listened to and getting  his own way. I think now that Pakku sees Katara as family, he would feel entitled to a say in who she dates. He honestly thinks he's doing the right thing, to “protect her from herself” here, and that is part of the problem.  It does come from a place of love, but there is a hell of a lot of rigid ideas about gender and relationships in that place too.  

Next chapter: Everything will change when the Fire Nation attacks!

[pushspacetocontinue]

Russell Tolbert TV Tropes

Below the read more (because it is a long long list) are a list of TV Tropes (because I love them) that apply to Russell. There is a list for his main verse, Gemsona/SU Verse, his TF2 Verse, and his Superhero verse (the rest haven’t had much of a chance to be used) and I plan to add more of them as I find them, along with the ones for AUs. 

So if you decided to read them, click on and enjoy. Trigger warning for mentions of abusive parents, alcohol addiction and a suicide attempt below.

Normal Verse TV Tropes

Abusive Parents: His Mother, Cassandra. He and his brothers were all victims of her abusive behaviour. While her favourite thing to do was verbally and emotionally hurt then via humiliation, degradation, and manipulation, she wasn’t afraid to get physical with them either. She was also neglectful and dismissive, leaving her oldest sons to look after the others while she did whatever she wanted. Thankfully, his Father, Jean-Luc, is none of these things.

Adorkable: Loyal? Check. Shy? Check. Kind? Check. An absolute nerd when it comes to videogames, space, and drumming? Check. 

Affluent Ascetic: Lives in a modest but nice apartment with basic furniture and a few luxuries despite having the money for more. His reason being is that he’s perfectly happy with what he has already. 

Animal Motifs: Moths and Butterflies. 

Apologises a Lot: Part of him being an Extreme Doormat. 

The Baby of the Bunch: He has seven brothers, and they’re all older. 

Bad Dreams: He has them often, usually after something particularly distressing or painful. 

Befriending the Enemy: Usually his first option. If that doesn’t work and the enemy isn’t backing down, then the switch-blade comes out. 

Beware the Nice Ones: Will not hesitate to jump in and protect someone he cares about, even if it means kicking ass. 

Bookworm: Books and games were his biggest forms of escapism when he was a child. He’s carried his love for both into his adulthood. 

Bungled Suicide: Also combined with Interrupted Suicide. He tried to die but was too drunk to make himself bleed out quickly, which gave Gertrude enough time to find him and call an ambulance to save him.

- This led to a Happily Failed Suicide, where he had managed to start turning his life around since the attempt and making positive changes. He’s not where he wants to be yet, but he’s doing better than he was.

Character Tics: He laughs awkwardly when he’s nervous or embarrassed about something. 

Chronic Hero Syndrome: He admits that he just cannot leave someone in need behind.

Cool Uncle: Viewed as such by his eldest niece, Gracie. 

Combat Pragmatist: He’s not strong, but tries to make up for this by using speed and agility, fighting dirty, and thinking quickly. He’ll go for the eyes, crotch and neck if he has to. 

Cowardly Lion: He’s shy, socially awkward, insecure, and tries to avoid conflict whenever possible, but when it comes to protecting his friends or defending himself, then he’ll jump straight in. 

Disappeared Dad: For most of his childhood and teen years, although not his father’s fault. Thankfully, they’ve since reunited. 

Extreme Doormat: Something that he needs to change.

Friends Are Chosen, Family Aren’t: While reconnecting with his living brothers again, he still chose new people as his family after his mother disowned and vowed to kill him if she saw him again, and cares for him like they’re his siblings too. 

Guilty Pleasure: Nintendo games (particularly Pokemon and Yokai Watch). While his colleagues at the cafe like them too, he still feels a little bit embarrassed about it. 

Hair of Gold, Heart of Gold: A man who tries to be good and decent to those around him. His sandy/straw-coloured locks fit the bill. 

I Am Not my Mother: Partially why he does his best to be the good man that he is; he refuses to continue any pain or suffering his Mother caused him and his brothers, especially now that she’s gone.

The Insomniac: Has trouble falling asleep and then staying asleep if he does. 

Le Parkour: One of his main hobbies and skills, having kept up the practice for years. 

Massive Numbered Siblings: Lived with his seven older brothers and mother in the same house until they started moving out. 

Musician: A drummer for a (mostly) Electro Swing band known as Midnight Swarm. 

Must Have Caffeine: He honestly has no idea what he would do without coffee or other such caffeinated substances. 

Near-Death Experience: Has experienced a few of these in his life time. The most serious left him unconscious in hospital for two days, and needing time to recover after he woke up. 

Never Speak Ill of the Dead: A mild example. When people find out his mother died, he tries to downplay it simply by telling them ‘she wasn’t a good woman’ and leaving it at that.

Platonic Life Partners: With his dear friend, Pari Vass. 

Plays Games at Work: Plays on his 3DS or Switch when it’s slow at the cafe. 

Pungeon Master: He admits that he really likes puns a little bit too much for his good. 

Rage Breaking Point: How his anger presents itself. He holds it back and if it doesn’t get vented out, one more straw will eventually break the metaphorical camel’s back. There are warning signs though, such as increased irritability. He inherited this from his mother. 

Recovered Addict: Used to drink alcohol to excess. He has since stopped and has been clean just over a year and a half.

Right Hand Cat: A non-villainous example in Misty, who he inherited from his previous landlady, Gertrude. 

Secretly Wealthy: Thanks to a very large inheritance he received from his late landlady, Gertrude. He doesn’t like to flaunt it for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention. That doesn’t stop from making regular anonymous donations to crowdfunding sites, charity organisations and from paying for other people whenever he can. 

Self-Deprecation: Guilty of doing this a lot. 

Sir Swears-a-Lot: Having a bunch of sailor-mouthed older brothers and a foul-mouthed mother has had this effect on him. He swears even in his casual speech, although he does rein it in when around  kids or the elderly. 

Speech Impediment: He has a noticeable stammer. He has got it somewhat under control thanks to spending a lot of time practising his talking, but it still comes out on occasion. 

Stage Names: When he’s drumming for the band, he’s Luna Moth. 

Straight Gay: Is attracted to other men, but has been mistaken for straight or asexual on several occasions. 

Weak but Skilled: Is fast, agile and knows how to move. But he can easily be taken down if he makes one wrong step. 

Unfazed Everyman: Has met multiple supernatural beings, monsters, or otherwise odd people, but has already learnt to accept their presence.

Why did it Have to be Snakes?: He’s absolutely terrified of the ocean. 

TF2 Verse TV Tropes

Breaking the Fourth Wall: Has done this a few times now. It seems to be a Scout thing.

Double Jump: A Scout standard. 

Death is a slap on a Wrist: He respawns when he dies, making any kind of death this. That said, he tries to avoid it whenever possible. 

Eaten Alive: Has been a victim of this twice now. He respawned both times, but he’s been left with a deep aversion to that kind of death. 

Fish out of Temporal Water: A very mild example. He was killed and remained dead and stuck in respawn for two years. When he came out, it felt like no time had passed, leaving him very surprised to see that he really had been gone for an extended period. However, he quickly became used to the idea and accepted it. If anything, he was glad for having more movies, books, and music to catch up on. 

Fragile Speedster: Once again, a Scout standard.

Friendly Enemy: Is this to REDs when off the clock (see Punch-Clock villain below.)   

Never Hurt an Innocent: He won’t attack civilians unless absolutely necessary, and even then, he does his best not to use lethal force.

Nothing Personal: How he views his job. 

Older than they Look: While this happens in his normal verse, it happens a lot more in the TF2 Verse. He’s often mistaken for a newbie, or someone way too young to be fighting.

Only in it for Money: Why he chose to work a job killing people in an endless war in the first place. That, and getting away from his mother.

Punch-Clock Villain: Is this to the REDs. Once battles are done, he treats them like any other person; with decency and respect. 

Railroad Tracks of Doom: How he was killed and spent two years in respawn.

Stereotype Flip: Scouts are often viewed as being loud mouthed, arrogant, and bratty. He is none of those things, not even in battle. This has surprised many a merc. 

Why did it have to be Snakes: Due to a previous medic’s experiments, he has been left terrified of snakes and spiders. He’s also very afraid of being eaten, having been swallowed alive before and finding it less than pleasant.

Super Hero/ Luna Moth Tropes: 

Lunacy: The night sky, particular the moon and the stars, bring out his full abilities. While he can still fight and use his abilities during the day, his performance suffers greatly. 

Mutant: How he feels it’s the best way to describe him, due to his zombie-like traits, he way he makes no noise (no rustling of clothing or a voice), and millions of stars can be seen beyond his pupils. That said, he uses his powers for good. 

Revenant Zombie: He spent a year ‘pupating’ when his mutation occurred. He was considered dead when it happened and even now, he doesn’t need to breath, eat, or sleep. He doesn’t even have a heartbeat or bleed. However, he does feel pain, he can become injured, and become fatigued. He theorises that whatever developed in his corpse happens to possess his memories and has yet to develop any consciousness if it even has one.

Rise From your Grave: The first thing he did after he first revived as the mutant he is now was claw out of the hole he was buried in. 

The Speechless: Due to his inability to make any noise, this also affects his ability to talk. He communicates via sign language, text, typing, and a special device that reads his brain waves in his base.

Star Power: In addition to his enhanced speed, agility, and stamina, the easiest way to describe his powers is ‘summoning pieces of the night sky from within and shaping them into whatever he chooses’. 

The Stoic: Comes across as this due to his emotions being severely numbed since his resurrection into Luna Moth. 

Uncanny Valley: Has invoked in a few people if they hang around him for too long without knowing what he really is. So he tries not to get too close to them.

Gemsona/ SU Verse Tropes: 

Alas, poor Villain: Feels this for Pink Diamond. He wishes she hadn’t been shattered and that things hadn’t gone as far as they had. 

Amazing Technicolour Population: A standard among gems like him. His especially so due to being a Bornite. 

