#so I’ve never been comforted over it and it still haunts me into adulthood

[skoulsons]

“Ellie?”

She had kept herself closed off most of the day, doing as much as skipping meals, not sketching, and declining their routine movie night.

Joel turned the knob, opening the door only slightly. “Ellie?”

“What?” She bit. She was around the corner, still in bed.

He bit his cheek. “Can I come in?”

She sniffled, a mumbled yeah from around the corner to let him know it was okay. He entered, keeping the door somewhat open behind him. He found her on her back, covers pulled up to her shoulders as she stared at the ceiling, counting imaginary stars.

The look on her face was a sure sign, as any, that things were not good.

He sat by her feet, the corner of the mattress sinking down as he sat, her feet following suit and lightly falling against his lower back.

“Do you need something?”

Joel inhaled and exhaled. He kept his hands awkwardly in his lap. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Why? I’m fine,” she grumbled, eyes still glued to the ceiling.

“You sure?”

She wasn’t. She knew she wasn’t fine. Every possible thought about Joel, Tommy, Maria, Riley, Sam, or Henry that wasn’t positive made its way to the forefront of her brain, twisting everything she knew about them. Making her believe things that she was sure weren’t true. Convincing her of truths that were hard to shake.

Everything is still so new to them. Young and needing navigation and direction. Their relationship and being together now, no plan in sight of leaving or disregarding the other.

She has someone in her life now who cares about her. Who has cared about her for over a year. Someone who dedicates every single day to being present. Who always makes breakfast for the two of them. Someone who holds her when she cries and who lifts her up even higher when she’s happy. Who carries her to bed when she needs it and finds her new comics when he’s outside the walls. Who protects her at every moment and encourages her to eat and shower when she struggles.

Someone who loves her.

And that revelation is what makes these days even harder.

“Hey…” he nudged, turning his body slightly more towards her. “What’s goin’ on, baby?”

Ellie sighed, closing her eyes tightly, waves of colors forming in the black of her vision the harder she squeezed. She opened them, her eyesight wavering as tears pooled at her eyelids. The imaginary stars on the ceiling kept her gaze, still avoiding Joel’s concern.

“Today just… hasn’t been good.”

And while he knew it, hearing it from her still hurts to know. Whatever happened, it hurts to know she’s struggling.

“I think it’s been little worse than hasn’t been good.” It felt inappropriate to point out her near crying and the tight-lipped expression on her face in an attempt to keep her emotions at bay.

“I’m just… having fucked up thoughts,” she sighed, tracing all the constellations she knew into the white of the ceiling.

Joel didn’t say anything. In all honesty, he didn’t know what to say.

Neither of them were the best at talking. Sharing something that pissed them off, frustrated them, or upset them and navigating that conversation in a healthy manner always felt like forcefully pulling teeth before they ever broke the surface of the gums.

Joel hopes his silence is an invitation for her to continue. He wants to help, to walk through what bothering her with her.

“I…,” she started, choking slightly on the syllable. “I feel like people don’t care. They don’t care, they don’t…love.”

Joel tilted his head to the side, eyeing her avoidant gaze.

Ellie brought her hand up and wiped it across her right temple. Her voice wavered, her lip quivering as she spoke, “me.”

Joel had an inclination, but hearing it still hurt all the same.

“I feel like people…” she paused, sniffled heavily. She lazily raised her arm off the bed in his direction, “you… don’t.”

Frustrated, Ellie sat up, her back making content with the headboard harder than she intended. She locked eyes with him momentarily before avoiding his gaze again, fixing hers around the room. Her dresser, a heap of clothes on the floor, her blinds, and the open door.

She stopped keeping her head upright and let the crown of her head fall back, banging against the headboard. She sighed, a wet, embarrassing laugh escaping her. “I… I know. I know you do. I do. But sometimes, I just… get convinced you don’t.”

She fiddles with her hands in her lap as her tears threaten to spill over, Ellie massaging her fingers and cracking her knuckles, even with nothing left to crack. She picks at her cuticles and nails uncomfortably, clearing her throat to get rid of the tight burning that has coated it.

“What convinces you?” Joel asked, his eyes looking twenty years younger—like he’s talking to someone else entirely. Like he’s held a similar conversation before.

His question stumps her.

And she realizes it’s nothing. Nothing has ever convinced her. Nothing could convince her that Joel doesn’t care about her. Nothing could ever truly convince her that Joel doesn’t love her.

He may get frustrated over something. He may be extra tired some days. He may spend a little more strength some days fighting his own demons that it’s hard to be there 100% for her.

But those things don’t mean he doesn’t love her. They don’t mean he wouldn’t lay down his life for her at any given moment. They don’t mean he doesn’t look at her with anything less than adoration, devotion, and appreciation for who she is. Who she is and what she has come to mean to him.

“Have I ever done anything-“

She cut him off. “No. No, no. Fuck no, never.” She threw the crown of her against the headboard again, a few tears spilling down the side of her face and flowing along her jawline. She hastily wiped them away, clearing her throat.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I guess I… don’t think I deserve it or something. So I look at you or Tommy or I… I remember Riley or Sam or anyone else and I… I think they don’t—didn’t care.”

She knows they do. Riley—she knows. Sam she knows. Henry, too. Tommy and Maria—she knows. Joel—he she knows better than any of the others.

“I remember them or I…” she brought her head down from her gaze on the ceiling and looked at him, clearly, for the first time. “I look at you and I wonder why.”

She cries. Her lips pressed together, not enough breath in her lungs to combat the tears falling down her face and slipping down her neck, soaking the collar of her shirt. She wipes and wipes and wipes until her tear-soaked hands can’t catch anymore and they flow freely. She dries her hands on her sheets and it’s still not enough to catch every single one.

Joel moves quickly, his right hand lightly on her shin as he reaches his left out towards her, keeping it held right above her lap for her to feel.

She can barely see, and yet she reaches out, knowing he’s there. Trusting he’s there.

She grabs his left hand with her right, holding it until her knuckles turn white and it hurts. Until it stings and her fingers go numb. Until her hand shakes and the blood flow is cut off from her fingertips.

He moves his right hand from her shin to press a fist into the mattress on the other side of her, scooting himself closer to her. He settles closer to her, bringing his right hand up her shoulder and eventually finding its home on her cheek. He strokes his thumb across it, more tears falling as she leans into it. She turns her head into it, her lips in his palm as he continues wiping her tears.

He pulls his hand back from her face and brings it to her other cheek, sliding his knuckles across to clear the streaks of tears. He returns his hand back to her other cheek, lightly scratching at the roots of her hair on the back of her neck.

Ellie grabs the collar of her shirt with her left hand, wiping the snot from her nose and using any drier part of her shirt to dry her neck and chin.

Joel lifts his left hand to bring up to her face, but a mumbled, snotty no keeps it in her lap, Ellie still clutching it.

She continues to sniffle, finally opening her eyes to see Joel looking back at her, a streak down the left side of his face, right by his ear.

“I’m sorry,” she says, quickly averting her gaze from his.

He smiles slightly, rubbing those all-comforting circles with his thumb over hand. He brings his hand up from her cheek as she closes her eyes, using two fingers to drag hairs down her forehead and tuck them behind her ear.

They didn’t need to be tucked away—but the affection always comforts her.

She takes his right hand in her left, bringing it down into her lap next to their other hands. She watches their hands intently as she rubs circles on his with her right hand and he rubs circles on hers with his right.

“Hey,” he whispers, trying to get her attention. It does, and she looks up at him. The tug on the corner of his lips reaches his eyes. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“No it’s… it’s stupid. I shouldn’t be crying over something I know isn’t true…”

“You know it’s not true?”

She inhales a shaky breath and exhales one just as heavy. She focuses on it, keeping any other tears down as best she can through controlled breathing.

“Yeah. Yeah I… I know.” She pauses for another breath. “But sometimes it’s… fucking difficult. I don’t…” she hesitates, shaking slightly, “I don’t want to look at you and wonder why.”

She chokes, wiping her cheek on the shoulder of her shirt. She feels her back against the headboard and adjusts slightly, rolling her shoulder blades over it.

She looks up at him. His eyes still hold that twenty-year-old look. They glisten because of the tears gathered in them, and the loving smile that hasn’t quite reached his lips has already hit his eyes.

“I’ll remind you. Every day, if I have to—if you want me to. Even if you don’t, I might jus’ have to-“

She laughs—giggles—at that. He laughs too, the kind of laugh that resides deep in his chest. The one that sounds better through his rare toothy smile. The laugh she only hears so often. The laugh when he thinks he’s done something right. The almost triumphant laugh when he seems to have cheered her up.

Ellie smiles, watching his own unwavering smile. “You can, if you think about it. I mean, I won’t expect it every day. If you forget some days, it’s fine. I’m not-”

“Ellie.”

“Sorry.”

Joel takes note of her. The dried tears along her cheeks. Her red and puffy eyes. The way her nose is red. The soaked collar of her shirt.

He doesn’t want to see her like this again. Not over thoughts like this.

“Will reminding you help? You know… keep thoughts like this away?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but it hits her that she doesn’t know. She’s never been positively reminded, certainly not daily, that someone cares for and loves her. No one’s been constant enough to tell her the truths she missed out on as a child. No one’s stuck around long enough for them to mean anything. No one has ever loved her enough to say them and mean them. Nothing other than doubt, hesitation, or reluctance has followed such reminders.

“I don’t know. I think, I… I hope. I don’t know, I’ve… never had someone who did something like that.”

He doesn’t frown at the thought, but his smile fades. Sadness, disbelief at the thought, the truth that she’d never had this before. “Well… we can try it out. You can tell me if you hate it ‘n we can try something’ else.” He smiled again as he rubbed more circles along her hands. “Sound fair?”

She smiles, tears welling at her eyes again. One spills over, Ellie fervently nodding in response to Joel’s question before too many more tears follow.

He lets go of her left hand and opens his arm up, welcoming her in. She scoots into him, tucking her body against him. She lets her legs freely fall into his as she leans against his body, his right arm coming across her back and holding her shoulder tightly. She keeps her face hidden away as best she can in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Her right hand finds the bottom of his shirt, rubbing the fabric back and forth between her fingers.

Joel kisses her head, leaving his lips pressed into her hair briefly. “I just… I don’t want this to become something you know is true. Cause it ain’t.”

“It won’t. I… I know it’s not true.”

He kisses her head again, a muffled good reverberating through her. He rubs her upper arm a few times.

“Come here,” he says, letting go of her shoulder and standing up.

She smiles shyly, standing up and wasting no time to hold on to him, her arms wrapping around his middle and settling behind his back. She rests her ear right over his heart, the thump-thump drowning the world out. Drowning her thoughts. Her feet stand in between his, Ellie attempting to get as close to him as she can.

Joel, just like every time before and every time to come after, keeps a steady hand across her back and one behind her head, carefully threading his fingers through her hair. He tilts his head down, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

He sways them gently, covering her back in hand-drawn lines, circles, and a myriad of other shapes. “This is your first reminder.”

She giggles at that.

Something bubbles in her chest. A fire. Butterflies—as cheesy as she thinks that is—it fits. It tickles, in a way. It reaches her finger tips and warms her skin. It helps her breathe easier and keeps her heartbeat beat in rhythm with his. It slows her thoughts and relaxes her shoulder. It lets her relax completely against his embrace.

The reminder is there. The reminder of his care and protection, no matter what. The reminder of the steadfast, uncompromising, sacrificial love that he has for her.

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Reasons I Care About Bobby Wilson (this post is for people who wonder why I do):

Sorry, just saw an anti-Bobby post and I shouldn't get like this over a fictional character, but here I go, I guess.

The things people don't like

We can agree that not crediting Luke, Reggie, and Alex for their songs was awful. That is a serious line to cross and he's got to make up for that if he's ever to be seen as a truly good guy.

It can also be agreed upon that his shady/not as cool character is set up by the way he interacts with the boys and Rose. Lying about being vegetarian, trying to send the boys off to eat hot dogs so he can flirt more (from which we have a thousand heacanons about him being in a relationship with Rose and also theories that he somehow killed his own band).

These things don't paint him as brightly as the rest of our himbos. I'd like to assert that we are being shown a mere glimpse of this character and the intro showed him in a weak moment. We can discuss good and proper flirting tactics elsewhere, but these methods aren't uncommon, especially for a teen in 1995. The song stealing - absolutely inexcusable. There's no way I, or anyone else, would or should try to dispute that.

This next part is in response to the tag I read saying 'he acts like a douche' and aside from the above things, what else do we see?

What he really does

Let's look at Bobby as a teen briefly. He plays Now or Never with the boys, and upon finishing the sound check goes right into celebrating their performance. Then he sees a cute girl who is also celebrating the performance and wants to get to know her better. This attempt is momentarily interrupted by the rest of his band, and while he is slightly annoyed, he isn't outright rude. He reminds them of plans they already had to send the message that he wants a chance with this girl - if I were in a similar situation I don't imagine myself handling it too much better. I understand that's really up to individual scrutiny, but I don't take this as 'oh he's a jerk'.

We don't see him again until the issue of copyright comes up and they visit his mansion. In these moments, we see him the way Luke, Reggie, and Alex do: an intolerable thief. However, the use of the songs is already a thing of the past. The Bobby, now Trevor, we see presently makes a practice of checking in with his daughter briefly, meditating, and has a therapist. We can all laugh at Reggie's line about the sunglasses, but without the boys there, he just comes off as a chill dad who sticks to his cool dude aesthetic even when his child finds it embarrassing.

The fear he experiences when the boys haunt him is clearly very mixed. Regardless, resurfacing the trauma of his band dying and then seeing paranormal activity in his own home that is targeted toward him in a mildly antagonistic manner is sort of a weighty subject. That poor therapist.

Then he sees the Edge of Great video. Can I just point out that he takes interest because he sees Julie? She's what grabs his attention. Whether it's because of Julie's goddess-like talent or because he recognizes his daughter's friend and notices his daughter bringing her up in a way she hasn't in about year, we don't know yet. But Julie is the star and he knows it. And then he sees them. His old band from 25 years ago, back from the dead and not a day older than 17. He doesn't even have to feel guilty to respond the way he did - that's just the response of a 42 year old man who is seeing straight *read: it's never straight* witchcraft before his eyes.

I'm not sure why he would call to get himself and Carrie into the show on the spot aside from pure curiosity. The who, what, when, where, and why of it all is a lot to take with his guilty conscience on top. Seeing him shake at the end is definitely a combination of all those things.

I almost forgot to include him playing in Unsaid Emily, but not much can be said about it. I still think it's sweet that Luke felt comfortable enough sharing that song with his whole band and that they rehearsed it. As a bandmate and a friend, Bobby must have been at least cool enough to gain that confidence, and more not to include it in the songs he claims as his own later.

Anyhow, those things are what we see and it's somewhat polarizing apparently. Julie's mom, Rose, retained a fairly close friendship with him, which says a great deal. If Julie is anything like her mom, or if we extrapolate from Julie's character how good of a parent Rose was, we can imagine how good of a character judge she was. As a teen, maybe not quite as good (although she is played to be specifically in tune with her feeling about how good the band is, so I don't think so). Maturing into adulthood and still having Bobby as a friend implies that either he was extremely fake with her the whole 24 years they were friends, or he actually wasn't that terrible to be around.

What we don't know

As much as we all love our headcanons, there's still a great deal of mystery about Bobby. And frankly, I feel like it depends on which headcanons we choose to like that cement our feelings toward him (although enjoying Taylor Kare as an actor and a human being can also have great influence here as well). I've seen some hcs that say he was a big brother to the guys and that make him seem soft and I really enjoy them. I choose to believe we are shown some of his worst moments and he has potential for good. Others really like the drama and mystery behind the "he somehow murdered the boys" and frankly I can't say they're wrong for it. But there are certainly details that could help define him that we've yet to see:

What was he actual relationship with the guys? Was he really a fourth wheel, just a rhythm guitarist they needed, or was he just as close?

What happened right after the boys died? Did he go on with the show or did he cancel?

Was he involved in telling their families the bad news? Did he attend their funerals? Did he disappear before he could get involved?

How did he manage to bury his old identity and keep his friendship with Rose?

Was he victimized by the music industry? Was taking the credit his idea or was he put in a difficult position that made him make a bad choice?

Who in the world is Carrie's mom and is she a part of their life? How does this affect them?

What is he going to do about the boys now? Could he actually do anything to harm their career as a band? Would he or does he want closure?

I guess what I want to accomplish here is explain that you're welcome to feel what you feel about Bobby, but you can't tell me "it's not that deep." It is. Plus I love the representation we get from both actors who play him on the show and anyone who is mad about that can assume I don't take their opinion seriously.

[wincore]

campfire + first kiss + renjun pleeease

theme: enemies to lovers!au, side college!au

You smack your head against the bark of a tree and immediately regret it. 

That was obviously not one of your best decisions. It’s late at night and you seem to be the only one awake in your suffering. You dust off the remnants of the upper layer of the bark and hiss at the scratch you find. Now, if only Jaemin didn’t rush this camping trip, you’d be having a much better time under a pale moon like this. You sigh, twisting your head to look at the sky. It’s almost miserable.

Ah yes, summer. The best time to find insects and other interesting creatures while struggling to sleep through the hot, humid night. When else could you have this wonderful a trip?

Right! When you’re not forced to live in agonizing turmoil with the one guy you cannot stand. You groan. You can put on repellent for the bugs. You can rely on the night to get cooler with time. But how on earth are you supposed to look him in the eye anymore? You refuse to the spend the night in the same small cramped tent as Renjun. 

Where does all the hatred come from? Good question, you don’t remember either. It’s been so long since you first saw him, in kindergarten, a shy boy offering you a red crayon. It’s different now, vastly—you barely exchange words without engaging in a heated debate and prolonged glares. There’s a lack of warmth in his eyes, uninviting and annoyed. 

You pause for a second at the sudden memory that interrupts. A dorm party bordering on too wild and an extremely drunk you after a tough week of assignments and projects—that’s the summary of it. But there’s more. Renjun was kind in that moment when he took care of you and you feel particularly embarrassed to admit it. He didn’t have to help you. Your friends were there. Jaemin was there. He didn’t have to make you overthink like this. He was so gentle that night—holding you firm all the way to your apartment, rubbing circles on your back when you threw up, medicine and a glass of water ready on your table by the morning without him. You remember all of that, although you’re sure neither you nor Renjun want to remember. You blush at the memory of your lips so close to his as he grasped your waist to get you to stand straight. You shake your head. Whatever, at least you didn’t end up kissing him.

The truth is, you don’t know why you seem to hate Renjun so much. It wasn’t always like this. You were almost friends once, many years ago. You just know the burning in your cheeks and a boiling pool of words stuck in your throat whenever he’s there in front of you, with that god awful confidence in himself. It’s not real. You know he puts up a front. 

But there’s something more, isn’t there? a voice speaks up in your head, sounding scarily like Renjun himself. You want to yell, just to get rid of it.

You stay there for a while, trying to catch a break from all the stress Renjun’s been giving you, especially after the party. Your cheeks feel warm again, and you pray to the night breeze to get cooler soon. 

Someone calls out your name. 

You spin around, the perpetrator of your thoughts standing in his classic striped sweatshirt, somehow resistant to the summer heat. Renjun raises an eyebrow as you look up at him, your heartbeat freezing up with all the heat run away to your cheeks. 

Just how long will you keep up this denial? an annoying voice pops up—no, it’s his voice again.

“Don’t hang around the edge like this,“ Renjun scolds. “It’s not safe.“

You think for a moment, a sly grin working up its way. “Ah yes, did you hear about the girl who died in these woods? I heard her spirit still haunts this place.”

“Th-There’s nothing like that!” Renjun says, but he straightens up visibly. “Don’t joke around!”

You giggle at his flustering, a sudden relief from your previous thoughts.

“What happened?” He clears his throat and points. “To your forehead, I mean.”

You tilt your head at his concern. You always do stupid things to get on his nerves. Hasn’t it always been this way?

“Never mind.“ Renjun sighs. “It’s something stupid, I know.”

Before you can refute it, he interjects, “I have some band-aids, I think. If not, I’m sure Jaemin has them. Come on.”

Was he always nice like this? You follow him nonetheless to the dwindling campfire and sit on the soft grass, waiting. The blood pumps through your veins softly, a sound calming yet terrifying. You half expect the forest spirits and the fireflies to pay you a visit when it’s so quiet like this.

There’s a moment when you lock eyes with Renjun as he gets the ointment and band-aids. You quickly look back down at your feet, flustered yet not knowing why. You’re so stupid, Renjun’s voice says in your head. I know, you think. 

You purse your lips, hesitant to let him dress the small cuts and scratches.

“It won’t hurt,” Renjun coaxes, “I promise.“

And so you let him take care of you a second time since adulthood.

Your hands are balled up at the sides as Renjun dabs wet cotton over your forehead, an inevitable pounding of your heart at the dawning realization. The band-aid Renjun uses is white and square, with moomin mamma over it. It’s undoubtedly his, a smile almost breaking out on your face if it weren’t for his eyes focused on you. His eyelashes are unfair, long and pretty, and his lightly colored lips are a little too close for your liking.

“You’re stupid,” Renjun says softly, finally pressing the band-aid over your forehead.

“I’m always stupid to you, Renjun,” you say airily.

“Oh, don’t pick a fight now.“ Renjun clicks his tongue.

“I’m not,” you whisper, looking away.

You both offer silence for the cicadas and the flames to fill up. There’s something unspoken that always stays in between, something tying you close. The wind is starting to pick up its pace, colder than it had been in the evening, when your thoughts were louder. It’s your problem to solve now. 

You’ve never hated Renjun. You’ve been jealous of him, sure, sometimes annoyed and angry, sometimes even blamed him for several things—but you’ve never hated him. You couldn’t bring yourself to do that to the only person who understood you.

