#customer centric (4)

#corporate masterlist summary: you arrive in tokyo and spend a few days catching up and reminiscing. jin comes as well, with a few old friends that you haven’t seen in years. Or, you wander around the city visiting familiar places and go to a club with people you haven’t called friends in years. word count: 8656 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, lots of alcohol a/n: this is part 1/2 of being in tokyo!! this is the top i envisioned for oc lol

You missed Tokyo, and Tokyo missed you. The city itself brings bittersweet memories to you, memories of your childhood with your dead father and grandmother passing through your mind as if you’re watching a movie.

Your dad had brought you to Tokyo every summer when you were young, until you were about seventeen or eighteen. Tokyo had become more of a second home than a vacation place for you.  You haven’t been here since college, about two years before your dad passed away. But despite that, it feels like home.

You can read, write, and speak Japanese fluently, which is part of the reason why you’ve been such an integral part of the team so far. The company’s sister branch is in Tokyo, and it’s not your first time visiting the branch, or interacting with your team members based in Tokyo.

You’ve wondered often, quite bitterly, if your fluency in Japanese is the only reason you’re even still on the team. Your boss and his boss at least trust you enough to be the responsible party for your team- there’s only one other member of your team here, Sana. But she’s relatively new, so the responsibility has fallen onto you.

That’s alright. You operate well under pressure.

You’re joined by your small knit team, Sana, Namjoon and Jungkook. Namjoon had managed to finagle with the budget enough that you could arrive a day early, on Friday, and spend the weekend in Tokyo before the workshops began on Monday.

And Seokjin would be flying in on Saturday morning with some of his friends. You’re grateful that at least Jin was coming. Whenever Jin makes these spontaneous types of trips, they’re bound to be eventful. 

Monday and Tuesday will be filled with workshops, proposals and pitch meetings. You made Jin promise that he’d spend time with you during the weekend, so that you could show him some of the treasures you remembered from the city. Despite your many years of friendship, you had never been to Tokyo with Jin and you want to show him some of the places Appa used to take you to.

You’re excited. Even if Jungkook, with his big, sparkling eyes and his natural curiosity is coming along. Seeing him, even though it’s been well over three months that he joined the company, sends you down a dangerous path that isn’t fair to him or to you.

You have to constantly remind yourself that it’s not his fault and you shouldn’t be mean to him. It’s not his fault that your boss and his boss are out for your blood and refuse to give you recognition. But you can’t help but feel like he’s part of the problem that has faced you for the last three years. Part of the same awful old school, conservative mindset that so many of your peers were part of as well.

The leadership at your company needed a drastic overhaul, but you would be the last person to voice those thoughts out loud. Unless it was to Jin. 

You know Jungkook doesn’t deserve your unspoken rage. You can admit that, but you’re not saint enough to channel it somewhere else. You’ve mellowed out considerably from the initial few months, but you could stand to be a little warmer to him.

After all, the way his bunny smile takes up half of his face when he offers it up to someone so worthy… that means nothing to you.

You arrive in Tokyo with your team at around eleven AM, and you check into your hotel rooms about an hour later. Jungkook and Sana had planned the logistics of the trip, from the hotel to the taxi service to lunch, dinner, and the company sponsored happy hour on Monday and Tuesday. 

Because you were in Tokyo for work, you fully planned on using your company card to the fullest for the next few days. This company could kiss your ass, and you would be more than willing to spend as much as you needed to as a subtle ‘fuck you’. It was your version of flipping off your boss, for when he would have to approve your expense report sheet. 

Namjoon had given you Friday to yourselves, to get acquainted with the hotel room and the area itself. Sana and Jungkook had done a good job with choosing the hotel- it has a wonderful view of the city from the rooftop, and being inside the sophisticated hotel with it’s hues of black and white and pops of color and elegance. This regal building screams opulence and you’re bathing in the luxurious feel of it all.

The diamonds of the chandeliers hanging high above you glint in the dim light of the lobby, bouncing off of the sleek, black piano and adding to the romantic air. Was this a love hotel? You scoff to yourself, keeping your head down as you exit the hotel and head in the direction of your favorite park, the Happo-en Garden. 