Because You Were Nice to Me: Pretty much the main reason he defected to Rose Quart’s side. After the other gems believing he was flawed and treating him as such, he exchanged Rose Quart’s acceptance for his services. 

Desperately Looking for a Purpose in Life: He was originally dismissed by the Crystal Gems, who told him they would call him if his services were needed by them again. He still feels lost even now, despite trying to fill his life with different drives. 

Dual Tonfas: Has a pair of bladed ones that his Energy Bow (see below) turns into when he ends up in a situation that necessitates close combat. 

Energy Bow: The weapon of choice he summons from his gem, the arrows are made of Hard Light and infinite. However, he needs to take time to concentrate on ‘reloading’. It splits into Dual Tonfas (see above) for close combat situations. 

Inside Job: Before the shattering, some of his jobs were to pretend he was still on the side of Homeworld and give false messages. 

Martial Pacifist: Since the shattering of Pink Diamond, he refuses to raise his weapons unless absolutely necessary. However, despite all the years he’s been dodging combat, he still has some prowess and will fight if he has to. 

Really 700 Years Old: While he vaguely looks like a young human male, he’s just over 6000 years old. And it shows.

Sure, Let’s Go With That: Early humans who happened to meet him often assumed he was a fairy or other magical creature due to magic being widely believed in. He just went along with it. The same thing happened when people assumed he had a strange skin condition, which is now the excuse he often gives. 

Super Speed: Was designed to be fast and agile, so that he could deliver items and messages as fast and efficiently as possible. 

Trade Mark Favourite Food: Even though he doesn’t need to eat, he does enjoy coffee and noodles, although not at the same time. 

Video Game Dashing: Has the ability to ‘dash’ in a burst of speed in the air or on the ground. This ability even works on the surface of water.

Wall Crawl: Has the ability to do this, most likely to get past as many obstacles as possible while on messenger missions. 

We Are as Mayflies: Makes this observation a lot, about how humans and other organic Earth species live such short lives. He finds it endearing that they still make the best of the time they have.

[tessatechaitea]

New Titans #103

Tumblr is definitely going to flag this as adult content.

Marv Wolfman predicted Twitter

Just when you thought the Teen Titans had run out of relatives to attack them, Rita Farr shows up with the Brotherhood of Evil to disrupt the Titans' mind probe of Cyborg. During the fight, Terra finds time to remind Gar that she loves him because this comic book is ultimately a teen drama. It definitely isn't a super-hero comic book because the Titans never save anybody. It's simply a metaphor for being a teenager in nowhere near the same way Buffy the Vampire Slayer was. I mean, Buffy was as well but it was done competently which is why this is nothing like Buffy. Wolfman only knew that to be a successful teen drama, you need young people crippled by crushes, engaging in sex, and fighting with their parents. That's this entire series in a nutshell. I once wrote a teen drama and here it is:

Canada Junior High

The fat kid ran up to the hot girl on his first day of Canadian School but not because he was hoping to become a man but because it was his sister. "Hey sis! We're going to Canada School together now!" bothered the fat kid. His name was Fatkid. "Don't talk to me, you mopface!" screamed his sister completely irrationally just like a junior high school girl would act. Even in Canadia which just goes to show that communism isn't any better than whatever America has because teenage girls are mean and nasty everywhere. Especially to their mothers and fat brothers. "But Sis! We need to stick together because our parents don't live in the same house and neither do we for some reason that isn't because our dad is a fish but some other reason. I think it is because he likes jokes and whoopee cushions. And chicks old enough to get married and do it don't like those things," expostulated Fatkid to Sis (that was her name in case you didn't catch that). "I don't care! You're making me unpopular! Go bug someone who isn't me, you mopface!" re-emphasized Sis who immediately went into the bathroom to change into her popular clothes. That means she made herself look like a whore. While she did that, Fatkid went and got himself locked in a broom closet by Jacob Jacoby, the shortest kid ever to go to Canada School. "Ha ha! That mopface sure fell for the old get yourself locked in the closet routine!" high-fived Jacob to Lizard and Spokes who were off to write one song for their band and play it every episode for the next five years. "I think I'm a lesbian!" dreamed Spacelin during the big slumber party. Unless she had a medickal seizure instead. Either way it doesn't matter since both things probably make for good character development. After that, Lucky did some shoplifting with that one girl who never returns after Christmas Break (unless it is called Boxing Day Break in Canada School). And then the cool girl got pregnant at a party just like all the cool girls do. You can tell she's the cool girl because she has hair that can put ten people's eyes out all at once. Then some foreign exchange student named Doctor Somebody saved the world from inside a phone booth and some people asked for money while other people answered phones. That was weird but it's probably important to the story so if you're an editor, don't even think about taking it out. I think there were some really scary puppets who only ate vegetable soup looking for treasure while riding in a hot air balloon too but I don't like to think about that because it gives me the creeps and this isn't a scary story; it's a coming of age story! Oh yeah! I forgot to mention that Fatkid was rescued from the broom closet by the Asian kid, Bob. Bob and Fatkid become really good friends and enjoy a good flashback in the cafeteria to get everyone caught up on all of their shenanigans like the time they cheated on the male enhancement test and the time they had to do oral reports on cheap pottery. Then the twins ran around pretending to be each other but you could always tell which was which by the gross plaque that Prude had on her teeth and Skank didn't. It's really disgusting and I think that paints a pretty good portrait of them so I'll move on to the big dance finale! At the big graduation dance, the school caught fire and burned down. Unless it was destroyed by a giant snake instead. It was very exciting and initiated a new phase in all of their lives.

The End!

Rita and the Brotherhood of Evil wind up being blobby light creatures from a technological world creatively called Technis. They kidnap Cyborg because he's some kind of human/machine interface and they need him to wipe out a virus infecting their sister Zavior. One of the Technites has second thoughts about the kidnapping and remains behind to help the Titans travel to Technis for a four issue story arc that is going to completely suck. Meanwhile, Pantha continues to suffer the worst existential crisis in the history of sentient beings: is she a cat that became human or a human that became a cat?! My guess is she's a cat that became a human because she's too stupid to realize that, being created by Project Hybrid, her issue should be "Am I the offspring of a cat that fucked a human or a human that fucked a cat?!" Oh wait. That's the same thing. Anyway, Pantha should buy a dictionary. New Titans #103 Rating: Boring. It was a Cyborg issue! And the only thing more boring than a Cyborg story is a Cyborg story where he isn't brain dead. So this Cyborg story was actually a bit better than the usual ones. Plus Pantha freaking out about not knowing if she's a cat or a human was lamer drama than that found in any episode of CW's Arrow. P.S. The Letters Page! Ingrid Nuernberg substantiates my claim that Titans is nothing but a melodrama when she writes, "The current story arc is better than any soap opera." But she isn't criticizing the comic book! She's actually praising it! Weirdo. All of the letters were in regard to Issue #100 and not one of them mentioned the rape of Starfire by Raven. Although Johnathan Mark Campa of Glendale, California, had this to say, "...the lip-lock between Raven and Kory (HOT STUFF)...". I feel you, Johnathan! I hate when comic book artists draw the women so hot that you don't realize something terrible is happening in the story! How am I supposed to know I should feel shocked and horrified when I have a boner stirring in my pants?! You know how many dead heroes I've jerked off to?! Stupid artists! Make terrible things look terrible so I stop acting terribly!

[gaming-rabbot]

Rabbot Reviews: Far Cry 5

Great taste, empty calories.

Far Cry 5 is the latest game in quite the lineage of a series known, as you might surmise, as Far Cry. Game number 6, actually, dependent on how canon you feel Primal was. FC as it stands now, though, is a bit of a… how to put it? A long call? A distant yell? An outlying wail? A remote shout? No, a far cry from the original two games, before Ubisoft bought the franchise.

(Yeah, that’s the phrase. Glad I thought of it, though I don’t know where I got it.)

((Incidentally, Remote Shout is the name of my new indie punk garage band. Album drops: never, because this is a joke.))

Starting after Far Cry 3, Ubisoft has been telling their dev teams to make lightning strike twice. Thus, each game hereafter has been an excited waiting game of seeing how they’ll try and ultimately fail to match the demented, yet incredibly charismatic villain that was Vaas.

And 5 feels like this illogical conclusion of just that. Because you have not one, not two, but four scenery-eating, rompy villains. Less a refined, precise attempt at the concept, and more of a blunderbuss approach; hoping to tickle a little of everyone’s villain fancy.

That, I feel, is the perfect metaphor for the game in general.

Last call to avoid spoilers.

Speaking of fitting descriptions of the entire game, let’s start with the intro. Because I have mixed feelings about it, at best. There’s a lot it does right, and some things it simply gets wrong, in regards to the rest of the narrative as a whole.

The pacing and atmosphere are phenomenal. The very air feels heavy around you as you enter into the church, here to take the titular Joseph Seed away from his flock. The pressure of the stakes are established flawlessly, leaving a feeling of palpitation, and a true understanding of just how dangerous Joseph is. Surprised as I was, the game even managed to shock me a little.

In that respect, it’s fantastic.

But then the game uses the cop crew you rolled in with as your motivation for the entire rest of the game, in the form of saving them from the Seed family, and oh god, it’s Fallout 4 all over again.

Just like the Bethesda example above, this aspect of the intro simply doesn’t work. And not just because it’s asking me to unconditionally care about cops.

This sequence of the narrative focuses on every other aspect of narrative setup except for the characters that you’re supposed to get invested in. You get but the most cursory taste of who they are as people. Such a small amount of time can mainly attach their personalities to a specific emotion.

Whitehorse is the calm voice of reason. Marshall Burke is frustrated. Pratt is nervous. And Hudson is… there too, I guess. Look, I’ll be honest, I had to look up half these people’s names for this review. Which I’m sure is only a good sign.

With so little to go on, I found I simply didn’t care whenever a cultist bigwig dangled one of them in front of me on a string, expecting me to bat like a good little kitten. Instead, I yawned and wandered off to play with the packaging the toy had come in.

Like a mischievous little kitten.