There’s something unique about wanting Renjun; you long for him the same way you long for the stars, your distance between you making you long for them all the more.

Renjun breaks the silence with the same question as yours. “Can I ask you something?”

He leans back, letting you go first. His eyes look almost honey-like, by the flickering flames, more so distracting.

“Why did you take care of me after the party? You didn’t have to, you know.”

Renjun scoffs. “Of course I did. Do you know how many people you kiss when you’re drunk? And regret it later? It’s so annoying to see you wail around Jaemin and the rest.”

You feel the heat shoot to your cheeks, unable to answer. “Well, you didn’t have to be the one being oh so kind. Besides, you’re sort of ruining the thing we have that way.”

Renjun raises an eyebrow. 

“You know,” you explain, pointing your fingers at him and yourself, “The thing. We’re barely nice to each other.”

Renjun smiles at first, a ghost of a laugh escaping his lips. He’s so pretty like this, when there’s laughter in his eyes. He falls silent thereafter, eyes a little changed under the firelight. 

“Do you hate me? Like really hate me?” Renjun’s voice is low, the shadows of the flames dancing across his face to a patient symphony. He questions, but you don’t know how to answer. You’ve always played around your feelings, too comfortable in the relation, your hiding place, you’ve built with him.

There’s a dash of something foreign in his voice, an undertone daring enough to show hurt.

You shake your head. If anything, he makes you feel lighter. Every day at university would be so much more stressful without him. 

“I wouldn’t trade you for all the stars and planets,“ you whisper.

It happens in a fraction of a moment. A fraction of a moment is all you need. You lean in, your breath hot as it leaves your mouth, hovering a few inches from his as you wait for permission. 

His eyes flutter to your lips and back to your eyes, coming closer when you close the distance, your lips melting in soft mush against his. Did you ever think Huang Renjun’s lips would feel this way? No, you thought they’d be rougher, like his tongue and words. But they’re soft, warm, inviting—all the things you refused to believed Renjun was for a long time, for a thing as worthless as pride. 

When you pull apart, Renjun flushes a bright red, the campfire caressing the hue all the more as his fingers reach up to his lips.

“I’ve never- I’ve never…done that before.”

You pause, blushing all the same. “Wait. You mean you’ve never kissed anyone before?”

Renjun scoffs, looking away. You catch on to his smile, your heart fluttering at the sight the same way it does every time. 

“How could I? I’ve been in love with you this whole time.”

[bisluthq]

*WARNING Domestic violence topic* Could you explain to me why seven could sound queer?, Like I can see how many Taylor songs can be interpreted in a queer way, but with seven I can't see it, like for me it's clearly about domestic violence and the only possible queer thing I can hear it's the closet part...but in this particular case I do not think it refers to sexuality but to literally hiding form your abusive parents. Sorry if this was asked before or if it's disrespectful to ask.

So firstly let me just say that victims of abuse who hear that in the song are so valid. And I’m not here to “take away” a song that speaks to that experience. If it brings you comfort and relief, that’s amazing.

Do I think Taylor meant it as a song about domestic violence or escaping from that? Honestly, no. Because she described herself in LPSS as longing for that time in her life and talked about how she misses being able to throw tantrums and feel more freely and without judgement; in her head she’s thinking about this period in her life very fondly. Now, this is one of those death of the author moments because if you’re an abuse survivor who found comfort in this you... shouldn’t care wtf Taylor meant by it, what matters is what it means to you. Same as how if betty speaks to your sapphic teenage love triangle, it shouldn’t matter that Taylor imagined James as a boy.

But yeah, so for Taylor it was not meant to be about abuse. It was about feeling stuff more freely. And let’s take a look and examine at why it feels so fucking gay to... like... basically every queer woman.

Please picture me

In the trees

I hit my peak at seven

Okay so Taylor is setting up a narrator - presumably herself. Especially in the context of her hyperconfessional marketing and the LPSS explanation we’re literally meant to picture Tay. But tbh that doesn’t matter so much - it could be any little girl. This little girl is “in the trees”... which isn’t really where little girls are supposed to be. In these very first lines Tay is setting up a little tomboy character.... and then she says “I hit my peak at seven” - ergo this rugrat period of abandon, where I was free to play in the trees, is “my peak”. It was the best time in “my” life.

Lots of people feel that, it’s not inherently gay, but for queer women - I don’t know about other shades of queer but suspect yes - childhood often represents even greater freedom than to hets because it’s before we felt deviant. There was nothing to compare ourselves to. Sure, we might’ve played families in het couples like heteronormativity is felt by children too, but that kind of thing was largely asexual and we didn’t know yet that other people felt differently about it all.

Like I only realized I was different in late middle school and I didn’t have the word for it for ages tbh. Like I just knew I didn’t get the fuss about boys. When I was a little kid? I didn’t know what the fuss was really. It was a kind of “peak” so yeah, I feel that in my bones.

Feet

In the swing

Over the creek

I was too scared to jump in, but I, I was high

In the sky

Here we have her playing, once again with reckless abandon - she’s standing on a swing (naughty!) and swinging high over a creek. But she’s slightly nervous. I relate to that too, it’s not a gay thought it’s a little kid thought I think - because while she’s enjoying her freedom and the chance to play, there’s an awareness of the risk. That’s a lot of childhood and what makes her such a greater songwriter is how she’s able to capture these feelings we’ve all had before, in this case the rumbunctious nature of free play paired with the cautious nervousness of knowing you can fall.

With Pennsylvania under me

I mean this simple makes it more autobiographical for her, like if we didn’t know her was her that was the me , now we really do.

Are there still beautiful things?

This is speaks to her nostalgia for this time period and serves to highlight how much she misses it. She wishes she was young and innocent and had that freedom of playing in the trees and above the creek and feeling like she’s flying just because she’s standing upright on the swing. This is meant to be her “peak”.

Sweet tea in the summer

Cross your heart, won't tell no other

The first line is setting up mood again, it’s innocence and suburbia and freedom and the hot days of summer vacation. The second is a common English phrase - for the ESL folks - that means “let’s keep a secret”. It’s extremely common for little girls especially to have secrets with each other. “You’re my best friend and I’ll tell you something I haven’t told anyone else before but cross your heart you won’t tell anyone else” is the kind of thing that has probably happened at a sleepover for every woman (gay or straight). So Tay’s whispering and telling secrets to her best friend aged seven in the heat of the summer and the neat rhymes kinda remind me of those clapping games you play as a kid.

And though I can't recall your face

I still got love for you

Again, I think this isn’t specific to gay kids necessarily - it’s that idea of having lifelong affection for your first best friend even when you don’t know where they are, can’t imagine them in adulthood, maybe can’t even remember their surname and frankly don’t really want to or care... but you still have warm feelings towards them.

Your braids like a pattern

Love you to the moon and to Saturn

So the friend is a girl. And here’s where the non wlw readers will have to work with me a little bit because as I’ve explained before a very common, enteral part of the queer female experience is obsession with other girls’ femininities. We notice things like hair and clothes and makeup on girls far more than straight girls seem to and waaay more than het guys do. A friend of mine who is v butch noticed like minor shit that any of us change in our appearance. Describing in detail a girl’s appearance feels - on a gut level - pretty gay. Now this isn’t a detailed description, but she links this physical trait - this pretty, braided hair her friend has - to loving her.

Now, she is a child in this story. This isn’t a sexual kind of thing in the child’s mind. She’s obviously not “in love” with her friend aged seven. But she is saying her deep, overwhelming love for her friend is inextricably linked - via rhyme scheme - to her feminine appearance.

This incredibly close, quasi homoerotic friendship is a near universal wlw experience and I’m sorry but it differs from straight girls’ close friendships because it’s... a lot. It is “love you to the moon and to Saturn” and obsessing over her clothes and hair and little habits.

And there’s no vocab for this, nothing to prepare you for it and nobody bats an eye because little girls are supposed to be friends with one another but like... you’re way overinvested and often that other girl isn’t and starts to drift away because she isn’t having this language free connection and it’s legit heartbreaking.

Passed down like folk songs

The love lasts so long

This childhood friendship becomes an anecdote, a moment of folkloric storytelling, but it never completely fades away and tapping into this first - not quite sexual but very sapphic - experience is super easy.

And I've been meaning to tell you

I think your house is haunted

Your dad is always mad and that must be why

And I think you should come live with

Me and we can be pirates

This sets up the narrative some people - I understand where y’all are coming from and I am here for it - hear of domestic abuse. The thing is, it’s not Tay’s character who is getting abused. Tay is a small child - and she’s envious of and nostalgic for that era of her life, when she thought that her best best best friend’s asshole dad was simply reacting to ghosts. It speaks to an innocence her character has which may not be shared by her friend, the girl with the braids.

But Tay is innocent and she says “come with me” and run away so we can be pirates together. Now, on a very basic and superficial pop culture level it’s worth noting Keira Knightley in POTC is pretty fundamental to any queer millennial woman’s sexual awakening. However, that’s not what Tay’s referencing here. She’s saying, at least on some level, let’s run away and be gender nonconforming. Again, she’s a small child. She doesn’t know why she wants that. But she doesn’t tell her friend “let’s run away and be princesses” - she wants to be a pirate. It links to the first scene in the song of her being a tomboy in the trees and on the swing, honestly. There were also a number of cross dressing female pirates, many of whom were gay back in the day so it’s a subtle nod to how a lot of childhood fantasies actually are rooted in possible historical fact.

But also come on, every queer girl wanted to be a pirate idk why really we just did. Like I say I can explain it as a desire not to conform to gender norms but it’s also just... another weirdly common fantasy that she’s tapping into.

Like idk this song is so fucking gay and it’s not trying to be but every line is just... felt in my bones. Like little me is seen by this song.

Then you won't have to cry

Or hide in the closet

This is obvi the line people go on about and look. The friend’s dad is clearly an asshole like that’s established. But the line has a double meaning. She’s saying if you run away with me to be a pirate on the high seas you won’t have to cry anymore and you won’t hide in the closet. It’s an innocent thought but it’s also a double meaning, right? You won’t be abused, you won’t be sad. And you’ll be with me out of the closet. It could’ve been “hide under the bed” or “behind the curtains”. But she picked closet. And that word gives this verse a second meaning, which is particularly palpable given as I say this is a very gay song from a thematic standpoint.

And just like a folk song

Our love will be passed on

Again, this is a deeeeep love. This is someone she wants to run away with. And she probably doesn’t know why, she probably doesn’t have the words. She’s a little kid. But this friend of hers is the person she wants to rescue and run away with and be together with even though she - Tay - is pretty content otherwise. In fact, she longs for this time in her life. It was full of beautiful things. And yet despite being happy, she was willing to drop it all for her little female friend she was clearly preoccupied with.

Please picture me

In the weeds

Before I learned civility

I used to scream

Ferociously

Any time I wanted

I, I

Again, this reiterates she is nostalgic for this time period. It was a good time in Taylor’s life. It was a time when she could be herself, before she had learned civility and what was expected from her by society. Which ties back to that thing I said right in the beginning, about how this first quasi sapphic friendship is cherished by queer women because we didn’t know it was weird. We hadn’t “learned civility” yet. We could scream, we could run around and climb trees, and we could ask our friends to run away with us not knowing those thoughts didn’t occur to them with the same intensity.

Sweet tea in the summer

Cross my heart, won't tell no other

And though I can't recall your face

I still got love for you

We’ve discussed this already. It’s still queer coded to me.

Pack your dolls and a sweater

We'll move to India forever

Passed down like folk songs

Our love lasts so long

So she’s once again cementing the fact that this is a little female friend with the dolls, and again suggests running away together and says even though none of that happened and she grew up and realized this... was actually a fairly specific experience not a universal universal one and she learned civility and heteronormativity but this foundational, pure, innocent gay love... will always remain in its complete innocuous harmlessness but immense power.

And so, yeah. This song is probably Taylor’s gayest shortly followed by Treacherous.

But if it means something else to you, I’m by no means taking it away. Anyone can enjoy her music in any way they like.

It’s just weird that most queer women feel their childhood selves are completely seen by this song if it was a complete accident 🤷🏻‍♀️

[lhs3020b]

The Wooden Spaceships, by Bob Shaw

The Wooden Spaceships is the sequel to the first Land/Overland novel, The Ragged Astronauts. It's set about a generation after the ptertha-driven migration from Land; civilisation on Overland is at least stable now, if not entirely-comfortable. Unfortunately "comfortable" isn't what Toller Maraquine is looking for in his older years. Apaprently he hasn't learned any lessons about getting what you wished for, because bad news arrives on Overland in the form of an airship from Land! That's right, apparently there are survivors on Land, and they're not very happy with their neighbours.

My thoughts are under the cut...

TWS is a bit of an odd book. It's really two main stories, somewhat awkwardly joined together. There's the plot with the attempted invasion by the New Men - briefly, the children of people who proved to be unusually-resistant to pterthacosis, who apparently are either immune or are tolerant enough to the disease that they've managed to live to adulthood. The New Men, sadly, have learnt nothing from their parents' folly and may actually be worse people; their survival seems to have convinced them that they represent a sort of superman who are destined to rule the universe. I suppose a more-sympathetic interpretation might be that they're the products of a collectively-traumatised society, and are dealing with said trauma by projecting all their negative feelings onto imagined enemies on Overland. That said, regardless of interpretation, their actions are not sympathetic and King Rassamarden is clearly a psychotic nutjob.

Also, it's worth noting that they are the New _Men_. While presumably New Women must exist, we never see any. This was an interesting ellision given that TWS is generally a step up relative to TRA for gender stuff. TWS is still quite bad, don't get me wrong, but there has been some improvement. Berise is a plot-relevant female character who actually gets to do stuff, the Kolcorronian king's key adviser is actually his wife Queen Dasseene and there has been some progress on the social front. The Air Corps has been opened to female applicants and it's implied that society as a whole has got a bit more equal. (That said, let's not go too far with this - this is still a society where an aristocrat can have innocent people executed on a whim, as we see with the Sergeant Gnapperl subplot, so Overland has a long way to go before it could be described as a genuinely-civilised society. It may have got a bit more egalitarian one way, but it's still a monarchical despotism ruled by the threat and fear of absolute force.)

Toller, of course, ends up involving himself neck-deep in the war with the New Men. This has the effect of cratering his marriage to Gessalla. In what is genuinely a moment of awesome from her, she tells him that while she's glad he's still alive, she's had quite enough of spending every day wondering whether today is the day she's going to have to bury her idiot husband's corpse. It's stressful and unpleasant, she's lost quite enough in her life already (literally including her homeworld!) and if he can't settle down and sort himself out, then they're through.

Toller, of course, can't deal with this. His marriage thus collapses, and that leads us onto the second part of the novel.

Incidentally, before we get to that, allow me one small tangent. We're halfway through the trilogy, and Toller has entirely forgotten his previous wife. After she disappears halfway through TRA he just - forgets? un-persons? has selective amnesia? goes into denial? refuses to take any responsibility for his own actions? - her entire existence. Toller, you were MARRIED to this woman! Seriously, what a cad! We never find out anything about what happened to Fera at any point in the series. Even in the third novel when a return to Land happens and Shaw could have tied the plot-thread off, but we get nothing.

(Since we never find a body, I've decided to invoke headcanon. Like Toller's father, Fera was one of the rare people who are entirely-immune to pterthacosis. As such she actually survived the implosion of Ro-Atabri and the end of civilisation on Land. After some confusion she eventually moved into an abandoned princeling's palace and has been living out her days in comfortable luxury; she spends her time either walking by the river or reading books - a hobby she recently developed - and occasionally she has been known to take lunch with some of the more pro-social New Men, so she's not entirely without society either. She mostly keeps away from them, having made a reasonable judgement of their character, but that said the odd social do can be refreshing. All considered it's not the worst situation she could have ended up in, and she's certainly managed better than virtually everyone else in Kolcorron. When the Overland exiles' return to the planet happens in "The Fugitive Worlds", Fera - still alive, though an old woman by then - sees the balloons and discovers that she simply has nothing to say to the people who abandoned her to her fate 50 years earlier. As such she decides to avoid them during their visit. In the abstract she supposes that it's nice that society has survived over on Overland, but really, neo-Kolcorron's antics are just Not Her Problem Anymore, so why even bother?)

The second part of the novel concerns a group of Overlander colonists who have recently arrived in a remote area of the planet, newly-opened to settlement. (One oddity of the novel is that for a planet whose population still must be less than a quarter of a million, nonetheless people are spread quite widely across Overland.) The area they've arrived in is fertile, has a pleasant climate and even pre-existing houses, built then abandoned by the last group of prospective colonists. You see, unfortunately, it appears to be haunted.

Bartan Drumme, the semi-leader of the group, is mainly there because he's trying to court his would-be bride Sondeweere. Amusingly, Sondeweere has his number and is quite-blatantly stringing him along, mainly to annoy her domineering uncle. Bartan is of course entirely-blind to this - honestly, Land and Overlander men all seem to run at a permanent +10 to Oblivious - and the "romance" proceeds in exactly the dysfunctional manner that you might imagine. Unfortunately, what would have been an amusingly-cringy romantic dark comedy gets interrupted when the new arrivals in the Egg Basket region start falling ill. Bad dreams, disturbed moods, sleepwalking, full-on psychotic breakdowns - all is not well in the Egg Basket. It quickly becomes apparent that the region is being influenced by some sort of external force. The sensible people leave; the less sensible people cling on and meet with various misfortunes.

(If there is one moral to the Land/Overland trilogy, it seems to be "if you see any hints of trouble, pack your bags and leave NOW, because things will only get worse, and don't expect the government to do anything even minimally-useful".)

Anyway things go from bad to worse, the Egg Basket's mini-society essentially collapses, and then Sondeweere gets abducted by aliens.

Yes, you did read that right. A spaceship turns up and hoovers her up. In context it's not quite as random as it sounds, but it is still quite random.

Anyway this leads Bartan to a decision that he wants to retrieve her from Farland, the third planet in the Land/Overland system. He teams up with Toller, who is now deep into the rebound stage following the implosion of his marriage. Along with Berise and some other acquaintances of Toller's, they construct a spacecraft capable of travelling outside of Land/Overland's mutual atmosphere and set off for Farland. Technically they're under commission from the King; honestly, I got the sense that the King and Queen have simply had enough of Toller's antics, and see this as a convenient way of getting rid of him.

Then reality ensues and they almost die, because nobody on the ship knows anything like as much about either outer space or basic Newtonian physics as they think they do. In fact it turns out no-one has any grasp about continuous acceleration, and they've been running a continuous halvell/pikon thruster-burn for entire days (somehow without running out of fuel, either - apparently the specific impulse on the pikon/halvell reaction is something insanely high?). By the time Sondeweere becomes aware of the ship's situation, it's running at over 100,000 miles per hour and is barely days away from reenacting the Chixculuub meteor on Farland.

Oh yes, I almost forgot to mention - Sondeweere was abducted because her nervous system had become host to an alien parasite (the same one that was causing mass psychosis in the Egg Basket) and she now has superhuman intelligence and telepathic powers. And also, a far better grasp of modern physics than anyone aboard the titular wooden spaceship from Overland. Fortunately, Sondeweere is able to take charge of the situation and arranges something close-ish to a soft landing on Farland - the crew don't enjoy the experience, but they get to walk away from it, and that's about as good as it gets in aerospace incidents!

Anyway my review here is a bit forced, but that's because the last 40% of the novel also feels a bit forced. The pacing is off and the narrative makes some rapid jumps. Honestly TWS's problem is that it's actually not one novel but rather two separate novellas that have been welded together in a particularly-awkward manner. A lot of things aren't really followed up or tied off properly. The fact that Farland is inhabitable and also inhabited turns up quite late in the book and is dealt with in what I felt to be a bit of an unsatisfactory manner. I was also intrigued to find out that all three planets orbit within 42 million miles of their sun. Apparently the star must be some sort of K dwarf, I guess - no, in fact it may well even be a brighter M dwarf, because this is roughly the orbital radius of Mercury! This is odd because the sunlight is never described as being pink-ish. The only thing I can think of is that maybe nuclear fusion also behaves differently in Land/Overland-verse? Perhaps not only is Pi equal to 3 but perhaps smaller stars are hotter and brighter than they would be here? Or maybe everyone's so used to the pink sunlight that no-one thinks to remark on it at any point?

(Canonically they do fuse - in fact Sondeweere actually has a go at explaining nuclear fusion to Bartan and the others at one point, which was thoughtful of her, though sadly the Overlander males remain as obtuse as ever so the effort may have been wasted.)

Anyway overall, I think this book suffers from a bad case of "mid-trilogy syndrome". I'm glad that female characters are handled better here, and I was cheering for Gessalla when she told Toller to fuck off. The extra expansions to the universe were interesting, and it was also interesting to see the gradual consolidation of colonial life on Overland. Madcap as it was, the interplanetary voyage to Farland did have some "big-picture" excitement too. That said, however, the books minuses were continued dropped plot-threads from the previous novel, unevenness in pacing and perhaps also just having too many ideas in a small package.

[cyanidefilledcandy]

I’m about to talk about death, so...

So, last night, I had another dream about my little sister. Oddly enough, I don’t dream about her super often and I was and am both...disturbed and grateful for that.

It’s not unusual for me to dream about dead relatives I was close to. My grandmothers (my paternal and maternal and maternal great grandmother), I dream about frequently. (My paternal grandfather not so much, and that makes me sad and makes me feel like I must not have cared about him enough. ...though, the real culprit is likely memory. He died when I was in middle school; my grandmothers all died when I was in adulthood.) 

Usually when I dream about them, it’s like business as usual. It’s literally just mundane life things. We’re just going about our regular lives, and they’re just there like they had been when they were here. We talk a lot of the times, but it’s nothing significant; just regular conversation and they’re....just there.

With my sister, it’s been the complete opposite.