When you had told your therapist that you’d be coming to Tokyo for the first time since your father’s death, she had immediately picked up on your hesitation-

“It feels weird to be there without him. Almost like the place doesn’t exist if he doesn’t,” You scoff, wringing your hands together.

“It certainly exists without him. And you do, too,” She says kindly, “Maybe you’ll feel close to him when you go there.”

And she was right, as she usually is. You sit alone at a freshly painted red bench with a box of street snacks, including some of Appa’s favorites. The sunshine glimmers against the still lake in front of you, hues of green fading to orange and red reflecting in the murky water. 

This park was a favorite of Appa’s-

“We’re still in Tokyo, but it feels like we’re so far away. Right, sweetheart?” He asks, dark eyes shining. Appa’s hand tightens around yours and you nod excitedly.

“Yeah! Like we’re close to the princess’s castle!” You gasp.

“That’s right, but the only princess I see here is you,” Appa smiles and you beam at him, all smiles and sunshine.

The memory is from when you were maybe seven or eight years old. Everytime you came to Tokyo with Appa, you always came to this park. Specifically to this area, where Appa claimed that the sun shined on the leaves and the water in a specific way that made everything feel like magic.

You had always scoffed at him, especially as you grew older and the lines around his eyes grew deeper. But you still entertained him. You never saw that magic that Appa claimed to see, but now, you wonder how you could ever not see it.

A breeze ruffles through the trees, whistling as it threads through your hair and running over the water. The clouds part for a moment, allows a burst of sunbeams to spread over the water and you gasp at the sudden golden filter over the surroundings in front of you.

Another breeze, one from your left side, presses against your shoulder and your cheek. Almost like it’s whispering to you. You whip your head to the side, only to find nothing next to you. You feel like you’re floating, with the gentle caress of the wind to keep you company.

You eat your snacks in silence, embracing the way that it feels like the wind is Appa’s caress against your skin.

By the time you return to the hotel, the sun is beginning to go down and a bittersweet sort of happiness settles in your heart. You feel closer to your dad than you have in a long time- this city was bound to feel like home with its welcoming arms curling around you warmly. You had spent the better part of the day visiting old sights and places that you had frequented to with Appa. 

It was peaceful, like a walk down memory lane. You could almost see your younger self bursting at the seams with joy at all of the new places. You could almost see her so eager to learn and demanding that Appa teach you Japanese immediately.

You wonder where that girl went. She’s lost, buried beneath layers and layers and maybe someday you’ll find her again.

Stopping by one of your favorite restaurants, you order all of your favorites times three. For your colleagues to have something to feast on when you returned from your day trip. You hadn’t been on your phone for most of the day, choosing to mute the group chat with your colleagues so you could truly be alone. 

Once you approach the familiar blue neon sign of the restaurant, you send them a text:

you: evening all. dont worry about dinner, Im bringing lots of food back sana: look who woke up from her coma namjoon: did you put it on your card? you: of course i did. you dont have to remind me joon ;)  you: want to have dinner together? jungkook: ya where should we eat Namjoon: come to my room, it’s room 1804 you: ok, be there in about thirty min

With your heart feeling full, brimming with fondness for your teammates, you pay for the heavy bags of food and make your way back to the hotel. You can’t help but smile as you walk with a little pep in your step.

“You should have asked one of us to help you,” Jungkook says reproachfully, taking half the bags from you.

Your arms ache, not that you’ll admit your stubbornness. You only smile sheepishly, “It was only a fifteen minute walk.”

“And this is a lot of food,” Jungkook muses, peeking inside as his doe eyes sparkle in anticipation.

“It’s our first team dinner in Tokyo. We deserve it,” You shrug.

“I also bought a few bottles of wine,” Sana chirps, dangling two bottles of red in her hands, “We deserve it.”

You laugh and she winks at you. Namjoon is already setting up the many boxes of food on the mahogany wooden desk in the corner of the room. The curtains are pulled back, affording you of a breathtaking view of the city lights and the now hanging moon high in the sky.