Which is such a shame, because there are so many other more interesting characters I actually did care about. And in the few scenes where the Seeds held them to ransom instead, the game suddenly had actual stakes.

Nick and Kim Rye were delightful every time they showed up. Virgil was so honestly sincere, I couldn’t help but like him; and his past, as it unfolded, was interesting to dive into. And Jerome was pretty much cool by default, and an excellent concept for a foil to the cultist bad guys, and everything they stood for.

But the story feels almost unconfident in its execution. Like the team is scared you’ll get bored. So the solution, write more story, or rather, several seemingly self-contained stories across the three separate regions.

With no overarching theme or plot threads besides “Joseph Seed probably gave the command for this at some point,” however, the connection feels loose at best. And this looseness makes the narrative feel all the weaker.

I’d much rather the story had been more focused and condensed. If they’d honed in on about one third as many characters, and if the villains felt a little less redundant, the overall narrative could’ve been much more refined and interesting.

Even the gameplay, while fun, has the same issue.

When traversing from place to place, you can’t drive for five minutes without a dozen random encounters passing you by, whether they travel by wheel or foot or paw. What should be a ten minute trek can sometimes take 30.

Again, it feels like the game is nervous. Like it’s worried that if I’m not firing a gun every two minutes, I’m losing interest. Look, I know this is the age of the internet, but my attention span hasn’t deteriorated that bad.

What were we talking about again?

But it’s sad though, as it detracts from what could be some very nice vistas and scenic routes. I can barely enjoy the quiet, introspective new addition of fishing without a randomly spawned cultist with an exaggerated country accent shouting “Fay-oond ‘eem!” and scaring away all the darn fish with a wild assault rifle volley.

Speaking of guns, let’s talk about politics. Something that could only ever be fun and only ever go over very well.

I don’t want to get too deep into this, as it’s been covered to death, and more eloquently than I’ll probably put it. For a better dive into the subject, I’d recommend watching Errant Signal’s “The Art of Saying Nothing.” To sum it up though, while at face value, FC5 might seem as though it’s about to lay down a scathing indictment of certain aspects of American culture, it really doesn’t.

Not for lack of bringing it up though.

The lady who owns Peaches the cougar, that is to say, the former owner of this sweet large kitten (no I’m not looking up the name this time; she’s not even a narrative footnote), is a prejudicial old woman who lives alone in the woods.

Immediately upon entering her domicile so I could acquire my new kitty and leave, she mentioned that my player character looked vaguely Italian, and made an off-color comment about not wanting her silver/jewels to go missing.

What is this, the turn of the century, last century?

At Hurk’s place, you can meet his dad, who wants to build a wall. What, no, not a wall down there. A wall in the north, to keep out those accursed Canadians and their liberal ideology.

Addressing controversy by obfuscating the real world equivalent is cute, but it lacks the punch that makes it such that it’s proving some kind of point. Here, it’s npc’s that you’re expected to stay on good terms with, so that you can get more quests and goodies, like a new pet or ride.

(Shame you never get a new pet who is also your new ride, though.)

And why? Because they’re supposedly better than the cultists who only physically hurt and impede people different than themselves? What’s the takeaway here supposed to be, that it’s only physical extremism that’s bad and--oh god wait no, it’s Bioshock Infinite all over again.

Of course, we all know the real reason why. To offend as few people as possible. Because every offended party is a potential lost sale. Hence why despite clearly using Christian/Baptist imagery and motifs, no cultist ever actually mentions Jesus by name, and the peggy symbol only vaguely and technically resembles that of a cross.

I’ve bad news for you, though, Ubisoft; it’s too late. If you wanted to offend as few people as possible, it was already over the instant you let writers set it in a rural, dominantly Christian, dominantly white community, in America. Right wing talking heads were lining up to be officially offended the instance promos started showing bad guys toting guns, bibles, and the American flag.

Because despite bragging about having thick skin, when it comes down to it, they typically don’t.

At some point, you almost want to lean in uncomfortably close to the game’s face and tell it “Go on. Say what you really mean.” And it never does. Making it satire with no teeth, which isn’t actually satire, but parody. It’s a flag-waving, gun-toting parody of American culture. It’s an American beer commercial meets Saint’s Row. It’s a romanticized outdoorsy rural locale with tacky looking guns and gruesome murder set to made-up gospel and old rock hits.

Which doesn’t feel that far off from a Saint’s Row game, but it wildly conflicts with the tone Far Cry 5 very quickly establishes for itself. And it’s such a waste, because to use an on-theme colloquialism, “bless its little heart.”

It’s trying so hard, and there are some things I can’t help but enjoy about it.

There was a moment early on, when I was creeping through the bushes of a small neighborhood as slowly and quietly as I could. I had not but a bow and a pistol to my name. Cultists were stacking dead bodies while their speaker-mounted truck played their very own choir, singing about water washing away sin. As they were finishing up, they began to sing along.

It was as First Blood meets Jim Jones as the entire game felt, and it all just clicked. The gameplay and tone all lined up so perfectly and felt so right. Where did that go?

Luckily, the game is also pretty charming in various other inadvertent or otherwise unintentional ways.

Obviously it’s cute and wholesome that you can pet all the non-hostile animals. But it’s completely adorable how Peaches growls at you when you go where she can’t follow.

There’s also random npc’s you can recruit for the game’s buddy system, aside from the nine named specialty partners. At first, I seriously wondered how any of them could compare to Peaches, the oversized mewling kitten, or Grace, the cool as a cucumber sniper lady.

But then I found some lady named Evie, who looked like somebody’s mom, and I honestly found it hard to part with her. There was something so ernest and amusing about the idea of somebody’s mom who used to embarrass them at every PTA meeting or bake sale, now in an awkwardly-fitting militia vest yelling “Get some!” to every other cultist who dared cross our path.

The gameplay is also varied enough with timed races, and puzzling treasure hunting segments. The latter in particular, I really enjoyed. They had me doing everything navigating mazes of fire to hopping and swinging along successive grapple lines under a bridge, skirting river water along the way. It’s good, varied fun.

I also really appreciate the organic way in which story beats are unlocked, which is really saying something for a sandbox. Normally, there are specific missions that unlock the next cutscene that actually matters, and everything else feels like so much filler and padding.

Far Cry 5 had the genius idea that everything should contribute to an overall progress bar. This makes it that nothing feels like padding, as you’ll always be working toward the next story beat, even if you’re doing what feel like side quests.

But it’s one step forth and one step back with you, isn’t it Far Cry 5?

Once you’ve unlocked the next story beat, you’ll be whisked away to the next cutscene to have one of the villains get in your face for the next five minutes, whether you were ready for that or not. It gets annoying after the second time, and downright numb the fifth or sixth.

It’s also where the writing starts to fall apart some more.

You know that old James Bond trope where the bad guy has him right where they want him? But then because the villain is so contrived in how they want to handle him, he ends up getting away? Well that happens almost every time. It’s cheesy.

Also where some of the worst writing in the game comes into play.

Jacob Seed has a neat gimmick, I’ll admit. He’s all about classic conditioning, A Clockwork Orange style. Alright, interesting enough. And instead of escaping, you wake up, presumably days later, having finally escaped his mind control. It was a neat twist at first.

What’s incredibly stupid though is everyone points it out. Dutch, Eli, all characters who know about Jacob’s MO, and none of them think anything suspicious about it. Nope, just “Hey, now that I can finally get in contact with you after an entire week of you not responding, come back and get uncomfortably close to me and people I care about.”

Nobody thinks anything’s up with that? Even after it happens three or four times?? And not even my own character thinks to warn them that I’m being psychologically manipulated to kill them???

Oh. Look at that. The game made me kill Eli. How very unsurprising. What is that, something like four hours of build up to a twist anyone could see coming if they’ve ever seen a story?

“Who cares, it’s fun, isn’t it?”

I mean, yes, sure. It’s very fun, in fact. Fewer things have been more satisfying than timing it just right to take down three baddies at once, with a sniper shot from Grace, a mauling from Peaches, and a throwing knife from myself.

And like I said before, the gameplay is just varied enough to not grow dull. But what should be a good game is held back by mediocre writing and a lack of commitment.

Weirder than any of it though is the troves of people lining up to say it doesn’t matter, because the game is fun. Listen, I can enjoy the gameplay for hours of mind-numbing fun, but still be able to pick apart everything wrong with the overall experience. There’s nothing really wrong with that. It doesn’t completely impede what enjoyment I, or anybody else, was able to get out of it.

I really don’t get this, though. This is no critique of the game itself, mind you, but it is at fault for bringing it up again, even if by accident. So it bears discussion.

Clean Prince was right when he said that Far Cry 5 brought up a lot of what’s wrong with modern gaming culture. Yet I can’t help but disagree with his reasoning behind this statement. Because he, like many, asked why any of it matters, so long as the game is fun.

Look.

Gamers clamored for years, demanding our hobby be taken seriously. Entire groups and brands like Extra Credits formed, to try and gain for games the same respect film and literature already had.

Nowadays, we have critics aplenty, like Super Bunny Hop, and the above-mentioned Errant Signal, who regularly dissect games with the same attention to detail movies, shows, and novels receive.

We did it. We’re here. We made it, right?

No.

People tear down bad writing in games, and suddenly it doesn’t matter. The game being fun is the only feature that matters, now that it’s convenient to dismiss anything that seemingly gets in the way of your enjoyment.

Even though it doesn’t.

If Far Cry 5 were a film, people would be trampling over each other to repeat the critics’ disregard of its milquetoast shotgun approach to writing, and lack of commitment to an actual point, despite advertising itself as any kind of satire.

It’s not like having an actual statement is foreign to Far Cry either. Far Cry 2 had a well implemented theme of deterioration in every aspect; your character’s health thanks to the malaria, the guns falling apart from being old, fire spreading wildly out of control.

It’s not even necessarily a Ubisoft problem either.

Far Cry 3 was all about the lengths you’d go to for the people you care about, and how growing and changing as a person ends up alienating you from them anyway. There was also an underlying theme about there being no real winners in a setting so deeply seeded with violence.