In EVERY dream I’ve had about my sister, she’s been dead. Except for one I had recently, and in the end, she just turned into my niece. And if she looks to be alive, then the dream will remind that she’s dead. Like one I had...

It was another of those mundane dreams where she, my mom, and I were in car driving, and she was in the backseat and we were just bantering. The subject of her pregnancy came up, but again, nothing out of the ordinary. We were just talking about how many issues she had. I jabbed at her that next time she would be in Georgia or a better hospital or just somewhere with better doctors. And she just kind of gave me an incredulous look and was like “WHAT next time?” and I just kind of stopped and was like “....oh right...” Cause she’s dead... And I’m honestly surprised that I thought that.

Again, usually in my dreams about my dead relatives, there’s nothing out of the ordinary to even suggest that they’re dead. And my sister and I used to have back and forths like that frequently, especially when her first child was born. I’d say something like, “When are you having the next one?” and she’d be like “Not.” Or “who?!” So for that to happen...

Maybe it’s because I felt....feel her death harder than any other I’ve experienced in my life...but I hate that even in my dreams, I can’t seem to think of her in any other context. As if there’s no reprieve from this most unfair reality. But last night’s dream was especially weird.

I was with someone...maybe it was my mom, and we drove up to the cemetery. I paused for a moment before getting out of the car. The other person turned to ask me, “Uh...do you know whose grave this is?” as if asking if I was SURE I wanted to get out and look. And I answered in a kind of “duh” fashion. We buried my sister next to my paternal grandparents, so I figured I could pay some respects to both of them. So, I got out and turned to their graves and they were covered by a plastic tent to protect them from the elements. I noticed it looked like a heavy storm was brewing like a hurricane or something. I then looked back to the graves and my sister’s coffin was out of the ground, open, and empty. It also looked like it had been ransacked. The lining in the lid was torn almost off and the was hanging out and getting wet in the muddy ground.

Of course, I was outraged and just as I was about to start a fight with someone, out a small building in the distance (the mortuary I somehow knew), out walks the female mortician who handled my sister, along with my maternal grandmother. They were both carrying my sister back to the coffin.

I instantly relaxed, knowing my grandma wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. The mortician explains that they had to do something... I don’t remember what it was, but it was likely something that would only make sense in a dream. I nodded and waited for them to put her back in. This part is a bit fuzzier, but other members of my family were suddenly there and everyone was trying to prepare her coffin....or something. There were these little cloth dolls of I guess family members and people were trying to figure out which ones they wanted to keep and which ones they wanted my sister to be buried with. I remember they kept exchanging them or something, and they were some kind of collectable? Again, that part is really fuzzy.

The mortician finally puts my sister back and kind of haphazardly drop her in the coffin, like she was too heavy and she just couldn’t hold her anymore. Of course, I don’t like this, but figure I’m no one to criticize someone at their profession. My sister ends up not even fully in the coffin and the bottom padding is missing. She’s also wearing the wig I just bought, which looks amazing on her and much better than the one I ended up picking IRL. And then all of a sudden, she starts convulse every few seconds. Like a twitch or jump of her limbs and eventually, her mouth starts to hang open. Almost like she’s having a seizure. 

The mortician or my mom or someone tells me that “Don’t worry. Sometimes dead bodies move involuntarily and it means nothing. I’m annoyed because this is something I already know, even if part of me (I guess my waking mind) knew that she was way too animated for this to just be muscle spasms. 

The spasming gets worse to the point that she falls completely out of the coffin. This time however, her eyes open and her mouth is shut (because morticians wire them shut). She keeps convulsing and I’m repeating in my head that “this doesn’t mean anything. this doesn’t mean anything.” But suddenly her head goes back and her eyes are staring at me, desperately and I immediately know a horrible mistake was made.

Have you guys ever seen The Haunting of Hill House? That scene where Olivia has a vision of an adult Nell dead before she rises and desperately tries to beg Olivia to save her...this was very similar to that. She was even dressed in red like Nell was in the show (I had her dressed in red because it was her favorite color). Except my sister looked like she wanted to move and couldn’t. Like her body was too stiff and her mouth was wired shut, so she couldn’t speak and looked like she desperately wanted to.

So, I immediately go “Something’s wrong. We were wrong! She’s alive! Someone help her!” And I had a few people trying to calm me down. They weren’t exactly denying the fact just trying to calm me down. I get more and more frantic and weirdly see some kind of countdown...

And 3, 2, 1, I woke up and my sister was still and silent and I realized I had went through that all in my head. They ended up reburying her and my grandmother stood beside me crying. I hugged her and tried to give her words of comfort. I told her not to worry because her other grandmother and grandfather (the grandmother I was talking to’s husband) and Pepper (our childhood pet) were all looking after her. Again...the grandmother I was talking to is also dead and she died before my maternal grandmother did, so....that was weird...

The next part is a bit fuzzy, but I wound up having a conversation with my sister. We just casually talking about her experience of....dying and being buried? It seemed and felt like one of my other mundane dreams about dead relatives, but I knew very well that she was dead. She told me she was tired of the dolls she was buried with (those weird collectable family dolls) and she said a few other things, and mentioned that she just didn’t have an appetite and some other things where she was just sick and uncomfortable (similar to all the stuff she went through while she pregnant). I told her, “I’m sorry, baby.” And she said a couple other things again very casually before I woke up. 

Oddly enough...I felt strangely calm and peaceful when I woke up.

I don’t know if this is common or not, but my dreams MAJORLY affect my mood and usually whatever feeling I was feeling when I was dreaming carries on with me when I wake up. And not JUST when I wake up; it stays as if it happened to me IRL. Just like yesterday, where I had another apocalypse dream where me and my mom were at odds, and I was depressed all day yesterday. Or a major dream I had long ago where my sister got shot and was dying right in front of my eyes and I had to try and carry her to the hospital. I’ll never forget how she looked in that dream....literally dying. Usually when I dream of someone dying, it’s like a movie death. This dream was eerily realistic with how she was dying. ....that dream had me depressed and physically sick for days after, and has stuck with me... (I wasn’t kidding when I said my sister dying was my worst nightmare...)

I guess it was because we were just talking like normal. However, once I thought back on the dream and the strangeness of it, Depression set in fast. Though, it wasn’t so much the dream than I just feel that loss all over again.

IDK...I kind of wanted to document this dream because the strangeness of it, I guess. Some things I think I know what they mean or represent and others are just...weird...

Visiting the grave is obvious... I think the changing of her hair and shoddy state of the coffin is my own insecurities and unsatisfaction with how her burial was handled. Everyone tells me I did a good job with picking out everything, but I wasn’t satisfied at all with how she looked and I keep imagining if by some miracle I DO see her after death, that she’d have a few choice words. ...jokingly and good-naturedly, of course, but still...

I didn’t realize it until after I woke, but the convulsions she had I thought looked seizure like...and I wonder if that’s what my mind thinks happened in her last moments... I wasn’t there, but my mom just describes it has blood coming out of her eyes, nose, and mouth. That wasn’t present in the dream, but she also says that when she went, my mom couldn’t get her mouth to close...and the dream, her mouth was open when the convulsions started.

When she falls to the ground and looks at me desperately to help....I think it harkens back to a thought I had when she first died that maybe she wasn’t really dead, but in a deep coma and she would wake up in the coming days. Even after we buried her, part of me still held on to the belief that she wasn’t really dead and had the horrible idea of her waking up in her coffin under a ton of concrete and couldn’t get out (which has always been a deep dark fear of mine for myself). It’s a dumb thought...not only was she autopsied, but embalmed. I know it’s dumb, but when I said I went through every stage of grief at once, I mean it... Part of me is still going through all of those stages at once...Part of me is still searching desperately for a way to go back and save her from this fate...

Denial and bargaining...

The rest I’m not so sure about... I don’t know what the family doll things represent and I don’t know why my dream acknowledged that all my relatives were dead, except my maternal grandmother. I know her being with the mortician was just knowing she was in good hands with my grandmother. Maybe me dreaming of comforting her was just me wishing I had her here to go through this with... But who knows?

I know this was a HELL of a long read. I don’t expect anyone to actually read through this shit. I just wanted to get it out and....analyze it I guess. And also just...DO something with this grief instead of just replaying the dream in my head on repeat all day...

If one of you DID read this, I appreciate that you think so highly of me to read through my long-winded ramblings. ....and I’m also sorry for that because I’m not worthy of that. But, I love you dearly.

[brainsdivided]

Uncommon Questions for OC’s and Their Creators (1/2)

(Art by Yesjejunus!)

I saw @bloody-fists-beating-hearts and @socksual-innuendos​ doing it so I’m answering all of them cause I can and I love my boys. Original by @cassandrapentayaaaaas​

So I don’t take up someone’s entire dash, peep under cut for it :) 

ps. some warning: read tags for any mentions of triggers or things you find uncomfortable, Isaac and Ezekiel have had tough lives and since a lot of that occurs during childhood it may cause some distress for readers.

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs:

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

Ezekiel? Never. If it looks like he’s doing nothing, he’s actually daydreaming or bouncing his leg or fiddling with pieces of his clothes. Isaac also cannot sit still. This starts to change as he gets older, but when he moves to Zion he needs to be keeping his mind active on a physical thing, like studying.How easy is it for your character to laugh?

Ezekiel will laugh at just about anything. He’s a child at heart and will crack a giggle and the smallest of things. Even when he’s in combat, you might hear a devilish chuckle. Isaac is different, because of his teenage years, he doesn’t feel as much happiness as he once did. Genuine laughs are rare and at most, he’ll give a weak light-hearted laugh, especially when recalling a good story. For kids, he’ll feign a belly laugh.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

Ezekiel never puts himself to bed. It will always be Joshua or Isaac that reads or talks him to sleep just as Courier Six once did. If Ezekiel is alone, he will think himself to sleep. If Joshua is available and not willing to put Ezekiel to bed and depriving him of comfort items, he will scream and cry himself to exhaustion.  Isaac has cried and screamed himself to exhaustion on more than one occasion but will never admit it. he does his best to fall asleep to music on the radio or on a holotape.

How easy is it to earn their trust?

It’s not very easy to gain either brothers’ trust. Ezekiel follows the ‘If you’re a friend of theirs, you’re a friend of mine’ phrase. Isaac doesn’t trust anyone completely until he spends enough time around them. He believes everyone has good in them and will give them the benefit of the doubt, BUT he won’t be caught off guard if someone happens to turn on him. 

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

For either brother, the second you turn on one of them or their family and friends, it’s game over. Ezekiel won’t take verbal or physical acts lightly, but if it’s verbal, Isaac will offer a second chance. He won’t give out a third.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

Ezekiel will follow laws that he feels he doesn’t need to break at the time. If he can justify it, including ‘Cause I can, there’s no one to stop me’ he will break it. Isaac follows all laws, even the ones he doesn’t want to. For the ones he doesn’t want to, he’ll find ways to bend them, especially if they’re immoral/unreasonable in his eyes. Best example I can give is in the Legion, not sure if it’s actually a law, but, women are treated as breeding stock and that’s it. Isaac had slaves but would only treat them as such around the other legionaries. Behind closed doors, he cooks for them and looks after them personally. Never once did he use them as breeding stock.  

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

Ezekiel is in almost a complete state of nostalgia constantly as he unconsciously tries to live his old life in Goodsprings in Zion. Good food, sleeping in a quiet camp, hunting, learning from Joshua/father-figure, etc. helps keep him grounded in his world. Isaac often receives nostalgia from intrusive memories, but as a physical thing, probably his appearance. In a fit of fear and rage, he destroyed his mirror and where the river runs next to his home he added extra rocks to help disfigure his reflection when he’s near the water. It brings him great pain to see his own face and body due to the scars he received from the Legion. 

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child?

Pre-story... Ezekiel was probably told to stop beating up kids for minor offenses and Isaac was probably told to not worry so much about Ezekiel doing dangerous things.

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

Both swear and neither remember when they first did.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

Isaac’s most common lie is the typical “I’m fine.” a lie that isn’t spoken about except when before the story takes place, is that the Courier was very sick, but Isaac, Courier, and Cass made Ezekiel believe otherwise so that Ezekiel could continue to dream of the amazing man his dad once was. Which that in itself would be haunting, because he’s holding up a dam of terrible things. While Ezekiel would constantly say “No.” to the question, “Did you eat anything you weren’t supposed to?” 9/10, he ate something he wasn’t supposed to. That doesn’t haunt him, but he’ll regret lying when he ends up with intestinal obstruction or food poisoning. 

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

As soon as the confusion hits, depending on the scenario and how he’s feeling he might interrupt the conversation to ask for clarification or he’ll tune out what’s being said so that he can think on his thoughts. Isaac will pretend he understands if the conversation isn’t relating to something dire. 

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

Isaac will ask his brother or a friend for help but if he’s alone, he’ll use a stick or his wall. Ezekiel will go up to anyone and ask, but if not, he’ll turn into a yao gui and rub his back on anything. GOTTA GET THAT ITCH.

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

Ezekiel likes orange and Isaac likes white. I think they could both pull off black. Anyone can, black is a flattering color but who would want to wear that in the desert sun?

What animal do they fear most?

Ezekiel doesn’t have a lot of fear towards any creature, but I’d say feral ghouls or Deathclaws and Isaac fears spore carriers.

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

Ezekiel will always say what comes to mind. Isaac will think before he speaks.

What makes their stomach turn?

I’ve got nothing for Ezekiel, but Isaac would barf if he smelled or saw a rotting corpse. 

Are they easily embarrassed?

Ezekiel is fine being quirky but there are some situations that makes him a radstag in flashlight. Isaac feels more shame than embarrassment. 

What embarrasses them?

Ezekiel has been known to wet the bed even into early adulthood. Also, while he is fine playing with kid-oriented items, depending on his current emotion and he’s made fun of, he’ll either respond with embarrassment or anger. Isaac gets second-hand embarrassment from Ezekiel’s behaviors sometimes. He once wet the bed and was caught by Daniel when doing laundry but it was agreed to never be brought up or mentioned again. He mostly feels embarrassment/shame when doing or caught using chems.

What is their favorite number?

Ezekiel’s is the number 6 because Courier Six was his dad. Isaac does not have a favorite number.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Oh boy. Ezekiel might not be able to tell the difference. He might just say that romantic love makes ‘funny things happen’ so to speak even as an adult. All three might overlap for him. Though I guess it would depend on the person reading since my RP partner did not like when I had Ezekiel be affectionate towards Joshua (Hugging and asking to share a bed) as ‘boys don’t always ask their dads for hugs or to sleep with them, it’s inappropriate’ but if daughters can do that with their mothers, who cares? 

Isaac would go on a long shpeel about the psychology of romantic, platonic, and familial love, I’m too tired to write how he’d explain it.

Why do they get up in the morning?

Ezekiel gets up because it’s a new day and the second he opens his eyes, he’s a ball of energy! Breakfast. Also breakfast. Isaac gets up for the people he loves and for the people who need him.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

Ezekiel gets vocal. He’ll make sure you know that you’re spending too much of his time around his brother or Joshua. Isaac will get quiet. 

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)?

Ezekiel will take what he wants/intervene. Isaac might get bitter about it, but he’ll remind himself that there are others that are more important or who need it more.

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?

Their thoughts on this is pretty similar regardless of age, but speaking from age ranges 18-23, Ezekiel doesn’t really understand it, so he’ll talk to anyone about it. When he does, he’s blunt about it, too which makes for some comedic relief when Joshua is involved in the conversation. Isaac won’t really talk about it if he’s involved. If he does, it’s with Daniel or with whoever he ends up sleeping with. If it’s in a medical context, it doesn’t matter the person. 

What are their thoughts on marriage?

Ezekiel doesn’t have an opinion on marriage, but his brother and godfather would feel as though he isn’t ready for a relationship, yet. Isaac likes when others get married, but he himself does not feel worthy of a steady relationship.

What is their preferred mode of transportation?

Walking.

What causes them to feel dread?

When Ezekiel gets caught doing something he shouldn’t by Joshua. Isaac - when it’s night, his generator dies, and when his radio stops working simultaneously or when Daniel forbade him that one time from studying and working because he nearly worked himself to death.

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

Both would want the truth, but Ezekiel believes in a lie that his brother and mother once told.

Do they usually live up to their own ideals?

Ezekiel believes he’s the best at almost everything and Isaac knows he could do better, but it’s too late.

Who do they most regret meeting?

N/A

Who are they the most glad to have met?

locating Joshua was Ezekiel’s primary goal when running from Goodsprings so I’d imagine that he’d be glad to have found him. Isaac’s could be either Daniel or an unnamed Legion girl.

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke?

Ezekiel would try to talk casually about his parents’ death and of the crimes he’s committed. Isaac doesn’t have a go-to.

Could they be considered lazy?

Yes and no. To others, they’d be lazy, but Isaac has depression and insomnia, and Ezekiel’s behavior is similar to a child so he may just be stubborn.

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

If the guilt was brought on by Joshua, Ezekiel would need some reassurance directly from him to fix it. Isaac is constantly ridden with guilt.

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive?

Both are supportive!

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap?

Neither seeks romance. Isaac might look for partners for one night stands, but that’s it.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

Both are very good at matching names to faces, but Ezekiel uses his fingers to count and sometimes uses melodies. Isaac likes to file things.

What memory do they revisit the most often?

So far that’s been thought of, Ezekiel revisits the death of his parents most often and Isaac revisits the possible events that led up to him becoming a decanus. 

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people?

Ezekiel is willing to forget them if they didn’t directly wrong him. Isaac never forgets, he just chooses to overlook them but still keeping them in mind.

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Ezekiel never really recognizes his flaws until they’re pointed out. As he gets older though he does start to acknowledge them more. A scene I’ve thought of is when he’s 22 and still playing with children’s toy soldiers. He plays with them with little enthusiasm, abandoning his amusements not by choice. Isaac is aware of his flaws but doesn’t try to better them, but instead tries to better others. 

How do they feel about children?

Ezekiel at times believes he is a child, and will try to engage with other children. Some find it creepy but those that know him are fine with it because they know he has good intentions. Isaac is passionate about children and will protect them with his life. While escaping the legion, he had recruits younger than him that he helped escape, some ending up being adopted out to Dead Horse, Sorrows, and New Canaanite families. Even in the Legion, Isaac showed all children he came across respect and kindness.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal?

Neither truly has an end goal. Isaac wants to see the Legion end in a way where it’s people can recover as quickly as possible, so by working with the Followers of the Apocalypse, he can help out stragglers. Ezekiel just wants to become someone Joshua can be proud of. Be the son he never had and never expected to have.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

Isaac would say that he used to be attracted to women, but because he spent so much time around women who loved and cherished him for his kindness, he’d find it wrong to date someone who only loved that he was kind to them. He still finds women attractive, just not enough to act on it. As for men, he could tell you who is handsome, but in a platonic way. 

Ezekiel couldn’t tell for the longest time what he was attracted to, but in an alternative story line, when he thought it was women, he ended up finding himself feeling more for a man.

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: When You Can’t Walk, I’ll Help You Stand

** Now with exceptional artwork by @cocohook38​! ***

(That’s why I chose this work to re-post this week; I want you to see the wonderful illustration she did for it!  I don’t know how to get it into this post exactly - maybe I can’t? - but the link to it is HERE!  Go see it for yourselves!!! Thanks again for that @cocohook38​)

Can also be found on AO3 and ff.net

“When You Can’t Walk, I’ll Help You Stand”

By: @snowbellewells for Ouat Winter Whump

(This one shot takes place during 5B, but diverges in the episode where Emma finds Killian in Hades’ lair, and then gives them the time to piece Killian back together from his wounds and try to deal with what he’s been through.  This may veer more toward hurt/comfort, but I’ve never written a piece that sets out to specifically focus on the whump before, so it was a new challenge.  I hope you will - enjoy? That may not be the right word? - but at least find it worth reading.)

Emma couldn’t bring herself to dwell on what could happen to Milah as she waited with the boat, or where Gold had gotten off to and what sort of underhanded trickery he might even then be planning. She had taken a genuine liking to Killian’s first love as they’d trekked together into this deepest level of Hades’ nightmarish abode. Not only did they have the common purpose of rescuing the man they both loved, but there was a similar tough tenacity to the dark-haired woman, a hardened shell of armour formed from scars and a haunted look in her eyes that Emma understood all too well. Maybe it should have been awkward to be walking side-by-side with the woman Killian had given his heart to before her, or she could have felt threatened or possessive that Milah might endanger what she and Killian had when he saw her again, but that had not been the case at all. If anything, she had felt invigorated in her mission; if she could have anyone who would care as desperately about her goal as she did, she couldn’t have suggested a better volunteer. And right now, that was all she had room to worry over.

Instead, Emma vowed to get back to the other woman with their pirate as soon as possible, and she gathered Killian’s battered form toward herself gingerly, knowing as much as it pained her that any contact she made was only going to hurt him further. The sight of her love, the man she had given herself over to the Darkness trying to save, suspended in chains over the frighteningly roiling greenish pit of water, broken, bloodied and nearly insensate was a sight that wouldn’t fade away easily - in fact, she feared it might be permanently seared upon her mind’s eyes in horrific detail.

Her heart, still crammed up in her throat despite having reached him and managing to pull him over to the strange metal dias where he slumped in her embrace, nearly choked her, blocking her airway with the not-yet-dissipated panic she’d felt at seeing him being lowered into the seething river. Even as she tried to chuckle at his weakened, “You never listen to me, do you Swan?” she was still struggling to hold back her nausea at the state he was in, even as she tried to chuckle bravely for his sake and banter back, “And you love me for it.”

Her hands ached to brush along his cheek and trace over the beloved long-healed scar beneath his right eye. However, it wasn’t even visible to her through the dried blood caking large sections of his face and neck and the mottled array of yellowing, greenish and purple bruises that covered the rest. His dark leather beneath her trembling fingers was shredded in places across his back and shoulders and charred roughly in others. Where the material remained intact, she felt the stickiness of blood still wet over much of the surface and the roughly melted edges where the jacket seemed to have been burned - and she feared the same of his skin beneath.