“The boss has the best view, huh?” You tease, nudging his shoulder.

“Jungkook picked it,” Namjoon shrugs, “I just wanted to share the view with you all.”

“How sweet of you,” You say sincerely, “Dinner with a view. That’s pretty romantic. And Jungkook has good taste.”

Jungkook’s ears flush at your praise and he covers his ears for a second. Not that you notice. You sit on the floor, across from Jungkook and offer to scoop food onto everyone’s plates for them. You ignore their protests and do it anyway, quietly asking how much of each they want. Sana fills up plastic cups with wine and labels everyone’s cup with a black marker so you can all keep track of them.

“How classy of us,” Namjoon snorts but says thank you to Sana.

“Did you bring wine glasses in your luggage?” Sana shoots at Namjoon, “I didn’t think so.”

You stifle your laugh behind your hand and shake your head. “Feels like college, if only those cups were red,” You joke.

“My roommate still uses red cups sometimes, for casual purposes,” Jungkook says softly, “It drives me up the wall. Like, can you drink out of a normal cup or what? I get flashbacks to beer pong almost every morning.”

You laugh a little harder at that, and the sound is sweet in Jungkook’s ears. He wants to see if he can get you to laugh like that a little more.

“I mean, we’re grown now. I can’t believe Taehyung sometimes, having his morning orange juice in a red solo cup. It’s heinous.”

Your eyes are overflowing with mirth, the sound of your genuine happiness echoing in Jungkook’s ears and he can’t help but smile in return.

“Morning orange juice,” You mutter, “That’s adorable. Taehyung? That’s the name of your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, “We did undergrad together and he’s an aspiring art gallery curator. He’s actually coming here tomorrow-”

“Wait, hang on,” You say after chewing through a mouthful of noodles, “Is this Taehyung, as in Kim Taehyung who you snuck into that bar with and he ended up getting absolutely hammered and stealing three bottles of alcohol? Before getting kicked out and Jin and I took you both home? That Taehyung?”

The fondness with which you speak of Taehyung unnerves Jungkook. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, “That Taehyung.”

“Sounds like a real class act,” Sana says dryly.

“Wow, I haven’t seen him in years,” You exhale, “I think Jin’s bringing some friends from college tomorrow, too.”

“Yeah, he mentioned a Jimin and a Hoseok,” Namjoon adds.

“Damn, Sana, maybe we should’ve brought our friends, too,” You murmur, teasing but honestly, you don’t really have anyone you would’ve asked to bring, “Can’t wait to see what this boys weekend brings.”

You fully anticipate that Seokjin will rope you into whatever shenanigans they have planned, and you don’t even feel bad about crashing. You make a mental note to let Sana know of whatever plans they invited you to, so that she wouldn’t feel left out.

They don’t ask where you were all day, and for that you’re grateful. The lines of professionalism are beginning to blur for you, and you don’t want to burden them with your feelings and problems. You don’t want them to think differently of you for trying to catch a glimpse of Appa in your memories. 

Jin would say you were being silly, but you can’t help it. Maybe someday, but not today.

But Jungkook does wonder. Where were you all day? When the group chat was going off, you were silent. It was none of his business, but he’s curious. And he’s curious about you. You hadn’t changed out of your day clothes or taken your makeup off. He can see the nearly gone darkened stain of your gloss on your lips and the curl of your lashes. Jungkook keeps his eyes above your neck, knowing that if his eyes begin to wander he would be even more of a goner than he already was.

It’s September in Tokyo, meaning that it was warm during the day and somewhat chilly in the evenings. Your dark green long sleeved shirt is tucked into your shorts, complete with a black belt, leaving your tanned thighs on display. Jungkook thinks he catches a glimpse of a tattoo peeking from your shorts, but he thinks he imagines it. 

Until your shorts ride up just a little and he sees an array of colors and the fleeting sight of a flower on your upper thigh. Jungkook swallows nervously and stuffs his face full of udon noodles without hesitation. If his mouth is stuffed with food, then nobody will look twice at him and he can keep his thoughts to himself and ogle at you in peace. 