Ending sucks too. That’s not a good transition, but it’s as good of one as it deserves, to be frank.

It’s awful, but not because it’s unsatisfying and you don’t get to technically win. Not every game needs to end on a positive note, just because you work for it. Spec Ops: The Line had some of my favorite gut-punch endings in a game.

But the takeaway is just bad, for either ending.

Either you walk away from Joseph at the end, and Jacob’s conditioning kicks in again, and you kill everyone you just saved, or randomly and completely out of bumbling nowhere, several nuclear warheads go off around the tristate area. And everyone you just saved dies in irradiated fire anyway.

What’s the takeaway here? That we should just let dangerous people get away with violent uprisings, because hey, who knows, they may actually have been right all along?

The nuclear ending especially is just bad writing. It’s a twist out of left field meant to shock, and take you by surprise, but only because there’s nothing to indicate it’s going to happen. It’s trying, and failing, to ape the nuke scene from the first Modern Warfare game. But that scene was the dramatic release after an entire level’s worth of building tension regarding the bomb which was mentioned earlier. Of which said established tension, there’s simply none here.

Each region even caps off with you burning out the cult’s various bomb shelters. Only to find out, what? That you should’ve given up and let them kill and maim and steal all they like, so you could huddle down next to them in their bunkers? All because some uninformed zealot who doesn’t even sound like he’s actually looked at a bible lately made a lucky guess?

No thanks.

Instead of inspiring shock and awe, the ending feels random and nonsensical. Once again destroying any coherency the overall tone the game could’ve had. Is this supposed to be a fun, silly game to be enjoyed with a beer or a friend? 

Or a serious and somber game where you face the deepest human fear of all: how people manage to justify overt acts of pure evil as “the right thing?”

All in all, Far Cry 5 is like a cheap burger from a fast-food joint. The taste is fine and it’ll tide you over, but it’s probably not very good for you. And you can’t help but think about how much better it looks in the pictures on the menu.

[chellyfishing]

not too long ago i used the word ‘mollymawk’ as a name in something for its symbolism--they’re a type of albatross, which is used as a metaphor for a burden or guilt. anyway i couldn’t remember what and it was BUGGING ME SO MUCH so i had to open AAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL my scrivener files and was only maybe a quarter way through searching each one before i correctly remembered where i’d used it (for a spaceship). anyway the point i’m getting at is that i have tons and tons of tiny scraps of things and here is a short essay i found called the pool. it is a true story about an empty pool. this is the most i’ve been able to talk about my old house since leaving it. i don’t even know if it’s cathartic. i think for some reason i would appreciate people reading it though.

(i recently met my favorite aunt’s new boyfriend, and he was blown away to learn about all this. i am mostly blown away that people are so blown away. here is an actual piece written about its “memorial.” i was not asked to contribute. their loss.)

Shortly before I turned five, we moved into a house. Before that we lived in an apartment, which I have few funny memories of, except for the bird thing and the markers thing and some stuff about Santa, but that’s tangential.

The house was exciting for several reasons. For one thing, it was five minutes down the freeway from Disneyland. You could see the fireworks from the yard. For another, there was a pool in the backyard. The pool didn’t actually have water in it, but it was a pool, and I had a vivid imagination. The promise of summers in my very own pool was maybe even more thrilling than the proximity to Disneyland. Maybe.

Spoiler alert, in the more than two decades I lived in that house, it never happened. The pool never got fixed. It remained empty, except when it rained, and even then it typically had more mosquitoes than water.

There was one thing it attracted more than mosquitoes: skaters. Based on my personal observations over the years I can guess without hyperbole that some eighty percent of the Orange County population regularly uses a skateboard. And skaters have always been about as welcome as mosquitoes. They pop up everywhere, to the point that signs expressly forbidding skating are as ubiquitous as palm trees.

And as you may know from film and TV, skaters love empty pools. They loved our empty pool in particular, because it was a unique shape. The pool itself was curved, something like a lima bean, and the bottom slanted in a steep gradient that made the deep end unusually deep. There were no corners, except on the cement steps in the shallow end. It was a skater’s dream, and apparently, this spot had been a favorite since at least the seventies. It was known as the Fishbowl, and unbeknownst to me, it was iconic.

I knew none of this until twenty years later. As a child, to me that pool was nothing but a shattered dream, a constant ache that became a nuisance because strange people were always lurking around, trying to find an opportunity to sneak in and have some fun. This would make most anyone uncomfortable at best, and I was a small child who was painfully shy and anxious about everything.

They came to the door like Mormons in cargo shorts, always asking the same thing: “Can we skate in your pool?”

My sister was usually the one to answer them. My mom and dad were often busy with work and other things, my mom liked to talk to people about as much as I did, and I dropped to the floor and belly-crawled to the back of the house every time the doorbell rang. Each time my sister would dutifully explain that our dad would kill her if she let them into the yard to skate. For one thing, they were strange boys. For another, there was an insurance issue that would leave us liable if some jackass hurt himself. Skaters are not known for their, well… not getting hurt.

Things were the worst when I was home alone. The boys would ring the bell and knock, and I would hide behind furniture until they left. Then I would blithely go into the kitchen for a snack only to find myself staring through the window at some strange kid climbing the back fence to see if it was safe to let himself and his friends in. In hindsight, like wild animals, they were probably more scared of me than I was of them, since they were trespassing and whatnot. I was too busy crawling for the nearest baseball bat to consider anything like that, though.

This was de rigueur for well over a decade. Over the years they stopped coming around as much, my dad’s reputation as an inflexible hard-ass apparently well-established.

Then Jon Tucker moved next door. Jon Tucker is a cinematographer whose credits include, among others, the stop motion episode of Community. His wife’s sister is a famous artist in Spain. Jon also happens to be an old-school skater with a lot of connections to the same community who had been such a nuisance to us throughout my childhood.

Despite the impression my dad’s rules might give, he’s the type of person who makes friends everywhere he goes. He and Jon hit it off right away. Who knows what they talked about. Palm trees, interior design, I don’t know, guy stuff. Eventually Jon managed to finagle my dad into the unthinkable: opening the backyard to skaters.

And so backyard skating parties become a fairly regular event. My bedroom window was right next to the pool, and I can remember many nights of annoyance trying to drown out the rock music and non-stop scraping noises. My dad and my sister made friends with the skaters. My sister would share cookies and muffins she had baked. My mom probably also talked to them at some point or another. I think I went outside while they were there maybe once, for three minutes or so, clutching my dog to my chest. I was well into agoraphobe territory by this time, so more than anything I just wanted heavy curtains, headphones, and a hole to crawl into.

I didn’t exactly hate the skaters, not like I did as a child anyway. I liked Jon, and I knew those guys really loved that damn pool—they got far more out of it in a few hours a month than I had in decades of living beside it. It was only at this time that I learned about our pool’s reputation as the Fishbowl, so-called presumably due to the bowl shape and the fish painted on one side. I learned third-hand that a lot of famous skaters had skated in that pool. I couldn’t tell you who they were. I only know the names of two pro skaters, and I don’t think they ever came by. Maybe they did though. I have no idea.

When we were forced out of the house in 2013, it was bought by flippers, who determined it would be more profitable to destroy the pool than fix it. There were skaters who literally begged them to change their mind but flippers being leeches and scum to begin with, that minor increase in net gain was far more important to them.

Losing that pool meant something different to me from what it did to the skaters, and they were pretty heartbroken. I’ve only been out there once since it was crushed up and filled in. I was living in my car and the house was still for sale post-remodel, so I broke in and used the shower. (I say “broke in” but the door was unlocked.) There was grass, with a lima bean-shaped area of mulch right where the pool had been. I couldn’t even bring myself to walk on it.

I’ve read a little more about the history of the Fishbowl since its destruction. I really had no idea that I was living with what to many was a kind of historical landmark.

I can tell you that I lost more than they did, even if that dry pool had been the source of so many annoyances over the years. I had lost my home, and the stupid pool was a part of that. They loved skating in it, but they hadn’t looked at it every single day for more than twenty years. It was a place they enjoyed but it was not a constant part of their lives.

The funny thing is, the only moral to this story that I can think of is the old adage that you can’t go home again. Except, to a lot of these guys, that’s exactly what they did. After being chased away for decades, they got one last chance before becoming too arthritic and crotchety to play again. So, I guess in that respect, that’s nice for them.

I never skated in that pool. But I did walk around in it. I did see those fish daily. I remember the feel of the cement, the unusual slope. I wanted a pool that I could swim in, and now I would give anything for that stupid dry hole that’s gone forever.