“Come on, Killian,” she managed, her voice a mere breath at his ear, unable to muster more sound out of sheer stunned shock at the cruelty he had clearly endured. “Let’s get you out of here.” She didn’t want to hurt him further, but they had to get out of Hades’ lair and back to the others, the sooner the better. Trying to steel herself against the reaction she was sure he’d have, she slipped her hands under his arms, in hopes of lifting him to his feet and helping him stand.

As expected, a sharp hiss of breath escaped Killian’s parched lips before a bitten back groan made its way through his clenched teeth despite his determined efforts. Staggering slightly, she could feel his strained and abused muscles quivering as her pirate attempted to get his feet beneath him and aid her in supporting his weight. By pure reflex, Emma slipped an arm free and placed it on his lower back to brace him, but as soon as her palm made contact, a harsh cry of pain escaped him and he jerked away from the touch defensively, nearly buckling his knees and sending them both to the cold stone floor.

Killian’s eyes were squeezed shut, and his chest heaved for breath even as she grit her teeth and just barely managed to keep them upright. She couldn’t read his mind, but the way his body shuddered against her side told Emma he might well be revisiting some part of the trauma he had suffered. She kicked herself for having sent him into the episode and whispered apologies to him even as she tried to coax him into taking a first step toward freedom. Killian, however, was lost to the torrent of memories flooding his mind…

His bound hands were jerked over his head, pulling him to stand straight, stretched almost onto his toes, by Hades’ magically conjured rope that held him inescapably tight and in position. Though youth and young adulthood in indentured servitude and most of a centuries-long life lived at sea as a pirate gave him a familiarity with what was surely coming, it didn’t stop the fear that rose in his chest, or the intense desire to struggle, to attempt escape, however impossible, from his bonds. The dry-mouthed fear and dread brought on by the probability of a lashing struck panicked dread into the stoutest of hearts, and he was no exception. Once he had felt that scourge slice across his skin - and his back bore the healed-over scars from how well, even ages since they had been given - he couldn’t help but tremble at the prospect, even if he gave no other sign of pleading or weakness.

He heard the whip whistle through the putrid, sulfuric air and the fiery lance of agony struck deep on impact, a stifled cry breaking past his lips despite how he fought to hold it back and deny his tormenter the satisfaction. Though it had been ages since the days he knew this punishment well - whether in retribution for a nicked crust of bread from the galley to silence his half-starved growing belly, or for oft-uttered self defense when mocked for being small, fatherless, unwanted and abandoned, which was taken as impertinence and punished accordingly - the bite of the braided leather, tearing into his flesh a bit more with each stroke had not lessened in impact, either physically or with the emotional pain of those long-buried memories.

After the fifth lash, he felt the skin break as the whip criss-crossed a previous cut one time too many for the skin to remain intact. The feel of blood running down his back and beginning to soak the waistband of his jeans was a minor discomfort compared to the pain flaring over his shoulders, down his spine and out across his sides, but the combination made bile rise in his throat and he could just barely choke back a sobbed plea for mercy. He could not even sag to partially relieve the pulling against the tautly stretched and ravaged skin and sinew of his back, nor could he flinch or try to shield the worst areas of his suffering.

Tears ran down his cheeks unbidden, and Killian could only grit his teeth and hope that the soot, sweat, open cuts, and dried blood hid the trails that would give away his break into emotion. When the lord of the Underworld cackled in twisted delight, Killian hated that Hades might very well know just how broken he was. 

The fallen deity released the magical ties with a quick flourish, and Killian collapsed weakly to the stone floor beneath him, stubbornly only emitting a low grunt of pain at the contact with all his injured body. Somehow, regardless of the despair slowly sneaking into his spirit and mind as the relentless and unendingly shifting modes of torment continued without ceasing, he still managed to grit his teeth and glare back at Hades with the fire and resolve of a formidable pirate captain when the villain knelt next to his broken body and jerked his head up by the hair to hauntingly question, “Have you given up hope yet?”

With all the strength he could muster, Killian growled with true hatred in his eyes, “Never.”

And for a relieving moment, Hades left to find a new way to harrow him.

When he and Emma finally shuffled at last from the cavernous underground chamber where he had been trapped, Killian went to his knees, no longer able to put his feet forward and support his own weight, even with Emma’s urging and support. At least they were out of the dank, winding maze of darkness below, and Killian almost felt that in itself more a miracle than he would have expected, even if they weren’t free of this cursed realm yet.

Emma appeared puzzled when she managed to half-drag, half-steady him to a shore where an empty rowboat awaited them. It sent off concerned warning bells in Killian’s head to see her wild-eyed glance flit nervously from side to side and her mumble to herself, “Where are they?” His dazed mind fumbled through guilty confusion wondering who she had brought with her and dragged into danger on his undeserving behalf. At the same time, his tongue had been clumsy and thick with dehydration between all the sweat and tears he lost without a bit to drink. True, his no-longer-living system shouldn’t need rehydration, but it didn’t seem to convince his mind he wasn’t thirsty; especially after the fires and ravages of the last few days which he had begun to fear would encompass his eternity.

Pushing past her confusion, Emma didn’t hesitate long on that bleak, rocky bank; somehow she managed to force him up once again, if only long enough to help him drag his heaving carcass into the small vessel awaiting them and collapse in its stern as she took up an oar. “We’re almost there, Killian,” she whispered, grim determination in her voice as she began to paddle. “Rest. We’re going to get you out of here, I promise.”

Again, he wanted to protest, to insist he wasn’t worth it, that she should save herself and leave him to his fate, but his weakened body wouldn’t allow him to speak his mind with sense. 

The next thing he knew, his eyes were blinking open again, as the boat bumped against another rocky outcropping, still not under open sky, but seeming less dark, less encroaching somehow. Emma was leaning over him a mere moment later, asking if he was with her, and seemed to want to touch him but was biting her bottom lip as her worried eyes scanned his form, as if not sure where to touch that wouldn’t add to his suffering.

Other voices began to filter into his awareness then; a gasp and pained exclamation of his name, the dismayed and teary “Oh, Killian!” clearly belonging to Snow White. He heard a low, angry curse that was no doubt his fellow reformed outlaw mate’s voice, and David’s was an added murmur, as if trying to direct the others.

“Can you get out of the boat?” Emma asked him gently.

He tried to focus his swimming vision on her face, and breathed a pitiful admission that he hated himself for uttering. “I’ll try, Love...but...I-I’m not sure I can walk any further…”

She blinked tears back at that, finally seeming to have decided to at least risk squeezing his hand for a moment within her own trembling touch. “That’s okay,” she managed hoarsely. “Just step out, and my dad and Robin are ready to help you.”

He somehow managed to heft himself up, wobbling more than he should, and stumbled out of the boat onto solid ground once more. Dave and Robin both reached out to steady him, and he felt Emma hovering at his back, but none of them were quite able to stop his fall as he crashed to his knees once more and was sucked into another reliving of his torture…

Hades’ minions, two burly demons not quite human or beast, but some grotesque amalgam he hesitated to ponder, forced him to his knees on Hades’ barked order. Much as he tried to resist, to fight back, he had already been kept for days without nourishment or rest, plagued by dreams of his not coming back to himself in time and letting Nimue strangle the life from his beautiful Swan, of leaving the mark to do its work and allowing her boy and the rest of her loved ones to suffer in this hell he now inhabited, and the certainty that if he could get back to those he had once thought might almost be his family too, they would turn from him one by one, having at last come to realize the darkness that had always haunted his soul. Killian didn’t know if his infernal jailer had sent these visions or if they would have beset him regardless after the way he had fallen to the Darkness and given it free reign, but they gave him no quarter, and his spirit was wrung and weakened even before each new physical torment began.

The henchmen - he had the tiniest glimmer of solace at the momentary urge to call them Pain and Panic, remembering a distant better time when Henry had shown him the animated picture version of Hercules, Hades and the rest - had iron grips, and held him there on his knees, arms outstretched, unable to move or shield himself from whatever blow was coming next. His head lolled slightly forward, the slight drop in his guard and the thought of a happier memory made his reality all the more shattering, and it took him a moment to register the slight smoky scent in the air before Hades stepped into view with a burning, red hot brand in his grasp.  The exiled god watched recognition dawn in his prisoner’s eyes with sadistic glee. “You’ve been disappointingly stoic in the face of all my trials, Captain,” he mused leisurely, looking for all the world as if he were about to sit down for a pleasant tea rather than torture someone into madness and despair. “However,” he chuckled, leaning in to pat Killian’s roughly stubbled and bruised cheek, “I think this might just do the trick.”

He stood back up and without further warning shoved the brand into Killian’s side. The fiery agony caused Killian to buck fruitlessly against the arms holding him in place; a long, low keening sound ripped from his throat unbidden as the smell of his own flesh sizzling turned his stomach.

“Aha!” Hades crowed triumphantly, moving slightly behind Killian to next press the brand to the pirate’s opposite shoulder. The brand singed through the tattered remnants of his jacket, practically melting the material into his skin and making the pain linger even once the fiery instrument itself had been pulled back. “I had a feeling this would pierce that thick armour of yours.”

Coming back to stand before his victim once more, Hades stopped to look at the man trying with all his might not to whimper or beg, still staring back at him with resistant hatred in those ice-chip blue eyes, the lord of the Underworld grinned insidiously as he jerked back the Captain’s already ripped-up sleeve to bare the dagger-pierced heart tattoo on his forearm. “Just one more, I believe.  A permanent reminder for Captain Hook,” he chortled in fiendish delight, “that you might as well give up your foolish hope. You failed them, just as you failed her.  You continually hurt, and eventually lost, anyone you ever dared to love.”

Killian flinched back into awareness of his present surroundings with a shattered cry. Pain still radiated from all the wounds that had throbbed in his nightmarish reverie, and it left him unsure of where he was or what was happening around him. There had been motion; he was certain that he had been moving, though not whether his own feet had been taking the steps. However, at the gasp which had escaped him and the whimpering which he realized gradually was coming from his own throat, everything had come to a halt. 

Emma’s beautiful, golden hair and troubled face caught his sight as she moved to stand before him. Hesitantly placing her hands on either side of his face, her thumbs stroked his battered skin for several calming seconds. He couldn’t help the wince at even that most gentle contact, and yet he didn’t want her to stop. He tried to focus on her words and to nod in agreement when she murmured softly, “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry, Killian. But we’re almost out. Then we’ll let you rest, I swear.”

He realized that he was being mostly carried between David and Robin, his arms slung over their shoulders, and his head full of sweat and blood-matted hair lolled to the side and rested in the crook of the man he had hoped to call father-in-law’s neck. He was upright, but his feet were barely scuffling along, mostly dragging the ground as the other two men propelled him carefully forward. Snow and Emma were just ahead of them, coming to stand in front of a door that strangely resembled the entry to Snow and David’s loft back in Storybrooke above. The fact that Emma’s mother wore a bow and quiver of arrows over her sensibly sedate peacoat only served to confuse him further, and he wondered for a second if some sort of delirium had set in.

However, it seemed that the sights before him were real as Emma opened the door to reveal an almost perfect replica of the Charmings’ Storybrooke apartment. The only difference he could see at first glance was the fact that like all of the Underworld he had glimpsed so far, it was tinted with a sort of dark red lens, as if seen through fire or blood. Emma didn’t slow or stop, but lead them across the eerie copy of the living room to a separate bedroom just off to the side, where Dave and Robin finally eased him down to the soft surface of a bed - thankfully before he could lose consciousness again.  Sight wavered unreliably in and out for several minutes, though Killian heard murmuring voices in low whispers at the doorway, before footsteps died away, the door closed, and then he heard the soft pad of light feet drawing back to his side again.

“Killian?...Can you hear me?” Her usually brash and confident voice sounded tear-choked and hesitant to his ears, paining him further to think that he had caused her distress even as he struggled to part dry and bitten-raw lips to make an audible reply. He might have been angry beyond all measure with her when he woke to realize she had turned him into the evil he hated in order to keep him alive, but all of that had faded away with the agony and apology in her eyes on the shore of that lake.  What she’d been made to do in penance, the shock of Excalibur thrusting home within his body, the wave of light transforming her back into his savior, and that final (they’d believed so at least) goodbye had washed the bitterness and the desire for vengeance from his veins. Since then, there had only been room for pain and the gnawing absence of his True Love...not room for much at all beyond the missing her.

She was beside him once more; Killian felt the bed dip gently with her weight as she set herself down on the very edge of it near his hip. A moment later, her tender hand was carefully smoothing his dark fringe of hair back from off his forehead where grime, sweat and blood had plastered it. He managed to blink his eyes open enough to look at her briefly, hoping his expression would somehow convey the words he couldn’t produce to tell her he could hear her, he forgave her if she could forgive him in turn, he still loved her, had feared he would never see her face or feel her touch again, and even that comfort was enough for him to begin to heal.

Finally, Killian managed a small nod of his head, to which her lips tilted up in the barest hint of a sad smile. Humming low and soothingly in the back of her throat, Emma continued to run her fingers through his hair, despite how matted and dirty Killian was certain it must be. In truth, it wasn’t clear who was more calmed by the action - himself or his love. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before her fingertips brushed against a sensitive spot where Hades had jerked his head up by the roots of his hair and Killian could not help but flinch.

A distressed sound escaped Emma’s lips as she quickly withdrew her hand, already apologizing as she stood and hurried off - worriedly explaining how she had forgotten herself in her gladness to simply be near him again instead of beginning to treat his wounds.

The sound of water running gained his interest momentarily, and then he felt the bed dip beneath him once more as Emma returned to his side. A warm washcloth touched his face as she laid it over his forehead and eyes for several seconds before beginning to gingerly dab at the dried blood and grime smeared across his forehead and cheeks. She got up once, twice, and yet a third time, keeping the wash rag warm and damp so as to ease the dried matter from his bruised and broken skin without having to scrub any harder than absolutely necessary. And, even with the occasional twinges of pain at her ministrations, Killian felt his tightly clenched and abused muscles begin to relax at last beneath her care.

It wasn’t until she had finished washing his face and neck, unbuttoned and removed the ruined ribbons of his jacket and shirt to bathe his shoulders, chest, and stomach, tearing up at the damage that revealed, and urged him gently to sit up so she could cleanse his back as well, that he tried to tell her even a little of what had happened. 

She tried to be strong, to remain calm and merely listen to him, to be there for him as he exorcised whatever demons and trauma he needed to release, but he couldn’t choke out much before the emotion welling up in his chest clogged his words and forced him into silence again. Emma couldn’t stop the first, or the second, silent tear which slipped down her cheek in response to what little he had been able to share (and the crushing guilt that she had helped to put him in his attacker’s clutches). Merely seeing the aftereffects written upon his skin was nearly enough to undo her. However, even if she couldn’t be as strong and solid for him to lean on as she had hoped, she could see he was clinging to control, to sanity, as desperately as one would to the last board in a shipwreck so as not to drown in the storm still swirling around him.

Even before she finished washing the blood from his skin, disinfecting and bandaging the cuts and stabs and burns, she merely pulled back and stared into his eyes, hands cradling his face until he drug in a ragged, rattling breath before she finally whispered, barely audible against his lips, “It’s okay, Killian. Let it go.”

For several long, tense seconds, Killian merely stared back at her - his faze so wrought, so broken, that Emma almost panicked, not sure that she could truly help him or that she would be enough. Then, slowly, the blue of his eyes clouded, washed paler by the wave of tears that suddenly began to run down his face as it crumpled, the removed and controlled facade collapsing at last as his shoulders shook with sobs.

Not knowing what else to do, but glad that maybe he was finally allowing himself what she suspected he needed, Emma pulled him to her chest, hoping she didn’t hurt him too badly as she did, and held on as he buried his head against her and let himself cry.  Emma didn’t shush him or try to speak; she would soothe him when he was ready, but for the moment she sensed her pirate needed to fall apart, to release the pent-up pain and fear and anger. It made her wonder just how much he had kept buried, and for how long.

All the while as she held him, Emma found herself apologizing over his silent sobs, unable to stop, admitting that she knew how she had hurt him, how she had been wrong to disregard his wishes, and swearing that she would never let her needs so supersede his own again. She would do whatever he needed.

Eventually though, as the storm of emotion passed and his shaking stilled, she realized Killian was trying to answer her.  Moving his head only slightly, she finally heard his murmured, “Emma, Emma...no, my Love...enough.  We’ve both learned…and we’ve punished ourselves too much.  It’s over, it’s forgiven…”

She was the one to shake her head then, almost unable to believe he could truly do so, her hand cradling the back of his head and stroking the strands of his dark hair. “Killian...what I did...I can’t make it right...I can’t undo what happened to you because I…”

His battered, beloved hand, scraped raw with knuckles swollen and bloodied, but still beautiful to her, came to cover her lips, stopping the flow of words, “Sh...sh…” he soothed. “Emma...all I need is for you to keep holding me.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Emma nodded tightly and pulled her True Love into her careful embrace once more. It wasn’t all going to fade immediately; he wasn’t healed with a single touch, but she felt for the first time since their whole ordeal had begun, perhaps even since she had picked the dagger up from the street and willingly become the Dark One, that they would be alright in time.

To his simple, bare request, she could only promise with quiet certainty, “Always, Killian. You hear me?... Always.”

Tagging: @cocohook38​ @hollyethecurious​ @thisonesatellite​ @killian-whump​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @therooksshiningknight​ @spartanguard​ @lfh1226-linda​ @tiganasummertree​ @optimisticgirl​ @searchingwardrobes​ @kmomof4​ @drowned-dreamer​ @laschatzi​ 

[renaroo]

Thinking Positive

Disclaimer: Doom Patrol and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics Warnings: internalized homophobia, depression Rating: T Synopsis: In order to heal, Larry will have to work on being more positive. It’s a long and difficult journey. 

A/N: I watched Doom Patrol last year and to say I loved it would be a major understatement. But the thing that took me by surprise the most was just how meaningful Larry Trainor’s story was to me, someone who also grew up surrounded by a lot of homophobia and feels like openly living with pride is still a difficult and ongoing struggle into my adulthood. 

And with global quarantine being what it is, I’ve had a lot of strange and curious time on my hands to work on things so far as mental health is concerned. And it’s had me thinking a lot about how sometimes negativity and cyncism is a coping mechanism that’s easy to use but damaging in the long run. I tend to take that perspective away from Larry’s story rather than the way the show sometimes dismisses valid personal fears of outing and shames closeting. So this rambling story came barreling out of me. I hope it makes some sense. 

Larry dismissed himself from dinner with the rest of Doom Manor’s residents.

It didn’t take much more than some dismissive words on his part, easily ignored over the rambunctious antics of Jane and Cliff, or the attempts to quell said antics by Vic and Flex. Rita was the most difficult to escape, considering Larry was her main outlet for commentary, but even she was willing to let him go when he stressed that he was tired.

He had tired rather easily over the last few months, and Rita knew why even more than the others.

In some ways, it was like therapy. In other ways, it was like torture. But that had always been Larry’s dilemma. He was rarely allowed to have one over the other.

Even before the Negative Spirit melded to his very soul.

When Larry attempted to frame his fears in less selfish designs, he framed his need for more energy as being there for the others. Cliff needed to have someone counter his gutsier instincts. Jane’s sarcasm needed someone equally verbose in it. And Rita, of course, counted on Larry’s counsel more than anyone’s. But it was easier, lately, with each other, with the others like Vic and Flex and even Dorothy, young in appearance and still finding her place as she was.

Besides all that, Larry had made a promise to himself that he wasn’t going to blame his reluctance on others anymore.

Which led to the closing of the thick lead door behind Larry. The slow removal of his protective bindings as the Richter scale crackled in the decompression port. The daily walk through his metal room and his radiation proofed furniture.

It was funny to think that his room had changed so little from the minimal aesthetic it had when the Chief first offered him a place nearly half a century ago. Funny, but also uncomfortable. Like it was wrong and stupid of him, but it had been so long that it would be weirder if Larry attempted to make any big changes.

He laid down on his bed and made himself comfortable, his hands rested over his chest, close to his heart.

Larry gazed at the ceiling and felt the rumbles deep in his body which let him know that the spirit was aware of what time it was.

“Hey there, buddy,” Larry said, voice low and tired. “It’s that time again. The one where I try to get stuff off my chest.” His hands tapped rather nervously over his shirt. It was light enough that the nerve damage kept the tips of his fingers from truly feeling more than the slight pressure of it. “Literally.”

For the life of him, Larry couldn’t figure out why he always started out so nervous and uncomfortable every day.

Then again, Larry had lived his entire life nervous and uncomfortable. It was hard to break habits formed over a century, he supposed.

“Okay, well, here goes nothing,” Larry sighed, closing his eyes and preparing himself. Idioms aside, it did not feel like nothing, it felt like everything every time.

“Start from the top? Positive things?” Larry asked out loud. With his eyes closed, the rumble from the negative spirit felt even stronger, more enthusiastic perhaps. “Of course, you eat those up. Alright.

”Today my azaleas began to bloom early. I got some rhododendron seeds in the mail. Chief is offering to get me a new greenhouse on the property, to expand things. Dorothy made me a flower crown. She didn’t use any of my flowers. I think she used paper and then with her, ah, powers turned them into real flowers. Usually, her using her powers is disturbing, like the whole thing with the puppets. But this was, you know, cute. I liked it. I mean it’s quicker to use a Snapchat filter, but…”

The negative spirit rumbles more abruptly. It gives Larry a sense of warning or disapproval.

“I know, I know, staying positive,” he sucks in a deep breath. It’s the sort of deep, lung filling breath that he’s only capable of thanks to the negative spirit’s possession of him. Their temporary separation reminded him of that. That, however, was an unspoken positive between them.