The logic makes sense in his head.

Your voice carries over to Namjoon, telling him that you’ll be picking Seokjin, Jimin and Hoseok up in the morning with the rental car.

“Hey, if Taehyung is arriving at the same time, do you want me to pick him up?” You ask, turning your gaze to Jungkook.

“Huh?” Jungkook asks. You roll your eyes.

“Taehyung. If he arrives at the same time as Jin, Jimin and Hoseok, do you want me to pick him up?”

“Er,” Jungkook says eloquently, “He’s actually been here for the last week. Thanks, though.”

You want to say that Jin would cause a scene and whine at you if you didn’t pick him up from the airport, the prince that he is. But you keep it to yourself- after all, he’s somewhat of a boss to Jungkook and Sana. 

You nod in understanding and shove more noodles and meat into your mouth. You stretch your legs out in front of you and Jungkook doesn’t look away, instead allowing his eyes to rake over you shamelessly. Nevermind that Namjoon and Sana are right next to him, probably wondering why he’s staring you down so intensely.

The four of you spend the rest of the evening discussing your plans for the weekend, avoiding the topic of work altogether. It’s nice, you can almost believe that you’re all just four friends making a weekend getaway without the confines of work looming over your heads.

Namjoon offers to split the remaining food amongst the four of you and puts equal amounts of everything into each container for all of you to take back to your rooms.

And then Sana pours more wine for each of you and you feel yourself beginning to get more and more relaxed with each sip you take. You want to open your stitched together lips, tell them how it’s been so long since you’ve had alcohol with anyone who wasn’t Jin. You want to tell them that you like red wine more than white wine, but nothing beats soju-

“What’s your favorite kind of wine,” Jungkook asks. He comes to sit next to you on the floor, stretching his legs out. His shoulder brushes against yours and you feel something like electricity at the soft touch.

“Um… I like reds over white wine. But I haven’t had that many reds to say which kind is my favorite,” You muse.

“Guess we’ll have to try some more red wine, huh?” Jungkook says, his eyes sparkling and bunny smile on display. 

Your heart warms and sputters at the same time.

“Yeah,” You nod breathlessly, “What about you? What do you like?”

“I’m not picky. I don’t really like cabernet,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “Too bitter for me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” You giggle, unable to believe that such a noise is coming out of your mouth. Despite Sana and Namjoon having their own conversation on the other side of the room, it feels like it’s just you and Jungkook for a minute in your own bubble.

“I like a good chardonnay, too. Nice ‘n crisp.”

“Me too, I love that crisp taste of a good white wine,” You reply, unable to keep your eyes off of him for longer than a second. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are a pretty pink and you wonder if his cheeks are as warm as yours are.

“Thought you didn’t like white wine?” Jungkook murmurs, head tilting inquisitively. 

“I prefer red, but if there’s white wine in front of me, I mean,” You shrug, “It’s not like ‘m gonna say no.”

“Oh? We’ll have to test that out, too,” Jungkook smiles, “I like soju the best. Nothin’ beats soju.”

“Yeah, peach and green grape,” You say knowingly, “The only flavors with rights.”

“Exactly. You get me,” Jungkook nods with wide eyes. He asks you about Tokyo, if you come here often. You answer him somewhat vaguely, but tell him that you grew up reading, writing and speaking Japanese. He looks impressed by that and the fondness in the lines of his lips startles you.

You chalk it up to the romance of this city making you soft and pliant to his doe eyes and the warmth of his smile. He’s so easy to get lost in- you find yourself leaning closer to him to hear what he has to say about his own travel dreams. He wants to go to New York City and Bangkok and Athens- the way his eyes light up constricts around your heart.

Every part of him radiates warmth and you want to be draped by it. He says something that makes you smile and laugh, and you swat at his shoulder reflexively. Jungkook only looks at you in that way. The way that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. He’s good at that.

He has hearts and stars in his eyes for you and it makes you choke.