[resilientreader]

1-98 for asks like we did a million years ago, I dare you

i knew the MOMENT i saw the notif in my inbox that it was gonna be YOU pulling this shit and i crossed my fingers when actually clicking, HOPING i wouldnt have to answer all 98, maybe you’ll be tame this time, but no! this is what you’re doing to me. and ykno what, Fine. u dare me and i Will do it. i hope u rb the asks post so i can do it to u too, tho

1. coffee mugs

2. chocolate bars

3. bubblegum

4. that smart student who always read instead of actually paying attention

5. soda from glass cups is the best

6. its hard to just Decide between all these styles so ill say which one applies to mine most, which i Gotta say has to b preppy even if i want like goth or grunge to b mixed in

7. headphones

8. good omens, fmab, castlevania, uhhhh. those are just the ones ive watched so far this summer

9. my grandparents’ home. which is kinda weird but i have a lot of summer memories there

10. i sucked at like Everything in p.e., there Was no best

11. leftovers

12. i cant choose a favorite playlist?? /some/ of them, tho, are soar my ethereal heart, neither here nor there, mountainside storms, and sync of my heartbeat. so like any of my more recent ones

13. lanyard

14. i had to google a list for this bc honestly i always eat just chocolates but i like starburst

15. fahrenheit 451 was a rly fun read. ray bradbury’s writing gave me inspo for metaphors and writing and such and it was rly nice

16. sprawled across one of those comfy armchairs where i can swing my legs over one arm n lay my head on the other one

17. my black converse

18. cool temperature and rain without storms, or a cloudy day that lets me take a nice walk

19. on my side if i can but on my back otherwise

20. on my laptop, in google docs, to be more specific

21. winnie the pooh

22. idk?? i try not to look to just one person for a source of “this is how i should be”, so i guess,,,, a mix of family members and then a couple like more famous ppl??? which would basically consist of one of my aunts, my dad, and jenna marbles, to keep my Brain Process for role model stuff simplified

23. i dunno if any of the habits i have are strange?? i bounce my right leg and my right hand kinda. like. shakes when im nervous. i cant rly think of anything else i do tho i Know i probably have other habits

24. amethyst or pyrite

25. ur really just assuming my memory is good enough for this but if i had to say, it’d be any popular song from 2009 specifically

26. hide in my room with a fan and ac

27. read with a blanket wrapped around me or smth

28. atlas: six by sleeping at last, flaws by bastille, atlas: five by sleeping at last, she by dodie, and neptune by sleeping at last. there are probably more/better ones but those are the first ones i found

29. listen. be open with me. talk with me. not to sound like that person, but sharing ur life secrets is a rly big ice breaker for me because it helps let me know i can trust u. but also idk im a really awkward person and can accidentally distance myself from ppl so when ppl notice theres smth up w me or even do the bare minimum of doing Their part to maintain a friendship, that’s always rad as shit when idk how to communicate what i need

30. my room, my high school’s auditorium, the local barnes and noble

31. black boots, black jeans, any button-up shirt that’ll match that combination OR a really cool sweatshirt

32. im a bad bitch, you cant kill me. road work ahead? uh, i sure hope it does. it is wednesday, my dudes! welcome to chili’s. i love you, bitch, and i ain’t ever gonna stop loving you, bitch.

33. probably “omg” or “oh my god”

34. sc johnson. a family company.

35. i dont even have one but on a good night like 10-11

36. the troll face memes

37. suitcases feel much more organized

38. lemonade

39. lemon cake

40. ummmmm....one time a tech/theatre kid left a paint can sitting out in the open accidentally and a person took a shit in it or smth then knocked over the can, spilled a bunch of paint, and tried to clean it up w a broom and proceeded to like snap the broom in half. then they ran away to leave the kids to clean it up the next day. i wasnt actually there for that but ive heard the story firsthand enough times to Know

41. my dad

42. jacket pockets

43. hoodie is what i wear, tho everything else is Very Good

44. lavender

45. fantasy, my dudes

46. this set of pjs i got for xmas w a soft tshirt and matching baggy flannel pants

47. colby jack

48. uhhh a banana?? i could probably give a better answer if i was more

49. i dont rly live by a quote or saying, i just Go for it

50. my sister has probably done smth before to like Break me

51. everything ever but mostly myself

52. arial

53. uhhh...kinda worn? my nails aren’t doin so good and i have a couple scratches and stuff that Still havent healed after a few weeks

54. get a move on

55. the ugly duckling

56. tradition is kinda vague but i like that it became tradition for me and my siblings to go to my grandparents’ home every summer

57. i think im still overcoming like everything ive been faced with ever

58. writing? listening, helping, giving advice. idk tbh like talents who?

59. "jesus christ, my dude”

60. a fantasy/comedy, or at least if its gonna be fantasy with death and stuff, it should be dope as fuck

61. "isn’t vulnerability the opposite of being in control?” from a webcomic called aerial magic. super simple but the entire scene leading up to it,,,,,so good

62. umm fuck! i dont kno whether favs r usually ones that i relate to or ones that i wanna b like but??? keith from voltron, jirou from bnha, chromedome and/or rewind from transformers/mtmte, sypha from castlevania, and jayfeather from warriors

63. planetary (go!) by mcr, the seed by aurora, hayloft by mother mother, the cup/halloween blues from relient k, choke by i dont know how but they found me

64. coolmath was THE shit

65. yes! two on my leg from a surgery i had to get to realign my femur, bc i snapped the bone in half

66. lavender, snowdrops, hibiscus

67. i dont really have any, mostly bc i have a hard time attaching like. That sorta meaning to just random objects, but i do still have a small teddy bear stashed safely away in my room from when i was a little babee

68. pickle-flavored pringles. disgusting. would not recommend

69. lions’ roars can be heard up to 5 miles away from the original source

70. right handed

71. horizontal stripes, i guess? there’s not much wrong with them but i just Never wear them

72. math

73. i dont usually eat /weird/ flavor combos, even tho ill eat basically anything, but i like ketchup in mac and cheese sometimes. or fries in shakes. chicken and waffles. stuff like that

74. 11

75. idek honestly, my memory is too bad

76. hashbrowns

77. i dont kno a Lot of plants off the top of my head other than the Basic ones but literally any flower in a windowsill is like bone apple teeth in my mind

78. sushi from a grocery store. publix taught me that grocery stores can, in fact, be trusted when needed

79. my school id photo

80. earth tones

81. fireflies

82. pc

83. writing

84. talk radio is nostalgic but podcasts are always more entertaining to actually listen to

84. polly pocket

85. mythology with a dash of fairytales

86. cupcakes, because of my dog’s name

87. abandonment

88. to grow unbreakable attachments with everyone i care very deeply about and grow into an old age with them, or something

89. i feel like answering this question totally honestly would hurt ppl’s feelings, but also i literally could think of like 4 people to put down for this and i’m bad at deciding, esp w smth like this, so. not to b vague but These People kno who they are

90. becoming a part of a certain website with a bad crowd and managing to pick out the good apples in such a rotten batch

91. boxes

92. lamps /and/ fairy lights

93. i dont rly have any but my parents call me hannah banana. that’s ab it, tho

94. fall/winter? it kinda is inconsistent because fall has bad weather in florida but winter is when like everything has Gone Wrong in life these past few years, but then fall has such a GOOD aesthetic and my birthday is in winter, so they’re pretty even rn

95. uhhh??? thats such a weird thing, to try and assign a “favorite” app, but the only thing i could think to say would be spotify just bc i use it so much on my phone, even if the app itself isnt the greatest

96. i havent set one, actually, bc im lazy and havent found anything that’d fit

97. 2 and a half

98. the part where fish were learning that they could walk on land

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Mob Psycho 100 II 9 - 11 | My Roommate is a Cat 9 - 11 | Spec Ops Asuka 9 - 11 | Shield Hero 9 - 10 | Morose Mononokean 10 | Double Decker! EX 2 | Price of Smiles 10 - 11

Mob Psycho II 9

So…uh…is this the first time we’ve had lyrics for the OP???

For some reason, “you little s***” is a hilarious nickname…in my head.

Is it just me, or did the style of Teruki’s eyes change when he got that stack of hair off his head?

My Roommate is a Cat 9

Please don’t let that random voice be the do-oh no. I was right *sigh* As much as I think dogs are fine and cute and all, this is a show about a cat, so naturally I feel diametrically opposed to dogs when watching.

Long ago, the writer and his cat lived in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Signing attacked! …Yeah. I couldn’t resist the Avatar pun…of course.

Aw…Kawase is a good guy, even if he’s a bit obnoxious to poor Haru.

As someone who’s currently volunteering at a charity store, I forget to say “thanks” all the time. It eats me up, it really does…

That post-credits sequence was funny, but only because I could read the “dying message” (it’s katakana ha <-> kanji hachi -> number 8).

Magical Girl Spec-Ops Asuka 9

Oh hey, a cheerleader stamp (sticker...?) from the Cheerleader vs Megaton Shark movie!

Wait, whaaaaaaaaat?! I thought Asuka was Tamara’s older sister (metaphorically), but…she’s nottttttttttttttt??? Also, why doesn’t Tamara get creeped out by the fact her stuffed toy could be a Disas in disguise?

Why is everyone so…for lack of a better term…gay for Asuka?! Even Tabira…

Ouch for Tabira. I’m just laughing because it’s like seeing SekaTsuyo or Bikini Warriors being torn up in front of my face – I’m thanking whoever made this for that image alone!

Cenobite. Basically…it’s another horror reference.

The Osprey stands out so much…CGI..it’s so garish…

Garish CGI strikes again, this time in the form of a 4WD!

Shield Hero 9

Naofumi’s such a dad…haha.

It’s a Filo-and-fish! Hahaha! (Update: I’m aware there are some of you who might never have heard of a Fillet-o-fish and so…there you go. It’s a McDonald’s meal name. It makes me hungry just thinking about it, to be honest though.)

Why does Motoyasu even care so much for underage girls? Sure, they have their rights too, but…is he a lolicon???

They talk about “white privilege”…so maybe there’s “hero privilege” as well…hmm…

Motoyasu’s “treasure-protection shields” versus Filo = 0 to 2, Filo’s victory! Hahaha!

Morose Mononokean 10

The idea of Rippou being amused by “a mundane world plank”…amuses me. So does the idea of Abeno and Ashiya walking around as a shingami and witch, respectively…Come to think of it, Ashiya’s always the one who dresses like a woman if the need arises, huh?

I feel sorry for Zenko, to be honest…I mean, she’s wearing what’s meant to be Abeno’s outfit! She’s going to trip, y’know? Where are the OH and S concerns (OH and S = occupational healh and safety, though...yeah, I make that mistake a lot)???

Come to think of it, I wasn’t tracking where Abeno’s book went. So he left it in the Mononokean…I see.

Poor Fuzzy! He got taken by Komon!!!

Smol Itsuki…I swear I’ve seen a similar character in a manga before – and somehow I know it’s a manga, but I don’t remember which one…

Double Decker! EX 2

Couldn’t you just ask “Milla” (even if he’s not a Police Academy graduate)? Pretend Valery is Kirill or something, maybe.

I can’t believe they’re still making jokes about Doug’s laundry…

I feel kind of bad at snickering at this crossdressing thing – you know how the LGBTIQ+ community feels about this stuff, don’t you?