“I tried a new recipe, everyone seemed to enjoy it,” Larry continued. “It’s curried roasted eggplant with smoked cardamom and coconut milk.” He couldn’t resist the huff of a laugh that escaped him as a result. “Sheryl would’ve never believed it.”

There was a numbness that spread out from his chest. It was an overwhelming sense, but Larry considered it a good development.

He and the Negative Spirit both took a long time to have a response to his ex-wife being invoked that was anything other than overwhelmingly negative.

Still, it was best to trade subjects and not linger on old regrets. As natural as it was for Larry to do that.

“With all the new residents, this place has really gotten lively,” he said, arching his neck back more comfortably on the pillow. “I know I’ve let you out a few times to explore that for yourself, but you probably miss a lot of the little things.”

A gentle hum radiated out from his chest. Positive? Affirmation? Larry was still deciphering the finer bits.

“It’s good for all of them,” Larry concluded. “They fit together well. Well, not fit. The whole point of this place is that fitting is…”

He trailed off, catching his own turn toward negativity long before the spirit had a chance to disrupt him.

“It’s nice, seeing how meaningful it is for Cliff and Jane to have someone…” Larry scowled and lifted up one of his hands from his chest to scrub at his face. Doom Manor was so hard to contextualize sometimes. “Not younger. She’s older than all of us. Smaller? It’s nice to see Cliff and Jane both have someone smaller to look out for. Daughter. Little sister. However it goes.” He lowered his hand down to his side, away from his chest where he’d more acutely feel the rumbles of the Negative Spirit’s responses. “Did I mention she made me a crown? That was nice.”

Larry lapsed into silence, his eyes unfocused as they stared at his ceiling and past it toward all the feelings and regrets of a long life.

He never felt the need to regain a sense of fatherhood like Cliff was haunted by. But he had been a father, too. He had been a father of two.

And he never saw either of them again. Never tried.

Sheryl had taken them away to a better life. Maybe she remarried, to a man who could love her the way she deserved to be love. Maybe the boys got a father who could teach them all the things about being a man that were beyond Larry’s comprehension.

It probably would have been simple enough to find out, if Larry had asked questions or reached out.

But he hadn’t. He forfeited that part of his life, just like he had forfeited so much else.

In some ways, he hoped Sheryl had told the boys he had died. That way they never grew up wondering why Larry hadn’t reached out. So they didn’t have the accurate picture of what a coward their fearless flyboy father had been.

There was no telling how much time he was prepared to spend down that path before his body jolted.

Not without warning, the Negative Spirit seized through Larry’s body with force and separated. His eyes rolled back into his head and everything went limp and dark.

When Larry woke with a gasp, he already knew what had happened, but he sat upon his bed all the same and grabbed at his head in frustration.

“Look! This is part of it!” he yelled toward his chest. His heart was racing, equal parts the Negative Spirit’s pulsing and Larry’s own anger. “I know, I know we need to work on being positive, but you got yourself paired with one of the most naturally negative sons of bitches on the planet. This wasn’t just about you, alright? We’ve talked about this before. I was born negative. I’ve been looking at the dark side of things since I was seven years old and that’s not changed in a century. You have to work with me here if we’re going to get anywhere.”

He was answered only by the creaks and groans of Doom Manor.

“I’m allowed to remember bad things, you know,” Larry continued to argue. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe everyone’s right and I’ve been letting them rule me. I-I know you’re all right about that. But completely avoiding and ignoring negative things doesn’t keep them from existing. It’s dangerous. And it’s wrong.” His frown deepened. “I’d be more of a monster than I ever dreamed myself being, if I thought anything less than the fact that the boys didn’t deserve what they had to go through. Alright? They may be old men now, but they are still my boys. And they deserved not losing everything they ever knew. And they didn’t deserve all the secondhand anxiety and paranoia from me. Those are just facts. Even if they were unavoidable.”

Finally, the Negative Spirit hummed again.

“What? That’s what you wanted from me?” Larry asked, splaying his hands against his chest to feel the rumble more. “You wanted me to say it was unavoidable? Look, how many times do I have to learn these lessons until you’re satisfied?”

There was quiet once more.

“If it’s until I believe them,” Larry’s voice softened to a murmur, “we’ll be doing this every day for a long time. Maybe until the day I finally die. And even then it might not be enough. You know that, right? I’m pretty majorly fucked in here, and a good amount of that came with the package before you joined in, buddy.”

The hum was unmistakable that time, Larry felt it through his core.

Okay.

“Okay,” Larry repeated, laying back down. “Stop having fits the second we go into some territory you don’t like, I’ll try to respond quicker.”

There was another unmistakable hum through his chest.

“If you’re wondering about the conversation with Rita about Flex, then you probably were already aware of most of it,” Larry snorted. “I’m coming up on one hundred years old, I don’t want to repeat what I said to my best friend about someone else’s quads.” He tossed his head a little from side to side and then sighed. “They are nice, though. And admitting it out loud didn’t light me on fire, so, who knows. Maybe being gay does get easier with practice.”

That seemed to satisfy the spirit, and it did Larry, too.

Small victories — victories so small that a previous version of himself might have argued they weren’t worth celebrating, not for the amount of time it took for him to get to that point. But he felt the accomplishment all the same.

There were so many regrets and so much fear in his life that was still there, and he still didn’t believe that erasing all of it was the fully responsible or realistic thing to do.

But he could make himself lighter, in whatever small increments he could. And that was surely worth the battle alone.

[oldguardsideblog]

I uhhh kept thinking about Quynh and so here’s another take on the “we dream of each other. They stop when we meet.” regarding her, Booker, and Nile.

cw: canon adjacent depictions of death and emotional distress.

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

“Booker,” said a voice of a woman who by all logical reason shouldn't be able to exist across from him, “It’s nice to finally meet you”

She leaned casually against the counter of his latest safe house, eyes trained on him rather than the gun he had pointed at her, and took a sip of water out of one of the only two glasses that he owned. She shouldn’t be here, and it wasn't simply because of the newly reinforced need for anonymity after his latest betrayal.

Last time he had seen her had been when he last slept two days ago. Waking from another nightmare of her eternal imprisonment, her constant and never ending pain, he had a renewed energy to go and get blackout drunk. Wandering from bar to bar to park, he finally resigned himself to the idea of going home. Only his house wasn’t empty when he got there.

He keeps his gun trained on her. The logistics of her ability to be here run through his head. He notes her modern state of dress, her well mannequired and healed hands. Her eyes, so similar to Andy’s in the way they spoke volumes of years lived and died. Two days wasn’t enough to escape and get to him. Was he out for longer than he thought?

“You shouldn't be here.” He says stupidly.

She looks between him and his weapon with a raised eyebrow, “Now, is that anyway to treat one of your oldest friends?”

He laughs bitterly, “If you’re looking for revenge you’re a bit too late.”  

She tilts her head at him and pushes herself off from the counter “Now, what is it that you think I know of you?

He shoots for honesty. If she wanted to kill or capture him he’d be dead already. “I’ve betrayed the others. I let them get captured. I let Andy get hurt.”

At the mention of Andy her facade breaks and she inhales as if pained.

He looks clearly into Quynhs eyes, “Any punishment you seek to give them, please know that they’ve suffered enough.” Then, he looks away in shame, “They've escaped but I haven’t done anything good.”

Her voice cuts through his deprecation and brings his gaze back to her face. She’s kept her reaction neutral but if he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks sympathetic “I know of your betrayal Booker.”

He looks at her guilty “How is that?”

‘Why don’t we sit down for this.” she says, moving towards him. The grip on his gun tightens on instinct before he remembers himself and gestures for Quynh to sit, tucking his gun into the back of his pants. He takes a seat as well and then freezes at Quynhs piercing stare.

She searches his face quite seriously then, nodding like she’s found something acceptable in there, she leans forward, both hands resting gently around her glass.

“You and I have a connection, as we all do before we meet. I wish I could say that feeling what you felt was what kept me alive all these years. But that would be a lie.” She smiles carefully at him, and Booker is hit with another reflection of Andy when she meant to break bad news to him. “In fact, you made me feel worse.”

Booker swallows “Alright,”

“You have to recognize that the absolute absurdity of our situation is something that I got over years ago. Dying as I did absolutely alone before she found me. I had decided nothing seemed to make sense anymore and if I was cursed to die forever, well, there was comfort in that certainty”

She considers him, “We heal, but that may just be the problem.”

“Booker, I’m here because I want to tell you a story few people on earth know, with a conclusion that I’ve never shared with anyone else. After all, I think that you owe me at least that.” Her gaze pierces through him.

He nods, pained that she knows him in this way and honored that she trusts him even marginally “I understand”

She looks off into the distance and he watches as she circles the top of her glass with a well manicured nail, healed without a blemish after 500 years of clawing at metal. She takes her time starting but he knows better than to interrupt. Finally she speaks.

“I know that you have worries but in many ways I have had too much of my time wasted to aim for revenge.

I know that she’s sorry. I have seen her. You forget that while my nightmares plagued you, I was the one living them. you forget that you were my only eyes into the world and you were the only one who knew anything about me. What were you planning on doing once your gamble paid off? Dying? Leaving a poor old woman to lose all sense of connection to the real world”

Booker swallows “I-”

Quynh holds a hand up, “Again Booker, I am not here for revenge and I am not here for an apology. I am here so someone, anyone, knows what happened to me. Give me that, give me a voice, Booker.”

He looks her over. Here was the woman that he tried so hard to replace. He knew he never wanted to be her, after the fate she had, but there was an emptiness where she should be among the group, one that over the years he began to realize that he would never live up to filling.

Realizing she was waiting for an answer he clears his throat and croaks out “Of course.”

She looks relieved. “Good.” She looks back out past him and begins

“I have had many beginnings, my birth, my first death, and then my first life.

My first life was remarkable only in the sense that any mortal life it’s; it was a gift filled with opportunity that you had to be lucky enough to come by or to die trying. I was married, I had a number of children who lived well into adulthood and I was amazing in battle.

But as it is for all warriors it’s a double edged blade. The more battles you fight the better you become, the more invincible you believe you are and the more mistakes you make. Like us all I died in a fight for my life. And like us all, I lost.

But then I came back to life. I became amazing in battle in wartime and I had a beautiful family in times of peace. I dreamt of a woman, who like me would not stay down. And when enough of my family had passed on, so many generations having passed that my memory was all that held them to that present, I moved on. I continued my battle elsewhere, but at once I was betrayed. For a few bits of gold I was left out in the desert to die. Only I could not do it only once and be done with. I had to keep dying over and over, and likely forever.”

Quynh felt herself have difficulty continuing but knew this may be her only chance and pressed on.

“My only hope was this woman who I had dreamt of, one who I wasn’t even sure was real. Our dreams were our only connection and my only key to the outside world. Additionally, as you well know Booker, we don’t see things exactly or clearly through the dreams, we sense strong emotions, feats and disasters. There are near images but not many to tell us someone's exact location.

After decades had passed and I had tired of dying, I had begun to no longer care. Yes my body wanted me to live but my mind did not. Staying in that state the two began to fracture, and I found my mind began to wander very far away from my body. I began to see her during my deaths as well as during my dreams.”

She had all the time in the world to consider them, but still she searched for the right words.

“These two experiences were... different. The dreams were hazy, they were feelings and impressions of the world as Andromache saw them. The deaths however, they were as if I was standing there next to her. I couldn’t say how long I would spend with her during each death, as time had lost all meaning out in the desert. And at the time. I didn't know if I was simply watching Andy’s memories or if I was truly there with her. I liked to imagine that I was there, though I could affect no change in her world. But in these deaths I could watch time pass, from the changing of the sun over her head. I would wander the world near her, searching for me.  

I myself didn't know if this search would come to fruition, but I traveled alongside her nonetheless. I rode horseback beside her, I climbed mountains and walked paths and ran quickly beside her. I laid beside her as she slept and I waited for her to find me.

Before these travels with her I had no interest in finding her but I was truly fascinated with this woman who seemed so hardened by the world but filled with a flicker of hope at the prospect of finding me. It made me more willing to be found. As I gained my resolve I would try new things, I would send her images of where I was, but as I could only see sand for miles it seemed to do no good. The images we dream of are without sound. During my deaths I started to whisper around her. I told her the names of the desert I had entered, I told her my last known place, I told her my name. And with that last reveal she seemed to have heard me.

While she could not see me and we could not hold a conversation, something had finally gotten through to her. With that I was pulled back to myself, I could no longer reach her because I had expended too much energy. So I continued to die for many decades, unable to see her in my deaths, but I had felt her hope and knew she would prevail.

Until finally, Andromache’s face appeared above me. And this was so different from before. When I could see her in my deaths I wasn’t really there. But this time, she looked straight at me. When Andy stepped between me and the burning sun, casting blissful shade after so long without and looked me directly in the eye, I knew I would take her here with me any day over simply haunting her. (and I swore to myself that I would never haunt her again). And when I coughed up at Andy and died one more time for good measure, I did not picture myself following Andy, unseen, in fact I did not dream at all.”

Quynh smiles and then sighs, bringing herself back to reality and Booker, looking at her from across the table, far too knowing for one so young. Here was the only one who’s mind she’d been able to see into for years.

She smiles sadly at him “I think you understand by now what has happened but as I said, I needed to tell my story so I will ask you to listen to the rest.”

“When Lykon became like us Andromache and I both dreamt of him and he of us, but during that time with Andromache at my back, our deaths were few and far between. Even after his loss and with the addition of Yusuf and Niccolò I did not experience what I had with Andromache.”

Quynh takes a deep breath, “And then I was lost. And all I had for 300 years were my own thoughts and my own silent screams. My own anger and my own rage at the world, at my family, at myself. I have died without revive far more than anyone ever in existence. You are an anomaly but I am a tragedy.

All I had was silence for what I now know to be 300 years, I saw a young man betray his nation and fail at his escape and my apologies, Booker, but more importantly than you, I saw Andromache again.”

Quynh recalls these facts clinically but she is certain that Booker doesn’t miss the tremor in her voice.

“She was different than I remembered. Harder. More removed from the world. Similar to the woman I had first seen in my dreams but now aimless, with no real destination in mind.

When I had been lost I thought she must have died. Why else would she not have found me. I pictured her in a fate similar to my own, separated and imprisoned. One unable to reach the other as much as her soul yearned for her to do so, trapped as we both were. But when you were reborn I saw that was not the case.

And for many years I didn’t get the opportunity to discover why, trapped as I were alongside you, who had chosen to forsake our drive to save the world and remain with your family. I cannot blame you too harshly, for I did the same in your place. But after years of drowning you had denied me air by choosing to remain separate from my family.

I spent much of that time, wondering why, if she had not been trapped similarly, did she not find me. Of course the first time she had insight to my thoughts and thereby my location. She did not even know of my existence until your exile from your last remaining family member when you finally asked about the woman you were dreaming about. I remember she was cold to you for years for that, pained as she was during that time. What I now see as anger at herself for not asking more questions when you first met.

I waited with you for a long time and I tried to whisper to you my last known place, but unlike Andromache you never seemed to see me.”  

So after years with you I disappeared to go back to drowning. There was nothing for me on the surface as I had been all but forgotten.”

Booker shakes his head vigorously “You were never forgotten Quynh, we never forgot you for a moment”

She smiles lightly back at him “Still I thought what was the point of calling for help if no one else cared to find you?

“I would’ve believed that you had forgotten for the rest of my eternity but as always fate has other plans. Trapped in my grief and rage as I was, the rebirth of Nile was no more than a wisp of recognition against my subconscious. And when she fell asleep and I saw the faces of my oldest friends through new eyes I could give her nothing back but my desperation.

And whether I meant to or not, I appeared beside her as she asked about me. Perhaps now I had met someone who would not give up on me like you all had. I didn’t want to get my hopes up but I watched with a certain sort of desperation while Andy forsook me. Lying about me to Nile. Calling me no more than a soldier while she still wore my life around her neck.

I wanted to follow, I wanted to demand the answers I so deserved. Why, if they loved me, had they abandoned me? But my bond was not as strong to Nile and I felt myself rooted to spot, looking at you, Booker. Who looked to regret something deeply. I didn't understand, so I stayed with you and looked upon my old friends faces. And, when soldiers burst the door open and shot a grenade into you I was all of a sudden in two places at once. Watching in front of you and also inside of you. Sensing your true feelings. Your betrayal.”

Quynh let out a ragged breath, “I thought few things could hurt me after so long imprisoned but the fact that not only had all forgotten of me but you would subject the others to the same fate that cursed me for eternity

I screamed like I never had before. There isn't much worse than losing that which you didn’t even know you had left .

I stayed with you. I watched Andromache in the abandoned mine we had found with Yusuf and Niccolò once we had pulled them from their battle grounds, so young were they yet. And now here was Nile undergoing the same initiation. Yusuf Niccolò and myself, nowhere to be found. Your doing. So I did not truly desire to follow Andy while she left a place, previously a home to me, now filled with items I found unrecognizable. For they were gathered in my absence. I stayed because I did not trust you with Nile. If you would betray your oldest friends then what might you do to a girl you’ve just met. Who had no more in common with you than not being able to die.

I have felt many times over the years that that is the way you perceive many of us. You let jealousy feed you when you see Joe and Nicky, as you refer to them, together. Not realizing the sacrifices that they’ve had to make to remain together. You look at my Andromache and you feel a kinship because you have both betrayed your wives by living longer lives than them. But neither of you realize that our biggest curse is simply that you are unreachable.

In that cave I was so far removed from in time, I saw your remorse. I heard you say that your family thought you weak and selfish and that you didn’t love them enough. I realized the grudge I had been holding and knew that there must be reasons I was not privy to as to why Andy would refuse to speak of me honestly.

And ask and you shall receive, you hid in trees surrounding the area Nile and Andromache leaned against their vehicle and discussed what was next and we watched Andromache admit that she had broken her promise to me. With her renewed determination to not let that happen to anyone else, I realized that that was all I had needed to hear. After all this time, I needed an acknowledgement that she had given up and that she was sorry. And with that I had found a new sense of stress that you had betrayed them. But, unable to help, I found that I no longer wanted to see what had happened. I sunk back into myself, only to be ripped out of my torment once more as Nile was shot down in the stark white hallways of your prison. She held her breath as they searched her, pretending to still be dead, and I willed them to not notice her gentle breathing, But she's good, she knew not to gasp back to life, but to center herself before destroying the rest.

I floated again until she, deciding that Andy’s axe wasn't fast enough, pushed the man who you had been captured by out of the window using her own body. She came to in the remains of a vehicle and you all helped her recover from such a gruesome yet heroic death. You were exiled, I take it, and now I am here.”

“But how,” Booker asks disbelieving “How if you couldn’t even get a message to me, are we able to talk now?”

She leans back, the tension she had held relaying the story, all but zapped from her, “With there being two of you who I haven’t met yet, I have a more tangible connection to the outside world.

He nods, thinking it over.

“You are also now lonely enough to see me.” Quynh adds amusedly.

Booker starts, embarrassed.

“I think you can see me now because the idea no longer upsets you like it did before. You are willing to see me because you have no one else left.” She expands, though seemingly not insulted.

Booker can see a visible difference about Quynh now that she has finished her story. She looks as if a weight has been lifted off of her both metaphorically and physically, for the edges around her have started to blur.

“Please, tell me where I can find you.” he begs.

She shakes her head “I still do not know. It’s dark and it’s painful. The sheer pressure of the water is enough to keep me down, if not just the chamber I’m trapped in.”

‘Do you not see when you leave to come here?”

“No, I am simply there and now here. I don’t try to betray myself with hope when I know there is none. I will spend the rest of my days drowning. I know this because I am well acquainted with death, even with Andromache’s years before me. I still have experienced the most deaths and rebirths of any person in all of human history.”

“You can’t just give up.”

“Booker…”

“No, listen to me, I’ve already gone down that path, just waiting for it to end isn’t an option. Yes I will tell your story, yes I will remember you but what do you think the others will do when I tell them I saw you and did nothing?”

She laughs “I am sorry to give you this burden but I believe it is just penance. I would appreciate it if you tell Yusuf and Niccolò  that I do not blame them and I wish them all the best. Nile that she while she is still new she will be better than all the rest of us. And Andromache… if you could tell her, that I’m still with her until the end.” she closes her eyes remorsefully “That would be very helpful, Booker.”

“Wait, Andy. Do you know?” Booker asks in a panic.

“Do I know what?” she says eyes still closed

“She’s lost her immortality”

Quynhs eyes fly open.

“She’s mortal” he chokes out.

And Quynh disappears.

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

shout out especially to this post in particular for inspiring my ability to write the last bit of this 

[boogaloomagoo]

Date: 2/24/2020

Setting: Trudeau household

Characters: Margot and August Trudeau

Notes: Margot and her father have a heart to heart; much is conveyed without actually being spoken.