Maybe you had imagined it all because you remember where you are. You’re in your boss’s hotel room and he’s standing right there. Jungkook sees the spark in your eyes disappear immediately and you pull away just as quickly, as if the moment had never happened.

He won’t deny the sting, but you’re so easy to get lost in. The fog in his mind clears, and while it’s only been a few minutes that you’ve been alone. It feels like much longer. But Namjoon and Sana are still deep in conversation, his dimples on display and her smile bright.

You pull away but your dark eyes are still wide and focused on him, stars swirling in your irises and Jungkook thinks he might fall into this wonderfully brown abyss held in your pretty face. Finally, you move away from him on the floor, almost immediately missing his warmth. You look back at him as you move to get some water, the same curious look on your face.

Your face is burning, and you’re surprised you’re able to keep this cool for this long. The urge to bolt from Namjoon’s hotel room and back to your own is one that you have to fight. But instead, you stay planted where you are. Jungkook confuses you, you hardly even know him and you had let him get so close to you. It’s not something you usually do, but what unnerves you is how nice it felt. The closeness of him, his eyes on you and only you. Are you bothered by it? 

No, you realize. No. You quite liked it. You’re supposed to hate him- he represents everything you hate. A young kid, a boy, raising quickly through the ranks of your corporate world, while you grasp at straws. 

Does he? Does he represent everything you hate? What a load of bullshit.

You swallow again. You need to leave.

“Hey, Joon,” You say softly, touching his elbow, “I’m going to head out. It’s getting late and I’ve gotta head out early tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s heart drops. He’d made you so uncomfortable that you were abruptly cutting your night short. Because of him. He needs to make this right.

“I’ll walk with you,” The words tumble out of Jungkook’s mouth before he can stop them. His heart is pounding in his ears- he needs to apologize before you hate him even more.

“Okay,” You reply with a smile, “Here are your leftovers.”

“I’ll walk with you both,” Sana says, taking her bag.

With that, you say your goodbyes and leave Namjoon’s room to the elevators. Your head feels like static, a wave of thoughts congealing into something impenetrable. The doors ding shut, all three of you standing on opposite ends of the elevator. You can’t look at Jungkook, you can’t see his doe eyes. Not right now.

Sana calls your name, “Thanks for the food.”

“No problem, Sana,” You murmur, “See you tomorrow.”

And then it’s just you and Jungkook in the elevator. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says immediately, “I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. If you don’t wanna talk to me outside of work, I get it-”

“What?” You ask, finally looking at him. You take a step forward, close enough to him that you’re in his orbit. “You didn’t… You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Jungkook. I would have told you if you did. You just… confuse me.”

The last bit comes out as a vulnerable whisper and all Jungkook can do is nod. 

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” You say clearly, casting him a look over your shoulder as you exit the elevator. Your eyes are guarded once more, as if the night hadn’t happened. As if he hadn’t fallen for you even further. You wash him away from your bloodstream quickly and Jungkook feels his heart aching once more.

By the time you pick up Jin, Jimin, and Hoseok from the airport and arrive at the hotel, it’s nearly noon. The car ride back was fun, dare you say it. It amazed you how Jin still remained close in contact with people you went to college with. It felt natural, talking to Jimin and Hoseok. As if years hadn’t gone by.

They were hot, and that was your first assessment when you had met them at the airport. Jimin and Hoseok had both embraced you in tight hugs, without any regard for whether you wanted one or not. You found that you didn’t really mind.

You didn’t know how you were going to survive this weekend surrounded by these many attractive people. 

“We should celebrate. For this reunion,” Hoseok says.

“Jungkook is here, too,” You reply, “A great big university reunion right here in Tokyo, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting you guys work together now,” Jimin says.

“Wait, you guys are friends still?” You ask.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Jimin says, genuine confusion in the handsome planes of his face.

You suppose everyone else is better at making and maintaining friendships than you are. It stings a little, having so many people from university in the same place. In the city that already holds so many memories for you. But you’ll embrace it, because that’s what you’ve been working on. Embracing change.