Travis’s pick-up lines are too cheesy for this earth…*shakes head with grin on face*

There’s a police bird mascot on the dashboard of the Seven-O car.

When I realised what Mr Goldman was doing to Kirill (potential sekuhara and disguise reveal, if you know what I mean)…my face went all funny…

I don’t think I’ve seen a Kirill and Valery eyecatch before…hmm.

The fact there were two men making out in the change rooms…I wonder if that was played for humour? If so, that’s nasty to the LGBTIQ+ people, y’know?

“Max, that’s mine. Take good care of it.” – Your…what, Deana? Your target???

The next-ep preview had me laughing! Travis, don’t give yourself away!!! But now I get why Kirill was in a wedding dress.

Price of Smiles 10

Y’know, Lily, you shouldn’t wish for a kid to be confined to their house forever. Kids grow up and then need to make a living…at least, that’s what I’ve learnt.

I honestly (almost…?) thought we’d only see casualties on Yuki’s side…guess I was wrong.

Shield Hero 10

Notably, a lot of Western-inspired fantasy works such as this use “runes” based on stylised English…including the map that appears in this ep.

This knight that’s doing all the talking…his name is Ake, according to the interface.

My Roommate is a Cat 10

The irony of that dog bag of Haru’s (the human girl’s).

Cats and Dreams (Neko to Yume) = a parody of Hana to Yume (Flowers and Dreams).

All these thoughts Subaru has of his mother make me want to hug mine…

“50 inches”, my butt! (The newspaper says there’ll be 50 centimetres of snow...)

I expected Okami to be at the supermarket (Nana, not her brother)…but instead, Hiroto showed up. What a small world it is in this anime…(well, it is all set in the same neighbourhood, with the exception of that signing, so it should be. At least, I guess so.)

F*** it, Hiroto. I thought you were annoying in the past, but you’re nice too! What’s up with this show??? Why do I feel everything Subaru feels??? (Uh…past me, maybe, that’s the point of this show…?)

The cat show is also relatable in how I peel apples…and that would probably carry over to other fruit and veg too…

If there’s one thing I can annoy this show about, it’s how to transition between human and cat perspectives. Aside from that, it’s A-OK!

Morose Mononokean 11

Wait, these birds have one foot (each) and ear wings??? Wuh???

Oh, now that Abeno mentions it, Chungo has a crescent, but one of the other bros has a heart on his belly. Another one has a circular pattern with a round dent where the head is (like a partial moon, with the smaller edge inverted).

One of the “birds” has two dents in his belly pattern (like the one I described just before, but this time with a W shape).

Hmm…in much the same way the police act as a representative of the state, the reason there needs to be a master of the Mononokean is to represent it…and maybe the Legislator. Is that right, people?

Come to think of it…”chun” roughly means “tweet”, hence “Chunichi”, “Chunji” etc.

The name of this episode is Kii (literally, “return to residence” as far as I understand it…I may have misinterpreted that second kanji though).

Is Komon a “she”? It’s hard to tell, really.

Mob Psycho 100 10

“Prime Minister Yabe”, eh?

I think I saw “ONE” written on one of the buildings.

I sort of saw the comparison between Sho and his dad coming as soon as I saw Ritsu and Sho hanging out together.

I found my old first season predictions from summer 2016 and now I just remembr Dimple as a “green cloud”, LOL.

Well…sorry to break it to you guys, but someone’s post was called “Dimple makes the Body Improvement Club PLUS ULTRA” so I sort of know where this is going…

Hmm…this “muscles with psychic power =/= muscles with training” thing reminds me of the tomatoes from s2 ep 1.

Mob Psycho 100 11

(Mob says something along the lines of “you need to rely on others to help you survive.”) - Welp, Mob, that’s a consumerist post-Fordist society for ya.

“…don’t use your psychic powers against others.” Don’t think I’ve corrected any subs in a while.

…and randomly, Reigen.

Post-credits scene. Keep watching!

I just realised these “courses” mentiond in the next-ep previews are related to the Japanese side of things – BDs, DVDs, events and manga.

Egao no Daika 11

Almost done with the season, eh?

Couldn’t Huey have been shown giving the money, rather than keeping it a secre until the rest of the group did it…?

Please say that’s an armistice, Yu-oh no.

I feel like revealing Izana’s death to his family now…is a bit late.

That’s Stella’s fish bowl! Great Scott! (Okay…that was a terrible pun. Y’see, Scott was the one who believed Stella was Layla’s daughter…and he was right.)

Oh…end of credits segment. Keep watching.

Notably, the ep 12 title (”The Price of Smiles”) is written in kanji + hiragana, instead of the katakana of the show title.

Spec Ops Asuka 11

“I don’t want to run.” – Well, with Nozo-chan leaning on her like that, Sayako definitely won’t be running…in more ways than one.

Ken can mean “dog” in certain contexts, y’know. So Kenjou seems like a good name for a dog boi...spirit…thing?

My Roommate is a Cat 11

I’m going to miss this show when it’s gone…

I feel like a better episode title translation would be “Overlapping Feelings”.

Hmm…I never thought he (Subaru) was wearing a tonne of blue because he liked it. I just thought it was a good aesthetic choice on the part of the mangaka…welp, at least there’s a reason for it now.

Rabbiteye blueberries. I’d never heard of them before, to be honest. (Isn’t blue meant to be rare in nature???)

I could tell from the silhouette it was Kawase…

I know that feel…haven’t you seen the meme that goes…oh, I’ll go find it. Then you’ll understand what I mean.

^…This one.

LOL, that image of Haru on Kawase’s computer.

This show makes me wanna hug my parents…Update: Hey, I said that a few episodes ago. That makes me feel really stupid.

[notestonadia]

A Note on Intelligence

Nadia, will you be smart?

As you grow and develop, as your inclinations and interests begin to shine through the clouds of toddlerhood tantrums and cast light and shadows over your everyday actions, this seems like a very natural question to ask. Every parent wants their child to end up being “smart,” right? Even Forrest Gump had a vested interest:

But before we run with Forrest’s question, we should ask—is it even the right question?

When I was a teacher, I presented the idea of multiple-intelligences to my students. The concept behind this is that intelligence is not binary. You’re not either “smart” or “dumb” in an absolute sense. Instead, intelligence exists on a wavelength, with peaks and valleys and no average altitude that defines what you’re capable of.

It’s a nice idea. It’s an elevated concept (HAHA). But teaching it and believing it are two different summits to climb.

And maybe I’m still at base camp, but I really think I’m ready to start the trek. I think we all may need to start gazing upward to a place where we can meet at the top.

With this theory of multiple intelligences, there are still head starts. Some people are still going to be inclined (this metaphor is contrived, I know, but I swear I didn’t try to do this one) towards some areas over others. But the beauty of the multiple intelligences theory is that A) if you have weaknesses in one area, you can make it up with strengths in others, and B) You can always improve in every area.

So how’s it looking so far, Nadia? 

Verbal-Linguistic Intelligence (Word-Smart)

So, Nadia, you don’t really like books. Like, you tolerate them. We’ve made reading books a part of your bedtime routine, so you accept it as a part of life. But if you have free time and a choice about what you want to do, picking up a book and reading it is never one of your choices.

It makes me, as a parent, and as a former English teacher, feel a little self-conscious. After all, I’ve seen so many other parents post pictures of their kids mangling books with the caption, “OMG, SHE LOVES BOOKS SO MUCH!” 

Which can lead to only two conclusions:

1. That kid really likes books. 2. That parent is lying.

Really, the truth of the above is inconsequential. It’s more about the awareness of the parent (Self-Smart reference #1) than it is about the ability of the child.

I want you to love to read...I really do. But it’s not really something that can be forced. Also, Verbal-Linguistic Intelligence is about WAY more than just reading. It’s about vocabulary, memorization, and making up stories. And you can make up a hell of a story with “poop” at every twist and turn. 

Logical-Mathematical Intelligence (Number-Smart)

It’s interesting that this intelligence is associated with “numbers.” It makes you think that an accountant, for example, represents the exemplar of this intelligence.

But really, it’s more than that. Sure, you can count to 30, or maybe even 40 (you skip 15 a lot, for some reason). But this isn’t about knowing your numbers--it’s more about using logic to know how one step leads to another step--and then being able to explain the relation between those steps. 

A kid that can count isn’t “number smart”--that’s just memorization. (Self-Smart reference #2). But a kid that understands what those numbers mean and can apply them to everyday situations IS. At that point, you’re using logic--not memorization. 

You seem to be pretty astute at this, Nadia. You work through little puzzles in your head all the time in order to arrive at the conclusion that it was Daddy’s fault. And you’re usually right.

Spatial Intelligence (Picture-Smart)

I have some high hopes for you here, despite the fact that this may be one of my lowest intelligences.

Of course, there are two sides to the genetic coin--and when you flip it, sometimes you get heads or tails...The coin doesn’t suspend upright on its edge.

I’ll often walk into a room, and your mother will just be staring at nothing. When I ask her what she’s doing, she’ll say: “Visualizing.”

So, this intelligence isn’t necessarily just about being able to draw, paint, sculpt, or whatever--it’s more about being able to picture something that isn’t already there. (Self-Smart reference #3)

When your mom asks me to look at the blank wall that she’s staring at, she’ll say, “What do you see?”

And I’ll say, “I see a fucking wall.”

But to her, she sees frames, and wasted spaces, and opportunities. 

I think your ability as a builder might mean that you have some natural talent here. You love using your blocks to build structures that I wouldn’t have ever dreamed of, constructing patterns that just seem to make sense. 

Your artwork kind of sucks, to be super honest. But your visualization seems to suggest that you’ve hopefully got some of your mother’s abilities.

Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence (Sports-Smart)

I remember when you were barely two, we took you to a park with a soccer ball. We couldn’t believe when you just took off running, dribbling the soccer ball with one foot in stride. You didn’t stumble, and you displayed this natural, untaught ability to keep the ball near your foot as you moved exceptionally fast.

So, logically, we signed you up for soccer at your school.

You hated soccer.