"Dad... I just want you to know that I care about you-- No, no he already knows that, what's the point in saying it again?... Okay, um - Dad, it's been a while since we've talked about this... and I know you don't like bringing it up around this time of year, but... but..." The blonde's eyes slipped shut, tight with obvious frustration in her furrowed brow, and she flopped unceremoniously onto the worn-in couch nestled in their living room. "But I... have no idea what I'm doing," How? How was she supposed to bring this up casually? The conversation with Josephine had helped a bit, but for the most part Margot still felt entirely unprepared in how to address the issue as a whole. Twenty minutes of sinking into the couch had passed before her father finally returned home from his first shift at Alain's garage. "Magoo?" "In here, dad," She hollered from the living room, attempting to fix her features into something that resembled a welcoming, peaceful expression rather than the inner turmoil broiling within. When he entered and flopped down beside her, jostling the couch frame just a bit with his large stature, an arm immediately curled around her shoulders. "Hey, sweet pea," For a while, they talked about his day; Margot was off from her own job, which meant she could focus entirely on her father’s. So far, he liked what he was doing, seemed to get along with most of the staff, etc. Good. This was starting off good. Though after a few more exchanges, he wore a skeptical expression, as if sensing just what she was attempting to conceal the entire conversation, and he finally inquired. "So... What's goin' on in that head of yours?" Nothing. Everything? Did it ever stop going, around and around like a malfunctioning carousel that had lost any and all semblance of fun and merriment; the horses snarled as their nostrils flared in anger, painted eyes crimson fire that raged as their hooves stampeded ceaselessly. 'Round, 'round and 'round it goes, where it stops?... Her words began slow, even - paced from myriads of time running this exact conversation through her head. "I've just... been thinking about some stuff. A lot of stuff, actually, but-- the main one is about us. About you," She expected the crease between his brows, the way his lips quirked off to the side - such in the same manner her own did when contemplating what another person was saying or explaining. "Okay. What about us -- or me?" Take it slow and steady, she reminded herself. Ease into it but don't beat around the bush. Just be honest, upfront, but gentle. How did all of these methods somehow coincide to actually breach a subject cohesively? It felt as though her brain would implode from employing even one, let alone all. The blonde took a deep inhale through her nose, allowing the oxygen to flow in and held it one beat, two; exhale. "I know it's been hard. Settling in here. But, I hoped getting the job might help both of us... and I'm so glad you like it," She paused there to give something of a wilted smile in his face, and her fingers found purchase atop his knee, gently squeezing. "You're meeting new people, getting more comfortable. And I know that's hard for you, and me, but, we're doing okay. Like, genuinely okay... and I'd also like to try something else. To help us both start to feel like we can... actually find a home here, y'know?" The mild confusion in his expression would have served to heighten her anxiety, but there was a nod, a well-meaning tint to his eyes as he attempted to understand better. Well, no going back now, was there? "I'd like us to go to family therapy. For... for some closure," She had hesitated, due to her father's body tensing at the mention of the 'T' word. An unspoken agreement had been enacted between them years ago, that Margot shouldn't bring it up whatsoever because it wasn't necessary. He had no issues for whatever help she sought for herself, had even accompanied her on a few visits as a child with a guidance counselor. But whenever the subject shifted to focus on his own needs and status, it was hitting a re-enforced concrete wall. No budging. And if he resigned himself to being the immovable object, then, she would simply have to become the unstoppable force. "Margot..." The rejection seemed ready to roll off his tongue; but she wouldn't take it this time. Not without making her case clear. "Dad, I know how you feel about it. I do. And I respected that you wanted to deal with things your own way - I haven't brought this up in over six years, and in all that time, I still see you falling into the same routine you said you wouldn't," Meandering around the house, in a stupor of some sort - inhabiting the spaces they shared as a partial ghost, sometimes fully content to haunt the corridors and hallways. While all she could do was gently tug and nudge him around, hoping he might resurface from the depths of grey murk he seemed far too resigned to sink beneath on a daily basis. "Getting the job is an amazing start. But this isn't just about you, like I said -- it's for both of us," The blonde staved off a broken sigh, edging forward onto the couch and clasping both hands between her knees. Her heart never seemed to weigh heavier than it did when thinking about her - but it was unavoidable, and that was the point. They needed to think about it, right? That was the point to moving forward? "I try being positive. Every day, I would force myself to smile and face the day like I... I feel she would have wanted me to. But, lately... ever since we moved here, I-I haven't felt like I need to do that anymore," Didn't want to. Fingers rose to touch her forehead, automatically settling upon the divot between her brows. An ache almost always settled there whenever stress was involved, and now was no exception. "I've done it because I feel like I've had to. That if I didn't smile and act happy, that we'd both just fall into this abyss... this cycle of milling around and feeling sorry for ourselves. And I think that's because we just-- haven't talked about it. We run, and run, and for a while we're okay, but then we just start it all over again, and, I-I don't want to run anymore - not from anything," Her gaze, glazed over with unshod tears, settled on his worn features, lower lip trembling. "We deserve to live, dad. And I think that means settling, getting to know people, making new memories... letting ourselves properly grieve. Not forget, but..." Let go. She couldn't say it, though. He might react badly to that wording, and with the ache of tears swallowing up every other sense and reaction, she didn't know any other way to phrase it. Thank whatever deity that might have taken favor upon them that her father wasn't a thick man. Their very nature stemmed from being able to communicate multiple ways - talking was only one of them. When he removed his arm from around her, there was a sudden coldness that threatened to slide it's bony finger along her spine. But it was quickly replaced with the warmth of large, warped but tender palms encompassing her own. He had knelt down in front of her, gaze locked onto their clasped hands. "I never meant to... All these years, I thought I was doing the right thing. Keep us moving, keep us safe -- that was the priority," Margot felt herself grow weak, wanting to argue that he had done as good a job as possible, better than she could have ever accomplished herself. But he finally peered up at her through thick brows, and her weakness reflected in the tremor of his own lips. "I robbed you of so much, growing up. A normal childhood. Adulthood... and I've been making you pay the price for something that was never your fault," "Dad..." Her voice broke, trails of saline finally trickling down her cheeks, head swaying from side to side. "You never have to apologize for... for wanting to keep me safe. Please, don't ever feel like I'll resent you or hate you for it, I... I understand," Seeing his only child weep was enough to bring a moisture to his own gaze, hazel glistening as he nodded, stilted yet insistent. "I will, though. I'll always be sorry. And you're right - I never wanted to admit it before, it... always felt like admitting I was a failure. That that kind of help meant I had failed you, and your..." His voice cracked on the word he couldn't bring himself to say, one hand removed to pinch the bridge of his nose as large shoulders shook with a whimper. Margot had lowered herself to his level in an instant, arms wrapped around his torso and face buried into the crook of his neck. They had fallen apart so many times, in such a similar fashion; tears, an embrace, apologies for wrongs they hadn't truly committed and yet could never settle right within them. They were broken in every sense of the word, but in these moments, strange as it seemed, letting the sadness flow remained one of the few times Margot felt truly whole. Alive. His palm curved into the threads of her hair, gently cradling her head and petting the locks. An attempt to calm them both down as the wave of emotions ran it's course. When he spoke again, his voice warped by the strain born from sobbing, Margot felt her heart swell. "We'll go together. I can't... promise that it'll be easy for me. But I'll be damned if I won't try, okay?" She nodded, tear-stained cheeks smothered against his warm neck. "That's all I ask. I'll be with you every step of the way. I promise," His head bobbed a few times in succession, the determination seemingly surging between them, strengthening them both. Words were intriguing, useful things; but touch... the embrace of a loved one. It would always remain a language far preferred by the Trudeau's.

[janetbrown711]

“Just because you don’t see the problem doesn’t mean something isn’t wrong.” Huey Dewey Louie webby

Huey woke up with a headache and his body aching from all over. He rubbed his forehead as he sat up to see if he could remember anything that happened the previous night, but he came up with no answers. He looked around his room and shuddered as he felt a chill go down his spine.

It had been two weeks since that terrible fever dream of Webby. It still lingered and haunted him, but he knew he really couldn't do anything about it. This was his life now.

She was his life now.

"Clari, have you seen my phone?" Huey asked upon not seeing it on his dresser as usual.

"It kept blowing up last night so I put it away so you could stay focused," she replied from the shower.

Right.

"Can I have it back?" He sheeped.

"After I look through who's been texting you," she said.

"But that won't be for awhile. You're going out today, right?" Huey got up and stretched.

"Yes, but if you love me, you'll manage," she said in her 'I'm just teasing' tone. Huey sighed and went out to the kitchen where he started to make himself some breakfast. Clarisse emerged from the shower ten minutes later with her hair blow dried and all ready to go out.

"Leaving already?" Huey asked.

"Thanks for breakfast," she stole a piece of his toast and kissed him on the cheek.

"That uh-" Huey tried to correct.

"Ah, ah, ah. I'm too busy to hear it. See you at Gander's at six," she kissed him again and ran out. Huey rubbed his face and restarted his breakfast. He never remembered feeling this tired ever before in his life. Guess that was adulthood. And drinking probably. He still couldn't place why on earth his joints would be so stiff today though. He thought he had a good night with Clarisse last night. Maybe he got into a fight? Seemed unlikely, but Clarisse has said it happened before.

Still. Something was off.

As he tried to recall any bit of detail from the night he heard a knock at the door, which was really, really unusual. He almost never got visitors nowadays. They were banging o. the door so loudly too. It made his headache even worse. He shushed the door as he walked over and opened it.

"Hello..?" He mumbled, rubbing his face.

"Huey..." it was Webby. Almost exactly like how she was a week ago. Huey rolled his eyes.

"Great. You again," he crossed his arms.

"Huey, I- what? I-i haven't been here," she gripped her bag.

"So you're real?" He looked her up and down.

"I could ask the same of you," Webby let herself in.

"Hey, I didn't say-" Huey tried to stop her.

"You didn't need to," Webby brushed him aside before looking around the room and gasping.

"This is so much worse than Dewey could've ever described it," she whispered to herself.

"Webby, what're you doing here?" Huey crossed his arms. She looked him up and down and she looked as though she were on the verge of tears.

"Huey where the hell have you been? What have you been doing?" She asked with earnest.

"I've been fine, I'll have you know," he suddenly got defensive. He didn't know why though. He knew this wasn't... well... normal.

"Huey... take a look at yourself here. You look absolutely terrible. You have a giant bruise on your forehead, you look like you haven't slept in days, your shirt has the weirdest stains on it, and you and your apartment reek of booze. What happened?" She grabbed his hand but he jerked away. He didn't answer. He hadn't noticed the bruise. Maybe he did get into a fight.

But with who...

"Huey... talk to me... to us... please," Webby pleaded.

"Why do you care all of the sudden?" Huey snapped.

"Huey, you missed Christmas a-and New Years, and Spring Break. You even missed your birthday. What the hell has been going on here?!" Webby snapped right back. Huey stopped. That definitely, one hundred percent, was not like him at all.

He remembered the holiday season. Lots of eggnog. Clarisse got him strange presents. He just got her earrings. New years was a hot mess. He forgot the whole say for awhile.

His birthday though.

He never would've forgotten his birthday. He hadn't seen his brothers in a year he shouldn't have-

He hadn't seen his brothers in a year.

He hadn't seen his brothers in a year.

"Huey? Y-you okay?" Webby asked much more quietly than before. He felt light headed. Like he was going to pass out. He stumbled back, fumbling past bottles on the ground. He caught himself on a countertop in the kitchen.

He hadn't seen his brothers in a year.

"Huey? Are you okay?" Webby asked, her hand hovering over his shoulder but she didn't dare to touch him.

"I'm fine. Nothing's wrong. I'm fine," there was the defensiveness again. It was like he lost control of his speech and he was now nothing more than a ragdoll controlled by someone else.

“Huey..." her tone was so soft and comforting, but he didn't dare to nuzzle into it and listen. He shook his head.

"Me and Clarisse have been having a perfectly good time. She's been showing me around and we've been having a great time. There's nothing wrong with staying home with her for the holidays," Huey defended his actions.

"But it isn't like you," Webby exasperated.

"Well this is me now! Whether you approve of it, or not!" He shouted. Webby stepped back, cowering. Her face looked hurt, like a wounded animal. She shook herself out if it though.

"Just because you don’t see the problem doesn’t mean something isn’t wrong," she straightened herself out.

"I-i know who you really are Huey, and this sure isn't it. You need to tell me what's going on. You texted us, all of us last night, about how you wanted me to come over and talk when we all were asking why you didn't come home for your guy's birthday. Please... i deserve to know what's going on," she spoke so gentile and quietly, so... opposite of what he had been hearing for forever... it was like honey for the soul. She touched his arm lightly but he jerked away again, involuntarily throwing himself into the wall. He fell down and started to cry.

"Huey! I-I'm so sorry!" She went to him again.

Sorry.

Sorry.

Oh, he missed that word.

He missed that word like he missed lazy days in a summer afternoon.

Soon he couldn't keep it in anymore and he bawled. His whole body trembled as his whole body gave in to the sobs. He felt Webby hold him gently and soothingly. She didn't grasp him tightly or snap at him. She hugged him and rubbed his back and told him it was okay.

It was okay.

Oh god, how he missed that feeling.

That feeling of just... calm and hope and peace and just... everything being alright and not having to fear upsetting anyone and just... being... okay.

Eventually his tears ceased and he was able to be taken to his couch so he could talk again.

"Do you want to tell me what's been going on? It's okay if you don't, I'll still be here. Dewey isn't far if you'd prefer to talk to him," she offered.

"No... if i don't tell you now, i don't know of i ever will," Huey took in a deep breath. Webby nodded and waited for him to be ready.

"Her... her name is Clarisse. Met her shortly after the Turaco situation. I had just broke up with Caity so i-i was feeling pretty alone s-so i agreed to go out. God, that feels like forever ago..." he chuckled as he wiped away tears streaming down his face. Webby offered a tissue but he shook his head.

"She introduced me to... so many different things and I knew so little about her, she fascinated me. I-I felt like I needed to stay- to know her better. A-and soon enough she was dragging me into all these things i didnt think i-i was ready for- a-and now I'm here and m-my whole body aches a-and i can't remember anything that happened at all l-last night a-and i just don't know what t-to do because I'm her everything now a-and sh-she says she-she'd die without me- a-and... a-and," Huey choked on his sobbings, shaking his head uncontrollably.

"Huey... I... am so, so sorry that ever happened to you. Nobody should have to deal with what you're going through," Webby wiped away her own tears.

"No," he shook his head, "it's my own fault. I said yes, she isn't to blame."

"Huey, listen to me and you listen good," she tilted his chin lightly.

"Nobody has the right to force into things you aren't okay with and no one should ever threaten you or yourself if you want to break up, okay?" She said. He couldn't speak again, so he slowly nodded instead.

"Can I hug you?" She asked. He nodded. She hugged him in a way that was so familiar, it brought him back home. He embraced it tightly, not wanting to let go at all.

"Huey, we need to get you out of here as soon as possible, you understand?" Webby said.

"I-i can't just leave her-"

"Huey, for your own good, you need to," Webby looked him in the eyes and he knew it was true. He was just... scared. She always had so many friends. And they were everywhere. He didn't know how she did it. Heck... she'd probably notice Webby was here and accuse him of cheating again.

"She'll know you've been here," he added.

"She can't hurt you anymore if you come home with me. It'll be okay. I'm a trained spy. She can't hurt you if you just come with me," Webby smiled reassuringly. Huey was still hesitant to believe it.

"I-i can't... I'm sorry... i can't," he closed his eyes and turned away.

"Huey, please. It's killing me to see you this way," she begged.

"I can't undo what she's done. Like you said I-I'm not myself. I'm a sloppy, good for nothing drunk," the words were heavy on his tongue.

"Huey... i know you. You're a hard, determined worker who never gives up on any one or anything and life by the book. You are incredibly loyal and loving, and you're always looking out for your little brothers, even when they don't ask you to. You are a huge dork who loves to read and write and explore and learn. You love your family and your family loves you. Please Huey... come home," Webby begged and pleaded a final time. Huey sniffled.

Could he really do this? It wasn't something he truly pondered before. It never felt possible. He felt like she would kill him if she found out. Well... she would find out no matter what he did. Was running away really the best option?

Huey turned and looked at Webby. She was looking at him in a way he hadn't ever seen Clarisse look at him.

It was a look of love. Familial, sure, but love. She cared about him and his wellbeing.

Clarisse...

Clarisse... not as much.

"Okay..." Huey spoke.

"O-okay?" Webby didn't seem to believe it.

"Y-yeah," he sniffled and laughed a bit. He didn't know why he did, but he did. Worry melted away from Webby's body and she hugged him once more.

"I'm so glad to hear that. Trust me when I say everyone at home missed you so so so much! We were all worried sick," she let go, "you need to get packing. We have to leave before she comes back."

"Right... yeah..." he got up from the couch. Once webby was standing he hugged her again.

"Thank you so, so, so much Webby. I promise I won't let you down," he said.

"You can never let us down. We all love you very, very much Huey. Don't forget that."

"I won't."

[kemata-jellyfishlace]

A story best told behind closed doors

Warning. This story is NSFW and has gore and sacrifice wrote in it. Please read at your own caution and comfortability. I am not liable for how this story effects you rather it’s negative or positive. So please again read at your own caution. (Z) - Zzarion’s Speech (B) - Bernadette’s Speech

Bernadette couldn’t eat much that night due to the over growing anxiety and knots forming in her lower abdomen from the surprise that was revealed. It made her really think hard about her mate and how much she did not know about him or his past yet he knew so much of hers? It wasn’t a matter of her just talking about herself, no she had asked him of things and he barely grazes over some of them and just doesn’t really explain. Zzarion’s responses were always yes, no, who knows. So to hear about how he was once married to another Kemata was a shocker but not too big of one, but... to hear he was married to one of the most ruthless Kematas that have a huge bounty on their heads was a home run out of the stadium for her to comprehend. As everyone finished their plates and sat with full bellies, Bernie stood up and collected the empty plates and headed towards the kitchen to start cleaning them. “ (Z) You missed one. “ His voice was soft and deep, he was very cautious to offer the plate that was hers which still had all her food on it barely even touched. “ (Z) Are you wanting to save this for later? I can put it in the fridge. “ She turned to face away from him and at the sink so she could steady herself without showing her emotions. “ (B) Ah, yes. I’ll uhm.. I’ll put it away don’t worry about it. “ There was no movement, no response from him as he just stood there behind her, nervousness got the best of her and the hairs along her back started to perk and stand up, she bit hard on the inside of her cheek to try to stop it from happening but it was way too late, the blood that was drawn was just moments shy of working in her favor. “ (Z) Go upstairs. I’ll take care of everything. “ It wasn’t a favor. It wasn’t a suggestion. This was an order and she dropped the plate she had in her hands into the sink and swiftly made her way out of the room to flee upstairs. Embarrassed that he saw any emotion from her but good she closed the door hastily behind herself and started to fidget. Her body had dropped to all fours and she was pacing back and forth in front of the bed they had shared for a few months now. His paws were never soft, you could hear him from a mile away and him coming up the stairs was absolute fear, it sent her on the farthest edges of feral that she’s been since she was young and on the streets. These were new feelings that never before had been felt and they were not welcomed the least bit. Her ears were pinned back and her tail twitched between her legs as the door opened to reveal her mate. Zzarion stood in the door way studying her for a moment before stepping into the room and with slow delicate movements he pushed the door close behind him and gestured to the bed “ (Z) Please sit down. “ And she followed his commands with eyes still fixed on him. They were wild and untamed and he knew what he would need to say to her and how to say it so she would not do anything rash. As she climbed on the bed and sat down he noticed her tail was still twitching and her ears flicked back every so often, his body moved feet in front of her and he sat down on the floor at the foot of the bed. “ (Z) I was maybe sixteen years old when I met Mirela and she was seventeen. We were young and thought we loved each other. Back then she was not the Kemata she is today, the one who has killed others for the sake of her ‘gods’. “ He paused studying her before he went on. “ (Z) We met at a training facility for the Lux Concord Faction and I thought she was cool because I had never seen a Kemata who had a snake for a tail let alone a living snake that has it’s own thought process and mannerisms. My family pressed me to find a wife at a young age because that was what they were raised on; setting goals at a young age to prosper into adulthood with and to produce babies for the cause. She had no family what so ever so I felt obligated to be there for her because what is a Kemata if you don’t have family? “ Another pause and he could tell that she was getting restless sitting there, she would shift from putting her weight on one side to the other and her tail now started to swish atop the fitted sheets. He took a deep breath and went on none the less. “ (Z) We spent a couple years after that doing a lot of stuff together, we were by each other’s side for most of the days until she was called upon by some long lost family member, someone i had no recollection of or was even made aware to. We got married and not soon after she disappeared for days on end. It started out with a weekend she was gone visiting this ‘person’ she knew, then after a year it went to weeks on end then to months I would not see her. She came back one day and told me she was done and could not go on being with me. I was confused. I was hurt. I needed answers so when she gathered what little things she had I followed her along with my father. She went south very south, we found ourselves in the swamps, an area I have never went before. She was living in an old tree trunk with a few other Kematas that did not seem to fit her style of friends. “ He slowly moved closer to Bernadette, gauging how close he could inch before she would pull away which was about a foot and a half. Rear on the floor still but his front half was resting on the end of the bed. She had slinked back towards the pillows a bit to give both of them space. “ We watched her for a few days until she did what we deemed to be the worst you ever could do. I noticed she was getting a lot fatter and plumper the last few times i saw her and when she left she looked like she put on some weight. Don’t get me wrong, I know when you’re in a happy relationship you gain weight, it’s inevitable hell i’ve gained so much weight since i’ve been with you thus far. But she was gaining it in just her stomach and it didn’t click till that night. She was pregnant and it was our kits in there. The grim realization almost made me want to sprint from our hiding spot and wrap my arms around her, how exciting I was to be a father and I had no idea! But my father held me back, because we had followed her into a small clearing, where she laid down on a stone table that had red candles lit up in black fire and a ring of white mushrooms stained by the dripping wax. I was confused but my father pointed towards the far end of the clearing where the trees wove together creating a thick blanket of spanish moss. Something started to push it’s way through it. We saw a light colored Kemata with two sets of wings appear to be floating with no movement in the body come out, it had a razor sharp unicorn horn and piercing eyes. It was a sacred Kemata, the most regal of us, me nor father had ever seen one and we thought they were just stories and fairy tales to put kits to bed. ” Zzarion looked down at the bed sheets trying to hide his emotions the best he could before he went on. “ (Z) The sacred kemata used her horn to make a long lateral incision on her stomach and reached into Mirela removing her uterus. You could see the kits squirming inside of the tube like sack, they were alive and it looked as if there were maybe three in there. The thing then ripped it from her body and took the delicate part into her mouth and snapped her teeth closed on each part that moved or squirmed. I started to vomit and it attracted everyone’s attention to our spot and we had to flee...” Everything stopped. She could see tears welling and spilling down his fluffy cheeks, rolling off and dampening the sheets they slept on. Without thinking she found herself crawling over to him and cradling his face into her chest, nuzzling her cheek against the top of his head between his ears. “ (B) I don’t know what to say, I’m so sorry that happened Z...” He sniffled and pulled away from her and looked at her face “ (Z) I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but it’s something that will forever haunt me till my last breath, I don’t want anything like that to happen to you because you’re so very special to me. Bernadette, I love you. I have never felt this way with Mirela or anyone else for that matter and you mean the world to me. I don’t want to lose you because of me not jumping to tell you my past. “ He had never said anything like that to her nor had he professed his feelings like this, she started to sob uncontrollably and pressed her forehead to his, resting her nose against his broad snout. “ (B) I... I love you too, and i’m here for you no matter what. I want to know everything about you but I wont press, I’m not going anywhere. I promise. “ He stood up and wrapped her in a bear hug before she pulled him down into the bed where they spent the night caressing each other’s bodies and whispering sweet nothings with coos here and there. They didn’t realize they had talked all the way into the wee hours of the morning till the birds started to sing and the window lit up light blue.

[nightglider124]

RobStar Week 2019: Day 6

Children

Tingles spread across the planes of her skin, the orange hue seemingly becoming brighter under the gaze of the sunshine, bathing the entire park and everything in its path within a summery glow. 

She sighed, feeling a calmness rock through her as she let the sun beat down on her, making no effort to scurry and hide from its heat like some humans did. The solar energy was like ambrosia for her; filling her with life and strength.

Starfire had had a close knit relationship with the sunlight for as long as she could remember, since it played such a role in making her who she was. 

The corners of her lips lifted upward as she leaned her head back, not wanting to miss a moment of the golden rays from above. 

Chuckling was what brought her out of her relaxed haze, fire flaring wherever the light touched her. Her jade eyes snapped open and she turned to look beside her.

Robin grinned and shook his head, “Sorry, did I interrupt you?” 

A blush leaked across her face, the pink visible even under the intense sunlight. She cleared her throat and smiled, “You know I like to make the most of it when we receive such wonderful weather.”

“I do… didn’t realize I’d get replaced for the sun so quickly though.”

Starfire giggled, “You could never be replaced.”

“Good to hear it.” He smirked, grabbing the sandwiches out of the wicker basket they’d brought with them on this rather impromptu outing.

He handed her one which she graciously accepted, nibbling the edges and smiling as the taste washed over her tongue, “Mmm… this was a very good idea, my love.”

Robin shrugged, “Well… like you said… it’s never usually this sunny out and I know I’ve been busy with case work lately. I thought it’d be nice for us to spend some time together.”

She gazed at him, the thumping of her heart increasing as she regarded him and his thoughtfulness, “It is glorious.”

Watching as he took a hearty bite of his own sandwich, her eyes stayed on him as he too, allowed himself to unwind for once. Robin stretched his legs out in front of him before half leaning back on his elbows. 

As a light breeze passed through and carried the promise of further warmth during the summer, Starfire felt a buzzing in her chest; a joyful sensation which ran along the same lines as utter bliss and content. She felt happy; with Robin at her side and sitting beneath the gift of sunlight, she was always at her most euphoric.

Smiling, she scanned the park from where she sat cross legged on the red and white picnic blanket they were situated upon. 

Trees swayed with the occasional breath of wind that swept the tokens of nature up in its arms; bringing renewed life to every blade of grass and every branch that extended from the trees. 

The park was alive with people laughing and talking; joggers and cyclists passing through wearing a look of repletion. Families were enjoying themselves; sitting identical to the couple themselves; on a blanket and bonding over the sharing of picnic food.

In the air, Starfire could smell the unmistakable aroma of barbecued food from somewhere nearby; ribs or burgers, she wasn’t sure but she was certain if Cyborg were here instead of Titans East for the weekend, he would have hunted the cook down and begged for a share.

She looked to her left, admiring the way the sunlight glimmered and bounced off of the ripples of the lake; the true blue of the water silently urging her to dive in but she resisted the temptation; not wanting to disturb the swans and geese that were floating around, looking for bread from public hands.

A twinkling sound was heard in the distance and something told her it was one of those trucks of ice creams that tended to make the rounds of local communal areas during the hotter months on Earth.

The Princess glanced to her right, facial features softening whilst her smile only broadened.

High pitched squeals of laughter bubbled up from a certain section of the park. Small, excitable children clambered up the brightly colored equipment as they played and explored the world around them that was oh so big. 

Starfire focused on the little ones that appeared to be in their own little worlds, using their endless imaginations to entertain not only themselves but parents around them and other civilians that passed them by. 

They were so adorable and so pure and free from burdens or concerns. It was almost cruel that the mind and carefree nature of children couldn’t carry through to adulthood as much as it should be allowed to.

She watched them, contemplating how utterly joyful they were; happy to simply play and run and revel in apparent freedom.

Starfire found herself considering the tiny children not so far from where she sat, the smile on her face fading, the more her mind decided to dwell on memories and thoughts.

There was a ball of envy that formed in her chest; one that was simultaneously tangled with relief that she couldn’t quite make sense of. She watched them playing and enjoying the lives that were their own, glad that young children could have such a level of freedom… but, a part of her felt jealous or more so… saddened that she couldn’t have what they did. 

Whilst she basked in the sunlight that shone down amongst them all and gave a spark to the raw energy inside of her, she couldn’t help but recollect on the childhood she had experienced; a key part in her intimacy with the rays of light. 

All the horror, all the abuse and all of the loneliness and betrayal that were laced within the fabric of her younger years seeped to the forefront of her mind as she gazed at the exuberant children just across the field from her.

There was an ache in her heart; a sense of longing to have had even a taste of what these children had. 

But, relief filtered in too. There was a fierce protectiveness that burned inside of her; to make sure that no child ever experienced anything close to what she had, if she could help it. There was relief that these children before her would never know such a life that she had known. 

Robin had been studying the myriad of emotions that seemed to flicker across his girlfriend’s face, remaining silent as she let something tick over in her mind. After a few moments however, seeing the way the light of her smile seemed to evaporate, did he sit up  and shuffle closer to her,

“Star?” 

She merely blinked, refusing to remove her gaze from the group of kids sweeping down the slide, throwing themselves back and forth on the swings and leaping from monkey bar to monkey bar; the rush of feeling invincible, coursing through each and every one of them.

A sad smile replaced the one she’d worn and her voice was quiet as she spoke, “They are so happy… so carefree… I cannot imagine any of them know of the true horrors that exist in the world…”

His brows furrowed together in concern and he shifted so that he sat even closer. He took one of the hands in her lap, lacing their fingers together,

“Tell me what’s going through that mind of yours, Star.”

She slowly looked back at him, her long red hair gently flowing in the breeze that picked it up. Her eyes held unshed tears and the sad smile stayed,

“I was just… thinking of the past. I am so thankful that… children like these ones will hopefully never know pain… like we have…” She paused and took a shuddering breath, “But I cannot help but envy them… wish that…”

Robin swallowed, taking her other hand and sitting directly before her. Her eyes met his masked gaze, knowing where the blue orbs behind the material were. 

He matched her smile, “I know...  I’ve had the same kind of thoughts here and there over the years too.” Robin paused and shook his head, “But it won’t change anything… the past is the past. We’re not there anymore.”

She nodded, blinking back the tears that were threatening to spill over and trickle down her cheeks, “Forgive me… I just…”

“Don’t. I think all of us have probably thought about… what if and if we’d have been more like those kids… not having to go through the stuff we did…”

Starfire smiled and squeezed his hands, the bright and upbeat shimmer returning to her eyes, “I suppose… there is the silver lining… had we not gone through such things… none of us would have ever met one another.”

Robin’s lips curved upwards and he gently brought one hand to her cheek, running his fingers along her jawline until he found her chin, angling her head to meet him for a kiss. He pressed his lips to hers; a chaste show of affection that wasn’t too much to be seen as indecent by others within the park.

He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, “Exactly… there’s positives even in tragedies.”

She shifted, leaning closer and throwing her arms around his shoulders to embrace him, “I love you, Robin.”

The boy wonder nuzzled his face against her shoulder and let his arms fall around her waist, rubbing his thumb in circles against her spine, “I love you too, Star.”

She deeply inhaled, reveling in the familiarity of his scent; one that brought her comfort and an eternal sense of safety. 

Despite the memories of her childhood that still haunted the darkest corners of her mind, she knew that Robin was right. She didn’t have to dwell on such atrocities anymore. 

She was safe and she had him and her friends and that was all that mattered to her nowadays. 

The past was the past; the things that happened may have made her who she was now, but the past didn’t and never would define who she was.

[alitheamateur]

The Grind- Chapter 13

431 days. A tragus piercing. A black pencil tattoo permanently etched at the highest point of my right ribcage, and shadow roots in my sandy hair thanks to Becca, my new hairstylist recommended my latest friend, Tia. All things refreshed and renewed in the life of Liv Elliott. Single Liv Elliott. Okay, nearly all. One thing most certainly, and sorely remained the same. My beating heart was still smashed like a steel mallet had turned loose on it. Sure, the festering emotional cut of our breakup was beginning to mend with time. But, we all know with a healing cut, comes a forever scar. Not a scar representing a victorious battle, or a valiant effort. But one of sheer, naïve stupidity.  I choked on a daily spoonful of utter confusion wondering where the road took such a drastic detour towards that killer cliff we had so recklessly plunged from. I constantly fought the burning urge to scratch and claw my way back up the side of that treacherous mountain to find my way back to the earliest road. The road with Colton as my copilot. 

I so graciously allowed myself 2 weeks to hide away. Flounder in tears, Rocky Road, and maybe even a drunken bonfire of most photographic evidence that Colton ever existed. I avoided mascara all together, concluding that some point of my day would inevitably lead to a blubbering breakdown as I hid in the office bathroom. I rearranged the entire span of my apartment, hopeful maybe the new positions of furniture would confuse the ghosts of him that all too often appeared laid out comfortably on the couch, ankles crossed during a Sunday nap. Or slumbering face down with one hand under a pillow and the other stretched out toward the opposite side of the bed, lips loose in sleeping breathes. I couldn’t outrun the flashbacks no matter the effort. Even still, he haunts me on a Saturday morning at The Grind, or on a Tuesday night at my place with takeout from the B-rated Chinese joint down the street. However now, the sickness of utmost sadness, overcome with a rancorous flood of anger instead. Mostly with Colton, rightfully so. But myself as well. The foolish, undignified way I had just fallen under his potent spell, I might as well have just dropped to my knees and waved the white flag the second he introduced himself. And yet, the unsolved mystery remained. HE had said he loved me first. Sure, I felt it near the moment he kissed me after our run through the city that morning, but I chose to bury the words for another time. Colton on the other hand, had no problem spouting off his revelation to me. Nor did he stutter on the admittance of apparently “thinking with his dick” when it came to the matter of our meeting that fateful morning either. One thing I was able to confirm, was the son of a bitch clearly suffered a severe case of habitual word vomit.

The Pilot for me was a bit of a safe haven in a war zone, it being a place I could hide from the demons a bit. My new title at the paper requiring me to cover all things fighting within a 100-mile radius on the other hand, posed a bit of an issue. Thank the holy heavens I had avoided the press conference for his first match following our demise, due to the short, paid hiatus I took to visit Westfield. A taste of nostalgia and familiarity seemed like suitable therapy for a maimed heart, and maybe a good caudle from my parents. An attempted one, at least.

Tony and Elizabeth, said parents, were good parents in general. I won’t take that away from their accomplishments. But when basketball gracefully bowed out of my life, their involvement followed suit. Dad & I always had ball as that bonding clue to hold us tightly together. Saturday mornings following Friday night games always began with film, 150 free throws out back on the handcrafted mock court he’d constructed for me, ending at Al’s Diner for pancakes. That first fateful Saturday after my knee surgery, we tried to replay the film and retreat to Al’s, but when the conversing concerning if I’d pass the current scoring record at Westfield High, or whether I would commit to University of Louisville or SIU no longer applied, we drifted. When the “basketball dad” shadow from the sticker he peeled from the rear window of his pickup truck faded, a hefty portion of the pride he held for his daughter did too.

As far as a closeness with mom, there truly wasn’t much. She preformed the expected team mom duties by hosting bake sale fundraisers, and chaperoning homecoming dances. But that dependable shoulder never pushed much further in the emotional realm of a relationship with me. My dad & I had always held a special closeness, leaving her to feel somewhat shoved to the proverbial back burner. I was never much for the “foofy” tea parties, or pageant queen aspirations she had, which no doubt drove the wedge deeper between the two of us. But, when I moved so far away, it seemed distance, and time had healed some wounds in our connection. When I arrived at the simple square, two story siding home on Lake Lane, my first friend in life, our Collie, Indiana nearly mounted to hood of my car to get to me. No doubt, his name sake my dads favorite action movie character, and my home-state.

“Hey Indy, you sweet boy! I’ve missed you, ya’ big guy!” I rumpled the cashmere like white coat around his neck.

Mom galloped out the red front door first, dad following suit at a slightly slower pace.

“Liv, honey! Oh, we’re so glad you’re here! We’ve missed you,” my mom squealed towards me with open arms.

“We really have missed you, kid. Look at ya’!” Dad persisted with the ever annoying greeting of ruffling the top of my head like some socially incoherent teenage boy.

They probably did miss me, I’m sure. But, apparently not enough to ever offer a visit with me since moving my things to the city of Pittsburgh. No matter what bitterness flowered, as I dragged deeper into adulthood, I had resolved that you only got one set of parents, and the importance of appreciating the ones you did get was dire. So, I decided to nurse some long dwelling resentment and go into this visit with a forgiving heart.

“I missed you guys, too. Things still look exactly the same around here.” I inventoried those familiar, award-winning rose bushes my mother grew in the landscape, and with attached garage door open, I was able to see dads tool shop sanctuary in exactly the shape I had left it. Not a hammer out of place.

“Let’s get you inside, sweetie. Dinner will be done soon, & I’m sure we have some catching up to do.” Mom placed her hands over my upper arms, guiding me into I’m sure a spotless house, while dad unloaded my suitcase from the back hatch of my SUV.

 Steaks cooked to perfection courtesy of Tony Elliott, self-proclaimed grilled master, were served in the newly remodeled dining room, and the 3 of us sat in the same assumingly designated spots that we had for all my childhood years. I did miss a motherly, prepared with love, home cooked dinner so I wasted no amount of time scarfing down the contents of her delicious spread.

“How are things with the promotion, Livvy? They aren’t taking advantage of ya’, I hope?” Dad dropped his fork gently to his plate, taking a sip of his tea.

“Things are good, dad. Ryan, my boss, really does treat me excellently. He’s always super complimentary of my work.” I assured.

“Sounds like a nice guy. Maybe someone has a little crush?” Elizabeth winked while sorting through the last few sprigs of lettuce in her salad bowl.

“Ha! No thanks, mom. He’s an awesome guy, but I’d never see him like that. Plus, I could never date my boss, you know that.” I scoffed all too quickly.

Alright, you fraidy-cat. Get to it, here! Tell them. About him.

“Plus, I think I need a little break from men these days.”

“A break? Meaning there’s been some boys around since you moved?” Mom was the first to chime in, while my dad sat idly by, trying to appear casually at ease. But, I knew he was hearing every syllable of the exchange between his wife and I.

“Just one guy, mom. Well, there was one guy.” My attention never left the chopped, leftover chunks of food on my white porcelain plate. “Remember the first piece I did on Mixed Martial Arts? My first front page?”

“Liv, don’t be ridiculous. Yes, it’s laminated and framed in the living room. Go on..” she answered, leaning on her hand as an elbow rested on the table for a blinking second, before she retracted it, minding her usual manners.

“I was with one of the competitors. Like, in a relationship for several months actually. Colton, the fighter who I was working one-on-one with.”

There, at least he’s out in the open now. The dirty secret is out.

“Was, meaning not anymore then?” Dad finally broke his cold silence.

“Not anymore, no. We haven’t been together for a while now. But, I….. I uh, I didn’t handle the split so well. Which is part of my reason for coming to see you guys.”

My mind spun like a tilt-or-whirl trying to sort through what needed to be said, and what I should leave out. They didn’t need to know how harshly he’d spoken to me, nor the pathetic amount of sick days I’d used to wallow in my tear-stained sheets and overindulge on snack-packs.

“It sounds like things were serious, honey. Frankly, I’m a little hurt you never told us about him.” My mom had taken an overbearing interest in me when I started dating in high school. Boys were something she saw as her forte, I assume. Dad and I had basketball, now she and I could have boys, and relationships. So, the lack of sharing about my now ex-boyfriend seemed to perturb her.

“It was serious, mom. Yeah. I loved him. I was in love with him. Case in point, why I didn’t handle our breakup with much dignity.”

“What happened, Liv? Anything I should be concerned about,” dad inquired in the ultimate “dad” tone of voice.

“It just didn’t work, guys. It’s done, and life goes on. Nothing more, okay?”

Life goes on, huh? Let’s practice what we preach, dear.

“Losing a love is hard, sweet pea. But you’re a strong, successful young lady, and you’ll recover just fine. I know it!” Mom smiled.

I admired her A+ efforts for the “mother bear” sermon. It’s what I needed, truly. No matter how I wanted to tell her I needed those little chats years ago. I needed that reassurance back when I thought life hated me, and some karmic attack had been yielded on my life. Recently though, she had been heartily trying with our relationship. Both of them had. And although the repairs were long overdue, and far from complete, I was thankful nonetheless.

 I hadn’t been back to my stomping grounds since I’d left slightly over three years prior, so I had my fair share of hellos to exchange, most importantly being my childhood best friend, and the shooting guard to my point guard, Sara. She hadn’t spread her wings from our small town, instead chose the “marry my perfect high school sweetheart and have the most painfully adorable twin boys on the planet” lifestyle, which suited her beautifully.  She met up with me at the local dairy freeze for a greasy order of cheese fries after ending the work day at her parents’ dental practice where she was employed as a hygienist. Sitting alone at the wooden picnic table carved with an array of heart enclosed initials of couples I knew never made it past junior year prom, I felt strangely foreign in the little town now. Distant, or homesick. Every hardware store clerk or mail carrier knowing about the family pet you had to put down because all news travelled like an unruly forest fire in Westfield, now seemed displeasing rather than endearing. I basked in a bit of big-headed pride realizing I had maybe outgrown this little corner of the world, and home suddenly felt eastbound. Whether that had anything to do with my recent ex had yet to be determined.

Sara arrived right on time, going straight for the counter to order her favorite Dr. Pepper ice cream float as she put it “first things first.” The girl may have been the only person in the whole population of 2,000 whom I held in trusting regard, so she was kept up to date through a hefty amount of text messages about the tumultuous romance of Liv and Colton. We exchanged a squealing hug before diving right into the heavy matter.

“How are you? First off, you look freakin’ amazing. The big city looks good on you, Elliott,” Sara flopped into her seat, pulling off her pink labcoat.

��Shut up, you liar. The bags under eyes have bags, Sara. I’ve been a sloppy, sobbing, bitchy, pathetic mess for going on two months now. Like, who am I and will it end?!” I felt so light being able to genuinely come out in the open with all the emotion I was dealing with. A crucial missing piece to my life in the Burgh was a real, true friend such as Sara. Someone to take shoe shopping, and call drunk at 3 a.m. when you’re well into a half of bottle of Pinot and can’t keep from hysterically bawling over the ghastly way your boyfriend spoke to you.  A woman needs the Lavern to her Shirley to share life with.  

“It’s called love, honey. Welcome to the party,” she sucked vigorously through the straw of her float. “We’ve been waiting for you to show up.” I appreciated her gracious attempt to lighten the mood.

“Well if this is what it’s all about, I won’t be coming back.” I spoke mumbled chewing on a fry.

“It doesn’t always turn out this bad, babe. You just fell really, really hard. Which means getting over it will probably be equally as difficult. As much as I hate to see you like this…”

“Easy for you to say, Sara. You practically married Prince Harry or something. Can’t I just borrow yours sometime?” I clowned.

Her husband was truly the best of the best, and he’d been that way since the beginning. So, I always harbored some envy of sorts toward the seeming perfection of their relationship.

“In all honesty, Sare, I don’t know that I’m going to have the same feelings for whoever comes along like I did Colton. I’m not going to be irrational enough to say I’ll never love again, because I know that’s just silly and overdramatic. I’m just not sure it’ll be as raging and romantic, ya’ know what I mean?”

Just as she was about to hit me with some bogus line probably directly from an article she’d read in Cosmopolitan, a familiar voice intruded.

“My God, am I having a flashback right now?” Our varsity head coach Eric Gibson yelled from the open window of his parked car.

The guy was a true, unadulterated saint. He’d pulled me from the 8th grade roster to dress up for him on JV, so I lost count on how many games we’d competed in together. He shed nearly as many tears as my own father had when I collided with that player from Carson County causing me to close out my chapter as a ball player. He quickly locked the doors to his vehicle with two beeps of the horn, and made his way eagerly to us.

“Coach, how are you?” I stood to meet his incoming hug. With Sara still residing in Indiana I’m sure their paths crossed frequently in town.

“I’m doing fine, Liv. Shocked to see you here, girl! Are you back in Westfield?” He patted Sara with a coy hand to the shoulder, and we returned ourselves after the exchange of greetings.

“Oh, no no. Just here for a visit. I finally got the chance to take a little vacation from work, so I thought I’d come check in on Sara, and my parents.”

“Yeah, you’re a real superstar here, you know that? Everyone had a field day when your article made the front page for your paper. It was the talk of the town!”  

I blushed vividly at his statement. “Thanks, coach. It’s really nothing though.”