Well, that’s not fair. I don’t think you hated soccer. You loved that freedom of just running and dribbling a ball with no intended goal. What you hated was the rules and discipline that came with soccer.

At your school, soccer isn’t about dribbling, or kicking, or really any ball-related skill. It’s about freezing or sitting on your ball when the coach blows a whistle. Sports, at an early age, are about discipline, rather than the body motions that go along with playing that sport.

I think that also relates to the other sports we’ve signed you up for--dance, gymnastics, and even yoga.

I’m not saying that discipline is a bad thing. I’m just saying this is a mix of intelligences. In order to show that you are good at a sport at a young age, you also have to display some ability to follow directions, which is an entirely different type of intelligence. (Self-Smart reference #4)

So the fact that you don’t want to play soccer doesn’t mean that you won’t be good at soccer. We’ll let you decide.

Musical Intelligence (Music-Smart)

You really don’t have a lot to work with, here. Not genetically.

Not long ago, you were staging a fake birthday party for...I think, a toilet...And you sang “Happy Birthday” to that toilet.

After hearing you sing, I remember remarking, “Awww, Nadia, you sing just like your mother!” This is exactly the kind of snarky-ass, passive aggressive “compliment” that adults give to their unknowing kids. Don’t knock it. It really is one of our only guilty, mostly harmless, pleasures.

And me...well, by now, when you’re reading this, hopefully you’ve gotten to enjoy a number of my “birthday songs” that I’ve written and performed for you.

But you should know a few things:

Writing and performing these songs is HARD for me. It is not something that comes natural for me.

Also, I have no problem admitting that these songs are objectively bad. The key is off, the musical pacing is horrendous, and the final result of putting the voice/instruments together has often been laughably terrible.

But this goes back to an earlier point I tried to make: You CAN improve at something if you really have the desire to--even if it’s something you’re not naturally talented at. In the nature-nurture debate, I’ve always tended to side a little more strongly on the nature side--you’re born, genetically, with a certain set of skills, and those may provide the playdough that shapes the person you ultimately become. But that in no way means you can’t get some dough from another can and see what you can make of it. 

Listen--every teenager thinks they’re “music-smart.” We adorn our Myspace accounts (just a super obscure reference for you to look up) with statements like “MUSIC IS LYFE”, as if that means that we could be musicians in a future life.

But liking music and being “good” at it are two different things. Being honest with yourself can lead to how much you decide to pursue something like music (Self-Smart reference #5)

Naturalist Intelligence (Nature-Smart)

This is a fun juxtaposition to the previous section. With music, I made the argument that you can be “bad” at something, but improve at it if you have the interest.

Just know that if you are naturally bad at something, and you also don’t have the interest, it’s okay to just suck at that thing.

That’s where I’m at with this intelligence.

Gardening? Nah. Cooking? That’s what Grubhub was invented for. (Self-Smart reference #6)

But just in case you’re interested in this kind of intelligence, know that your mother is working her ass off to be a guiding example. It’s not something she’s exactly naturally inclined to. I once told your mother that our house is where plants go to die.

And as for something like cooking. You recently told your mother, “Mom, you shouldn’t cook anymore, because you burnt yourself. You should let dad cook.”

But to your mother’s credit, she has continued cooking, and she’s getting a lot better at it, despite some potential genetic deficiencies. I once told her that she had effectively ruined fish for me. But since then, she has made some fish dishes that were absolutely edible. 

Hope abounds. And for you--who knows. Maybe even if you don’t feel like working too hard at this, maybe genetics skips a generation and you’ll get your Grampy’s natural ability. You already seem in tune with nature--whether it’s your love for flowers, caterpillars, or animals. Do what you will, my little nature girl.

Interpersonal Intelligence (People-Smart)

Nadia, you’re awkward af. It’s fine, though. You’re only three. These are skills that you can develop over time.

To be real, developing this intelligence makes me a little nervous.

In its best form, high levels of Interpersonal Intelligence leads to people who are great communicators--leaders who use their affability to create positive change.

In its worst form, high levels of Interpersonal Intelligence leads to being a bully: People who can read others and exploit them. People who use charm and affability for nefarious causes.

You have some interesting examples to deal with: Your mom, who is an introverted extrovert: Someone who isn’t naturally gifted at gab, but who is interested in meeting and conversing with people in order to learn more.

And, your dad: An extroverted introvert: Someone who has the natural ability of public speaking and making personal connections, but who would rather stay home and watch stupid-ass sports on TV instead of interacting with anyone. (Self-Smart reference #7)

I’m interested in seeing what happens to you in regards to this intelligence. Despite my nature-based leanings, this ability does seem to be something that can be taught (or, observed, I guess) as  as opposed to inherited. Let’s check back in 10 years and see how much time you’re spending in your room.

Intrapersonal Intelligence (Self-Smart)

I saved this intelligence for last, because in my mind, it may be the most crucial of all the intelligences. 

As you’ve seen in the references I’ve inserted above, I really feel like this intelligence informs and enables all of the other intelligences.

The other quirky thing about this intelligence is that it presents a paradox:

The more you’re sure you have this intelligence, the less likely that you actually have it.

If you ask people a question like, “How well do you know yourself?”, the people who are quick to yell, “REALLY WELL!” are the people who may not actually be that self-smart.

If you have high levels of Intrapersonal Intelligence, it means that you question yourself daily. You spend a considerable amount of time pondering the decisions that you’ve made and thinking about whether they were the right choices.

It seems like an intelligence that is severely lacking in our world today. And I get it. Constant reflection can be uncomfortable. It’s easier to just move forward and ignore the mirrors, literal and metaphorical, that you inevitably pass in your everyday life.

And the other thing is that of all the intelligences, Intrapersonal Intelligence might be the hardest to measure. You can take IQ tests that measure your Verbal, Logical, and Spatial intelligences. You can be pretty sure whether you’re a good athlete based on the trophies you accumulate, and you can be confident in your musical abilities based on the applause you get after performances. You can judge your natural abilities by the lushness of your garden, or your people abilities by the number of friends you have.

Though the above measures aren’t totally indicative of your ability, they’re at least a glimpse.

But how do you measure whether you’re “Self-Smart?” There isn’t a test for that. There isn’t a reliable metric.

Also, of all the intelligences, it’s unclear how much of a role genetics have in Intrapersonal Intelligence. Is it something you inherit? Or is it something you have to work on?

I’m not sure. I’m really not. But I know that improving how well you know yourself is super important in understanding what you’re capable of--it helps you know what you might want to pursue as you decide to be who you want to be.

So here are some tips:

1. Spend some time reflecting every day. Am I happy with the decisions I made today? Do I regret the way I acted in any moment? 2. Ensure that the ideas and beliefs that you endorse actually conform with your core beliefs as a human. For example, if you support a person that wants to make it harder for disadvantaged people to get ahead in life, does that reflect your core beliefs about helping the poor?  3. If you examine yourself and realize you’ve done something wrong, be willing to address that wrong, OR apologize for your actions. There is no time limit on this...You can apologize days, weeks, or even years later. This is super hard, but it is vital. I had a close friend once apologize for an argument we’d been in years before--he told me he was wrong, and he was sorry. I wasn’t holding this argument against this friend...It had been long forgotten. But the fact that he brought it up said so much about him...It meant he had done some self-reflection, and he wanted to come clean with himself. It wasn’t really so much about our friendship--we would have been friends whether or not he opened up that old, forgotten wound--but it was more about coming to terms with something he regretted. 

So, apologize to people, even long after the event. Not for them--but for you.

Now, you can’t obsess over every wrong thing you’ve done in your life. It would drive you crazy. You can’t hunt down every stranger you may have somehow offended to make things right. But you can come to terms with it in your own mind and send unreceived apologies out into the universe, even if it’s for your own sake.

For example...Manager of the Marco’s Pizza, I’m sorry I chewed you out when my online order had been deleted and my pizza wasn’t ready. I should have handled that situation much more elegantly.

Nadia--I hope you aren’t  too confused by this post somewhat contradictory message. There’s a bit of cognitive dissonance to try and do these two things at once:

1. Evaluate you on your current progress of these different intelligences at only three years old, and 2. Declare that these intelligences are something that can be learned, gained, and improved upon as you progress through your life.

So, yeah...Your daddy is a jackass. (Self-Smart reference #8)

But what I want you to gain most from this post is to look at yourself, and others, as more than “smart” or “dumb.”

We should all endeavor to start looking at intelligence as something that is a sum of all parts--and even the total sum doesn’t decide your worth.

Instead of labeling people as “smart,” consider calling people “thoughtful, logical, creative, reflective, intuitive, bold, resourceful, and engaging.”

And before calling someone “dumb”...well, take a long, deep look at yourself and think about what makes that person different from you. (Self-Smart reference #9)

[andersenbailey]

meet  → bailey abel a n d e r s e n

Bailey is the youngest Andersen twin and child of the bunch. It went Daniel and Delanie, and then Billie and Bailey. He is three minutes younger than his twin, and she will never let him forget it. Still, the two have a very good relationship. As you’ve already learned from Billie’s biography, their parents worked great jobs, they had a dog named, Lucky, and their childhood was fairly happy and smooth sailing. It wasn’t all that exciting for a family from the east coast. They didn’t deep sea fish for lobsters or go travel the thirteen colonies on vacations. They were simple, their girls danced, and their boys played sports. They were all American and every weekend they’d have a bonfire and go to church. It was just the Andersen way, but as Bailey grew up into a teenager, the Andersen way changed.

Still, let’s start from first grade. Bailey got made fun of a lot for his name just like Billie got made fun of for hers. People asked them all the time if they got mixed up at birth, and while the twins asked their parents the reasoning behind their names, neither really had an answer yet. They just thought it was cool and unique. Bailey thought it was stupid, so, he goes by a few different nicknames: Bay, Andersen, and AJ (Andersen Junior after being the younger brother of Daniel and Delanie.) Anyways, Bay had a lot of friends growing up. Even as a youngster he and Billie were always the talk of the elementary school parties and lunch tables. They were the most fun to play with on the playground, and always entertaining. There’s dozens of home videos of the entire Andersen clan that are on VHS of the kids having a fake family band and singing and dancing. They were overall a lively bunch, and when Delanie and Billie were enrolled in a revamped dance studio - BDC, Bailey finally mustered up the courage and asked his mom if he could take classes too.

Of course, she said yes. Mrs. Andersen was a very accepting and loving lady who would do anything for her children. And though eight years old is actually a little late to begin dancing if you want to be competitive, Bay thrived. He had his home dance studio in the garage and two sisters who loved the sport as much as him, and it was the one activity he could be wild, crazy and entertaining in all combined in to one. His father was a little iffy about it at first but after seeing how good Bay actually was and how happy it made him, Mr. Andersen was okay too. Daniel was the only kid of the family to not participate in any sort of sports or activities, but that’s a story for another time. Anyways, Bay and Billie soon became duet partners and under the careful eye of their coach, Kate Carter (who Bailey still swoons over to this day), the twins became an unstoppable force on the east coast and more! 

However, it was at twelve years old that Bay’s perfect world came to a complete and utter stop. A twist. It was a disappointing knife jab in his gut, metaphorically and physically, because the stomach flu had left him home for the weekend, missing out on a dance competition, and finding his father cheating on his mother for the first time. Of course, Bailey was broken. He didn’t know what to do so he confided in Daniel, who had said he found out months ago. Distraught, Bailey confronted his father only to be talked down from his fit of rage with the promise of money and anything he wanted, as long as he kept it a secret. At the time, Bailey was twelve and impressionable and Daniel was sixteen and already doing heavy drugs, and so, the secret was kept for two whole years. Two years full of adultery and lies until Bailey’s consciousness couldn’t take it anymore. 

At fourteen, the secret came out, Bailey, Billie and their mother moved out, and the divorce was finalized. It all happened so quickly that Bay didn’t have time to really think about it. He was trying to maintain good grades in school, had tried out for the JV baseball team, and was surely on his way to Teen Best Dancer at The Dance Awards. His life was the way he thought it should be, but the guilt of his father’s deceit weighed heavy on his shoulders. So, from fourteen until age sixteen as he is now, Bailey has cut off all contact with his dad. Billie will still communicate with him because of her own “issues” as Bay calls them, but to him, his father is a lowlife. And to make matters worse, no one knows but Bailey, but their father is dying from colon cancer. It’s a new secret that is sitting heavy in his chest. One that very well may make its way to the surface sooner than later. 

Still, for now, Bailey’s life is BDC, or, moreover, the new studio. He’s gotten a plethora of awards and titles under Kate Carter’s teaching and confides in her often just as Billie does. Sometimes, the three of them will spend extra time in the studio working on solos or duets or anything. it’s off the clock, but, it means a lot to Bay. He doesn’t feel like he has a huge family anymore with his siblings off at college and he distancing himself from his father, so he appreciates Kate Carter and his BDC family very much. He’s also super sweet and kinda shy and is excited for the new pairing. He’s sad that the studio he grew up in and its memories are no longer there, but just as he wishes he could erase some of his bad memories from the past, he knows everything is gone in the wind. Bay is excited to start his dance season with RDC and has a bet with Billie going to see who will win first place first this season - a bet that has been going on every year for a little over six years already. 

[javierfilmreviews]

Families, Film, and Everything in Between

I was always family-oriented.

Being the eldest daughter in a Filipino family, I had no choice but to put my family first in everything. I had expectations and responsibilities thrown at me and will be thrown for the rest of my life. You might think I’m complaining but I’m not. It shaped who I am today and I wouldn’t change anything. I became independent, responsible, and resourceful. Sure, it made me more mature compared to people my age but there’s nothing wrong about it. People always talk more when they feel intimidated and I guess I already turned a blind eye from the years of gossip I had.

But why am I talking about my family? Because recently, I watched a certain set of films that made me ponder my current relationship with my family. I didn’t follow the films I was supposed to watch since there are certain films I wanted to watch instead.

Bleached Bones Avenue by Akio Fujimoto was about a team from the local Zomi people venture to former battlefields of World War II, their mission being to dig for the bones of Japanese soldiers who died in the mountains near the border between India and Myanmar. The sites they visit are connected to the notorious "Battle of Imphal", a reckless fight that lost more than 30,000 Japanese soldiers and involved many local people. Talking About Love by Asoka Handagama where love is explored in this drama from one of Sri Lanka's most prolific directors, Asoka Handagama. Tenebrae by Nicole Midori Woodford where it showed residents of a high-rise apartment in Singapore vacating the premises for the last time before its demolition and a young girl questions its demise. Autumn (L'Automne) by Jean-Marie Villeneuve was a short film where a little girl thinks about her dad. Go Back 3 Spaces (Ate Tre Passi Indietro) by Stefano Schiavone where it showed a story with the typical coldness of board game rules and instructions, a Merchant tells the regret of a man isolated from the world. With the Man, only a family photo - replacing the affections - and a roll of film that keep his life rewinding, in an attempt to give it, and him, a meaning. Despite everything, this also is a love story. Basurero by Eileen Cabiling' is about Bong, a Filipino fisherman, working in an urban fishing village on the outskirts of Manila. Desperate for cash, Bong dumps bodies into the ocean for the drug war's faceless vigilantes. The story follows Bong after he disposes of the "trash." He wrestles with guilt and tension rises when the killings' hit close to home after he discovers his neighbor has been murdered for selling shabu (crystal meth).

Now how does these films even relate to one single factor, family?

Bleached Bones Avenue was a story about Japan claiming back their fallen soldiers. The whole nation considers every one of them as family and I think that’s beautiful. What’s more beautiful is how it was captured. The film does have a lot of visual charm, thanks to both minor experiments and the landscape itself. Nevertheless, it's difficult not to credit the stunning cinematography to the lonely and scenic setting of the mountains. The final product is stunning in its exploration of the land, which is enhanced with stylised black and white portions. The labor and the people 's emotions provide a fascinating portrayal of these employees and their society, which is an understudied subject. As a result, even learning about the scenario in such a brief and frank manner delivers a wealth of information. However, because the film focuses on the goal rather than communicating historical facts, the factual substance is restricted. The film's duration also limits its capacity to provide further insight into the operation, limiting its appeal. The time constraints, on the other hand, result in a documentary that is quick and easy to watch, making it a worthwhile experience despite its flaws in production.

Talking about Love was lighter compared to Bleached Bones Avenue. From a documentary to war then suddenly thrusted to a vibrant conversation about relationships in everyday life, I was shocked by how far we, humanity, came from the dark times. As family was mentioned in passing as one couple was expecting a baby, I think you can see how my family came into my mind as well. What is really interesting about this is how they showed the transition to the couples. It wasn’t the average transition and I was honestly amazed a thow smooth characters interchanged and even made the story more beautiful and clearer. This kind of set-up had me wondering, it was unexpected and even made it more great. The certain flow they did with the story was what made this film above the rest.

Tenebrae was in the very essence of it about a family leaving their home since it was getting demolished. In a glance, you would see that this was a black and white film but the quality of its unsaturatedness was something to note of. It was crisp clear and if you look close, you might even see the blue hue of the clouds in this black and white film. I think that certain effect on me and perhaps many others as well was one this film’s edges to others. They played with the lighting despite it being unsaturated and it paid off. It was geometrical in the way, with how the shadows cutted off in the architecture of the apartment. In certain scenes, they made it symmetrical and with how it was colored or rather uncolored, gave a different vibe. Melancholy, regret, and maybe even the very feeling of saying goodbye that you know won’t see again. The play of light again at the end when they were in the truck was the highlight of the film, you can’t really explain it with your words so I guess you just have to see for yourself.

Autumn struck me. Within a minute, it had me crying. I am very close with my dad and watching the film made me realize how I take life for granted. It was short and simple, yet the most emotional film out of the bunch. I never wanted to imagine the what-ifs but this made me think about the past, present, and the future. That was the scariest part though, not knowing the answers to those what-ifs. Looking at the film technically was a bit of a problem to me since it made me emotional. The color grading really made me feel that it was autumn, it was warm and had hues of vibrant oranges and the likes. The duration of the film couldn’t be more perfect. For me, some might say that it was too short, since it’s just one minute, but I think it’s perfect. Just like life, film can be short as well.

Go Back 3 Spaces is a metaphor for life shown in a board game. Rules were even mentioned and every action has its consequences in the game of life. I think the best thing about this film like Tenebrae was how it was shot in black and white. Tenebrae made the film cleaner and sharper, Go Back 3 Spaces made the film more dramatic and emotional. That’s due to the lighting, the music, and of course the very concept itself. The film follows a man’s life and is related to a board game by saying you have certain choices you can make when the man has been in a very bad place in his life. It was a fresh and different take on how to perceive life. The man as well has choices that show what he can do going forward with his life and how his family was affected as well. This was fast-paced and made me feel like I was being rushed into doing something when in reality, life really feels like it’s going too fast but I guess once in a while we have to take a deep breath and realign ourselves to our focus.

Basurero is another film I would like to commend. The story follows Bong that with such a big family to sustain, Bong runs out of money and resorts to dumping a body in Manila Bay to make ends meet. The production portrays poverty and murder in the Philippines in a disturbing manner. The aesthetics in the production are rather outstanding. The opening night picture, which includes a vision of a body sinking under the sea, establishes a powerful mood that is maintained throughout the film. This one is at the top of my short film list since it is sure to create a lasting impression on any spectator and encourage deeper discussion. It was incredible how the story of human tragedies was told while focusing on the sufferings of a single person. Although the movie may have succeeded only for some people on the strength of its message, it also features a keen sense for visual storytelling and a powerful performance from Jericho Rosales, one of the best Filipina actors.

I think it’s also amazing that different genres of stories from different countries could have a single point of similarity which is family. In films, you have to read between the lines as well.

I was always family-oriented.

So it’s not a surprise that I fell in love with these films.