His mouth opened wide in defense. “It most certainly is something, Liv. It’s a huge accomplishment! Don’t be so modest. Hard work deserves to be recognized, and I know you’re no stranger to working hard in everything you do.” He paused to nudge my shoulder that grazed his. “ You’re talented, Elliott. And scrappy as hell when need be! Those big shots at that newspaper better just stay outta your way.”

Suddenly, there it was. The switch of undignified pity had self-destructed. Leave it to Coach to set me straight as he always did. I was scrappy as hell! The 4 games I’d been ejected from back in school clear evidence. It was time to exercise that same fearlessness and grit to scratch myself to the surface again, leaving behind this lonely, moldy grave Colton had dug for me. He may have outweighed me by an easy sixty pounds, and could’ve snapped me in half in the concern of strength. But mentally? It’d have to be ruled a no contest.

That night, back to square one in the little town in Indiana, over cheese fries & cheap milkshakes, with an out-and-out smack reminder courtesy of coach Gibson, I awoke. The sleepwalking, gray way of life a thing of the past. I excused myself from the parade of self-pity I had long been the grand marshal for.

“Maybe she’ll take your word for it, Coach. I’ve been trying to get that very same thing through that thick head of hers.” Sara interjected, slurping the last traces of whipped cream from her glass.

“Okay, okay, you two. Lay off before it all goes to my head.” I shook with a chuckle, and decided then and there, that I was going to find peace and satisfaction in life when I got back to Pittsburgh, someway, somehow, no matter what. I wanted my heart back from him. The heart he clearly had no use for any longer.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

[snowbellewells]

“When You Can’t Walk, I’ll Help You Stand”

By: @snowbellewells for Ouat Winter Whump

(This one shot takes place during 5B, but diverges in the episode where Emma finds Killian in Hades’ lair and gives them the time to piece Killian back together from his wounds and try to deal with what he’s been through.  This may veer more toward hurt/comfort, but I’ve never written a piece that sets out to specifically focus on the whump before, so it was a new challenge.  I hope you will - enjoy? That may not be the right word? - but at least find it worth reading.

I think this is probably still T-rated, but there are some descriptions of Hades’ tortures - a whipping, burning/branding, mental/emotional abuse and taunting - so do be aware of that.)

** Also: Thanks a million to @spartanguard who as my beta reader really shined this up and made it better, as well as being really encouraging and giving me further confidence about this one!! :)

“When You Can’t Walk, I’ll Help You Stand”

Emma couldn’t bring herself to dwell on what could happen to Milah as she waited with the boat, or where Gold had gotten off to and what sort of underhanded trickery he might even then be planning. She had taken a genuine liking to Killian’s first love as they’d trekked together into this deepest level of Hades’ nightmarish abode. Not only did they have the common purpose of rescuing the man they both loved, but there was a similar tough tenacity to the dark-haired woman, a hardened shell of armour formed from scars and a haunted look in her eyes that Emma understood all too well. Maybe it should have been awkward to be walking side-by-side with the woman Killian had given his heart to before her, or she could have felt threatened or possessive that Milah might endanger what she and Killian had when he saw her again, but that had not been the case at all. If anything, she had felt invigorated in her mission; if she could have anyone who would care as desperately about her goal as she did, she couldn’t have suggested anyone better. At the moment, that was really all she had room to worry over.

Instead, Emma vowed to get back to the other woman with their pirate as soon as possible, and she gathered Killian’s battered form toward herself gingerly, knowing as much as it pained her that any contact she made was only going to hurt him further. The sight of her love, the man she had given herself over to the Darkness trying to save, suspended in chains over the frighteningly roiling greenish pit of water, broken, bloodied and nearly insensate was a sight that wouldn’t fade away easily - in fact, she feared it might be permanently seared upon her mind’s eyes in horrific detail.

Her heart, still crammed up in her throat despite having reached him and managing to lower him to the strange metal dias where he slumped in her embrace, nearly choked her, blocking her airway with the not-yet-dissipated panic she’d felt for him being lowered into the seething river. Even as she tried to chuckle at his weakened, “You never listen to me, do you Swan?” she was still struggling to hold back her nausea at the state he was in, even as she tried to chuckle bravely for his sake and banter back, “And you love me for it.”

Her hands ached to brush along his cheek and trace over the beloved long-healed scar beneath his right eye. However, it wasn’t even visible to her through the dried blood caking large sections of his face and neck and the mottled array of yellowing, greenish and purple bruises that covered the rest. His dark leather beneath her trembling fingers was shredded in places across his back and shoulders and charred roughly in others. Where the material remained intact, she felt the stickiness of blood still wet over much of the surface and the roughly melted edges where the jacket seemed to have been burned - and she feared the same of his skin beneath.

“Come on, Killian,” she managed, her voice a mere breath at his ear, unable to muster more sound out of sheer stunned shock at the cruelty he had clearly endured. “Let’s get you out of here.” She didn’t want to hurt him further, but they had to get out of Hades’ lair and back to the others, the sooner the better. Trying to steel herself against the reaction she was sure he’d have, she slipped her hands under his arms, in hopes of lifting him to his feet and helping him stand.

As expected, a sharp hiss of breath escaped Killian’s parched lips before a bitten back groan made its way through his clenched teeth despite his determined efforts. Staggering slightly, she could feel his strained and abused muscles quivering as her pirate attempted to get his feet beneath him and aid her in supporting his weight. By pure reflex, Emma slipped an arm free and placed it on his lower back to brace him, but as soon as her palm made contact, a harsh cry of pain escaped him and he jerked away from the touch defensively, nearly buckling his knees and sending them both to the cold stone floor.

Killian’s eyes were squeezed shut, and his chest heaved for breath even as she grit her teeth and just barely managed to keep them upright. She couldn’t read his mind, but the way his body shuddered against her side told Emma he might well be revisiting some part of the trauma he had suffered over again. She kicked herself for having sent him into the episode and whispered apologies to him even as she tried to coax him into taking a first step toward freedom. Killian, however, was lost to the torrent of memories flooding his head…

His bound hands were jerked over his head, pulling him to stand straight, stretched almost onto his toes, by Hades’ magically conjured rope that held him inescapably tight and in position. Though youth and young adulthood in indentured servitude and most of a centuries-long life lived at sea as a pirate gave him a familiarity with what was surely coming, it didn’t stop the fear that rose in his chest, or the intense desire to struggle, to attempt escape, however impossible, from his bonds. The dry-mouthed fear and dread brought on by the probability of a lashing struck panicked dread into the most solid and stoutest of hearts, and he was no exception. Once he had felt that scourge slice across his skin - and his back bore the healed-over scars from how well, even ages since they had been given - he couldn’t help but tremble at the prospect, even if he gave no other sign of pleading or weakness.

He heard the whip whistle through the putrid, sulfuric air and the fiery lance of agony struck deep on impact, a stifled cry breaking past his lips despite how he tried to hold it back and deny his tormenter the satisfaction. Though it had been ages since the days he knew this punishment well - whether in retribution for a nicked crust of bread from the galley to silence his half-starved growing belly, or for oft-uttered self defense when mocked for being small, fatherless, unwanted and abandoned, which was taken as impertinence and punished accordingly - the bite of the braided leather, tearing into his flesh a bit more with each stroke had not lessened in impact, either physically or with the emotional pain of those long-buried memories.

After the fifth lash, he felt the skin break as the whip criss-crossed a previous cut one time too much for the skin to remain intact. The feel of blood running down his back and beginning to soak the waistband of his jeans was a minor discomfort compared to the pain flaring over his shoulders, down his spine and out across his sides, but the combination made bile rise in his throat and he could just barely choke back a sobbed plea for mercy. He could not even sag to partially relieve the pulling against the tautly stretched and ravaged skin and sinew of his back, nor could he flinch or try to shield the worst areas of his suffering.

Tears ran down his cheeks unbidden, and Killian could only grit his teeth and hope that the soot, sweat, open cuts, and dried blood hid the trails that would give away his break into emotion. When the lord of the Underworld cackled in twisted delight, Killian hated that he very well might know just how broken he was.

The fallen deity released the magical ties with a quick flourish, and Killian collapsed weakly to the stone floor beneath him, stubbornly only emitting a low grunt of pain at the contact with all his injured body. Somehow, regardless of the despair slowly sneaking into his spirit and mind as the relentless and unendingly shifting modes of torment continued without ceasing, he still managed to grit his teeth and glare back at Hades with the fire and resolve of a formidable pirate captain when the villain knelt next to his broken body and jerked his head up by the hair to hauntingly question, “Have you given up hope yet?”

With all the strength he could muster, Killian growled with true hatred in his eyes, “Never.”

And for a relieving moment, Hades left to find a new way to harrow him.

When he and Emma finally shuffled at last from the cavernous underground lair he had been trapped in since his death, Killian went to his knees, no longer able to put his feet forward and support his own weight, even with Emma’s urging and support. At least they were out of the dank, winding maze of darkness below, and Killian almost felt that in itself more a miracle than he would have expected, even if they weren’t free of this cursed realm yet.

Emma appeared puzzled when she managed to half-drag, half-steady him to a shore where an empty rowboat awaited them. It sent off concerned warning bells in Killian’s head to see her wild-eyed glance flit nervously from side to side and her mumble to herself, “Where are they?” His dazed mind fumbled through guilty confusion wondering who she had brought with her and dragged into danger on his undeserving behalf. At the same time, his tongue had been clumsy and thick with dehydration between all the sweat and tears he lost without a bit to drink. True, his no-longer-living system shouldn’t need rehydration, but it didn’t seem to convince his mind he wasn’t thirsty, especially after the fires and ravages of the last few days he had begun to fear would encompass his eternity.

Pushing past her confusion, Emma didn’t hesitate long on that bleak, rocky bank; somehow she had managed to force him up once again, if only long enough to help him drag his heaving carcass into the small vessel awaiting them and collapse in its stern as she took up an oar. “We’re almost out, Killian,” she whispered, grim determination in her voice as she began to paddle. “Rest. We’re going to get you out of here, I promise.”

Again, he wanted to protest, to insist he wasn’t worth it and that she should save herself and leave him to his fate, but his weakened body wouldn’t seem to allow him to think clearly enough to speak his mind with sense.

The next thing he knew, his eyes were blinking open again, as the boat bumped against another rocky outcropping, still not under open sky, but seeming less dark, less encroaching somehow. Emma was leaning over him a mere moment later, asking if he was with her, and seemed to want to touch him but was biting her bottom lip as her worried eyes scanned his form, as if not sure where to touch that wouldn’t add to his suffering.

Other voices began to filter into his awareness then; a gasp and pained exclamation of his name, the dismayed and teary “Oh, Killian!” clearly belonging to Snow White. He heard a low, angry curse that was no doubt his fellow reformed outlaw mate’s voice, and David’s was an added murmur, as if trying to direct the others.

“Can you get out of the boat?” Emma asked him gently.

He tried to focus his swimming vision on her face, and breathed a pitiful admission that he hated himself for uttering. “I’ll try, Love...but...I-I’m not sure I can walk any further…”

She blinked tears back at that, finally seeming to have decided to at least risk squeezing his hand for a moment within her own trembling touch. “That’s okay,” she managed hoarsely. “Just step out, and my dad and Robin are ready to help you.”

He somehow managed to heft himself up, wobbling more than he should, and stumbled out of the boat onto solid ground once more. Dave and Robin both reached out to steady him, and he felt Emma hovering at his back, but none of them were quite able to stop his fall as he crashed to his knees once more and was sucked into another reliving of his torture…

Hades’ minions, two burly demons not quite human or beast, but some grotesque amalgam he hesitated to ponder, forced him to his knees on Hades’ barked order. Much as he tried to resist, to fight back, he had already been kept for days without nourishment or rest, plagued by dreams of his not coming back to himself in time and letting Nimue strangle the life from his beautiful Swan, of leaving the mark to do its work and allowing her boy and the rest of her loved ones to suffer in this hell he now inhabited, and the certainty that if he could get back to those he had once thought might almost be his family too, they would turn from him one by one, having at last come to realize the darkness that had always haunted his soul. Killian didn’t know if his infernal jailer had sent these visions or if they would have beset him regardless after the way he had fallen to the Darkness and given it free reign, but they give him no quarter, and his spirit was wrung and weakened even before each new physical torment began.

The henchmen - he had the tiniest glimmer of solace at the momentary urge to call them Pain and Panic, remembering a distant better time when Henry had shown him the animated picture version of Hercules, Hades and the rest - had iron grips, and held him there on his knees, arms outstretched, unable to move or shield himself from whatever blow was coming next. His head lolled slightly forward, the slight drop in his guard and the thought of a happier memory made his reality all the more shattering, and it took him a moment to register the slight smoky scent in the air before Hades stepped into view with a burning, red hot brand in his grasp.  The exiled god watched recognition dawn in his prisoner’s eyes with sadistic glee. “You’ve been disappointingly stoic in the face of all my trials, Captain,” he mused leisurely, looking for all the world as if he were about to sit down for a pleasant tea rather than torture someone into madness and despair. “However,” he chuckled, leaning in to pat Killian’s roughly stubbled and bruised cheek, “I think this might just do the trick.”

He stood back up and without further warning shoved the brand into Killian’s side. The fiery agony caused Killian to buck fruitlessly against the arms holding him in place; a long, low keening sound ripped from his throat unbidden as the smell of his own flesh sizzling turned his stomach.

“Aha!” Hades crowed triumphantly, moving slightly behind Killian to next press the brand to the pirate’s opposite shoulder. The brand singed through the tattered remnants of his jacket, practically melting the material into his skin and making the pain linger even once the fiery instrument itself had been pulled back. “I had a feeling that would do the trick.”

Coming back to stand before his victim once more, Hades stopped to look at the man trying with all his might not to whimper or beg, still staring back at him with resistant hatred in those ice-chip blue eyes, the lord of the Underworld grinned insidiously as he jerked back the Captain’s already ripped-up sleeve to bare the dagger-pierced heart tattoo on his forearm. “Just one more, I believe.  A permanent reminder for Captain Hook,” he chortled in fiendish delight, “that you might as well give up your foolish hope. You failed them, just as you failed her.  You continually hurt, and eventually lost, anyone you ever dared to love.”

Killian flinched back into awareness of his present surroundings with a shattered cry. Pain still radiated from all the wounds that had throbbed in his nightmarish reverie, and it left him unsure of where he was or what was happening around him. There had been motion; he was certain that he had been moving, though not whether his own feet had been taking the steps. However, at the gasp which had escaped him and the whimpering which he realized gradually was coming from his own throat, everything had come to a halt.

Emma’s beautiful, golden hair and troubled face caught his sight as she moved to stand before him. Hesitantly placing her hands on either side of his face, her thumbs stroked his battered skin for several calming seconds. He couldn’t help the wince at even that most gentle contact, and yet he didn’t want her to stop. He tried to focus on her words and to nod in agreement when she murmured softly, “I know it hurts. I’m so sorry, Killian. But we’re almost there. Then we’ll let you rest, I swear.”

He realized that he was being mostly carried between David and Robin, his arms slung over their shoulders, and his head full of sweat and blood-matted hair lolled to the side and resting in the crook of the man he had hoped to call father-in-law’s neck. He was upright, but his feet were barely scuffling along, mostly dragging the ground as the other two men propelled him carefully forward. Snow and Emma were just ahead of them, coming to stand in front of a door that strangely resembled the entry to Snow and David’s loft back in Storybrooke above. The fact that Emma’s mother wore a bow and quiver of arrows over her sensibly sedate peacoat only served to confuse him further, and he wondered for a second if some sort of delirium had set in.

However, it seemed that the sights before him were real as Emma opened the door to reveal an almost perfect replica of the Charmings’ Storybrooke apartment. The only difference he could see at first glance was the fact that like all of the Underworld he had seen so far, it was tinted with a sort of dark red lens, as if seen through fire or blood. Emma didn’t slow or stop, but lead them across the eerie copy of the living room to a separate bedroom just off it, where Dave and Robin finally eased him down to the soft surface of a bed - thankfully before he could lose consciousness again.  Sight wavered unreliably in and out for several minutes, though Killian heard murmuring voices in low whispers at the doorway, before footsteps died away, the door closed, and then he heard the soft pad of light feet drawing back to his side again.

“Killian?...Can you hear me?” Her usually brash and confident voice sounded tear-choked and hesitant to his ears, paining him further to think that he had caused her distress even as he struggled to part dry and bitten-raw lips to make an audible reply. He might have been angry beyond all measure with her when he woke to realize she had turned him into the evil he hated in order to keep him alive, but all of that had faded away with the agony and apology in her eyes on the shore of that lake.  What she’d been made to do in penance, the shock of Excalibur thrusting home within his body, the wave of light transforming her back into his savior, and that final (they’d believed so at least) goodbye had washed the bitterness and the desire for vengeance from his veins. Since then, there had only been room for pain and the gnawing absence of his True Love...not room for much at all beyond the missing her.

She was beside him once more; Killian felt the bed dip gently with her weight as she set herself down on the very edge of it near his hip. A moment later, her tender hand was carefully smoothing his dark fringe of hair back from off his forehead where grime, sweat and blood had plastered it. He managed to blink his eyes open enough to look at her briefly, hoping his expression would somehow convey the words he couldn’t seem to produce to tell her he could hear her, he forgave her if she could forgive him in turn, he still loved her, he had feared he would never see her face or feel her touch again, and even that comfort was enough for him to have begun to heal.

Finally, Killian managed a small nod of his head, to which her lips tilted up in the barest hint of a sad smile. Humming low and soothingly in the back of her throat, Emma continued to run her fingers through his hair, despite how matted and dirty Killian was certain it must be. In truth, it wasn’t clear who was more calmed by the action - himself or his love. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before her fingertips brushed against a sensitive spot where Hades had jerked his head up by the roots of his hair and Killian could not help but flinch.

A distressed sound escaped Emma’s lips as she quickly withdrew her hand, already apologizing as she stood and hurried off - worriedly explaining how she had forgotten herself in her gladness to simply be near him again instead of beginning to treat his wounds.

The sound of water running gained his interest momentarily, and then he felt the bed dip beneath him once more as Emma returned to his side. A warm washcloth touched his face as she laid it over his forehead and eyes for several seconds before beginning to gingerly dab at the dried blood and grime smeared across his forehead and cheeks. She got up once, twice, and yet a third time, keeping the wash rag warm and damp so as to ease the dried matter from his bruised and broken skin without having to scrub any harder than absolutely necessary. And, even with the occasional twinges of pain at her ministrations, Killian felt his tightly clenched and abused muscles begin to relax at last beneath her care.

It wasn’t until she had finished washing his face and neck, unbuttoned and removed the ruined ribbons of his jacket and shirt to bathe his shoulders, chest, and stomach, tearing up at the damage that revealed, and urged him gently to sit up so she could cleanse his back as well, that he tried to tell her even a little of what had happened.

She tried to be strong, to remain calm and merely listen to him, to be there for him as he exorcised whatever demons and trauma he needed to release, but he couldn’t choke out much before the emotion welling up in his chest clogged his words and forced him into silence again. Emma couldn’t stop the first, or the second, silent tear which slipped down her cheek in response to what little he had been able to share (and the crushing guilt that she had helped to put him in his attacker’s clutches) and merely seeing the aftereffects written upon his skin. However, even if she couldn’t be as strong and solid for him to lean on as she had hoped, she could see he was clinging to control, to sanity, as desperately as one would to the last board in a shipwreck so as not to drown in the storm still swirling around him.

Even before she finished washing the blood from his skin, disinfecting and bandaging the cuts and stabs and burns, she merely pulled back and stared into his eyes, hands cradling his face until he drug in a ragged, rattling breath before she finally whispered, barely audible against his lips, “It’s okay, Killian. Let it go.”

For several long, tense seconds, Killian merely stared back at her - his faze so wrought, so broken, that Emma almost panicked, not sure that she could truly help him or that she was equipped or enough. Then, slowly, the blue of his eyes clouded, washed paler by the wave of tears that suddenly began to run down his face as it crumpled, the removed and controlled facade collapsing at last as his shoulders began to shake with sobs.

Not knowing what else to do, but glad that maybe he was finally allowing himself what she suspected her needed, Emma pulled him to her chest, hoping she didn’t hurt him too badly as she did, and held on as he buried his head against her and let himself cry.  Emma didn’t shush him or try to speak; she would soothe him when he was ready, but for the moment she sensed her pirate needed to fall apart, to release the pent-up pain and fear and anger. It made her wonder just how much he had kept buried, and for how long.

All the while as she held him, Emma found herself apologizing over his silent sobs, unable to stop, admitting that she knew how she had hurt him, how she had been wrong to disregard his wishes, and swearing that she would never let her needs so supersede his own again. She would do whatever he needed.

Eventually though, as the storm of emotion passed and his shaking stilled, she realized Killian was trying to answer her.  Moving his head only slightly, she finally heard his murmured, “Emma, Emma...no, my Love...enough.  We’ve both learned…and we’ve punished ourselves too much.  It’s over, it’s forgiven…”

She was the one to shake her head then, almost unable to believe he could truly let it go, her hand cradling the back of his head and stroking the strands of his dark hair. “Killian...what I did...I can’t make it right...I can’t undo what happened to you because I…”

His battered, beloved hand, scraped raw with knuckles swollen and bloodied, but still beautiful to her, came to cover her lips, stopping the flow of words, “Sh...sh…” he soothed. “Emma...all I need is for you to keep holding me.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Emma nodded tightly and pulled her True Love into her careful embrace once more. It wasn’t all going to fade immediately; he wasn’t healed with a single touch, but she felt for the first time since their whole ordeal had begun, perhaps even since she had picked the dagger up from the street and willingly become the Dark One, that they would in time be alright.

To his simple, bare request, she could only promise with quiet certainty, “Always, Killian. You hear me?... Always.”

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @ouatwinterwhump @spartanguard @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @laschatzi @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @teamhook