And of course, what was a boys weekend without a night out at the club? Jin had all but demanded that you come, in true dramatic fashion- I can’t go out without you, you know. I can’t believe you’re considering leaving me like this. I’ll die there without you.

It didn’t take much from you to roll your eyes but agree and tell him that you were inviting Sana.

“Go pregame and get ready with your boys,” You had urged him, “It’s so rare you all are together like this. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Are you sure?” Jin asked with uncertainty and you had only smiled warmly at him. 

“Yes, Seokjin. I’m sure. I’ll be crashing the party soon, don’t worry,” You reassured him and he left your hotel room. He promised to text you when to come and you just nodded, shooing him away.

That had been nearly two hours ago, and you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup with Sana getting ready in the bathroom. Music is playing through your phone and once you’re done with your lip gloss, you make drinks and prepare shots for you and Sana.

“You’ve gotta tell me how you’re friends with so many hot men,” Sana says, taking a seat on the bed.

You scoff, “I’m really only friends with Jin. The rest of them come with Jin, we’re hardly friends.”

“Oh?” Sana asks with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow, “You all went to school together, right?”

“Yeah… Something like that,” You say lightly, “Jin kept in touch with all of them. I didn’t.”

You leave it at that and Sana knows not to press further.

“They’re all nice guys. I always had fun with them,” You say fondly, “You will, too.”

“Cheers to that,” Sana grins, “We look hot. Let’s take a picture.”

“Should we send it to our boss,” You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, that would send him off the deep end. He’d be here in five seconds, dragging us out by our ears,” Sana rolls her eyes as well with a laugh.

You try your best to make Sana feel as comfortable as she can with you. At least so that she’s comfortable when you go meet up with the guys later. You know it can be intimidating being around people who are so close, but they’ve always been welcoming.

It begs the question- why did you let them all go?

You don’t have time to unpack all of that. By the time Jin texts you, telling you to come to his suite on the eighteenth floor, you and Sana are three drinks and two shots in.

You’ve drank more in the last two days than you have in the last year alone. At least that’s what it feels like. 

You make sure to take your hotel card, phone and wallet and ensure that Sana does as well. Giggles erupt from the both of you when you enter the elevator, and excitement thrums in your veins. The liquid courage bouncing around in your veins makes you feel relaxed and you tug Sana’s hand out of the elevator once the steel doors open.

You text Jin from outside his door, you can already hear the loud peals of laughter and the beat of music through the walls. You wonder if they’ve gotten any noise complaints yet, but probably not- his room is the only one on this side of the hotel. He probably did this on purpose.

When he doesn’t answer your text, you decide to knock obnoxiously and Sana giggles at your impatience. On your fifth knock, the door swings open and you see Jin’s tipsy face complete with reddened cheeks and his broad smile. 

He hugs you like he hasn’t seen you in years, he even lifts you off of the ground a little bit. Your heart flutters with affection for him as you whine for him to put you down.

“Jin!” You shriek, “At least go inside, dummy- stop embarrassing me-”

He finally puts you down and holds you by the shoulders to take you in. His eyes are sharp and he says nothing as he assesses your outfit, apparently deeming you as acceptable as he waves you inside. He says hello to Sana, who returns his mellowed out hug graciously.

Jin hands you both full cups, and you trust Jin enough to know it’s a yummy but strong drink. You grip your cup tighter and allow Sana to go in front of you. The last thing you want is for her to feel left out, so you want the guys to be introduced to her first.

Besides, they all already knew you.

Jin does the introductions quickly, the guys all warming up to Sana and bringing her in for hugs as well. Her cheeks are flushed, and you knew she’d feel flustered. They’re intense in their friendliness and it would make anyone feel flustered and warm.

And then their eyes land on you and you wish you could melt into the floor. Six pairs of eyes stare back at you- apparently Yoongi had also decided to come as well. 

College reunion indeed.

You stay close to Jin, offering them a weak wave of your fingers and a smile. 

“Hello boys,” You say dramatically,  “Long time no see.”

“Jin’s been hiding you all to himself, hasn’t he?” Jimin says, not bothering to hide the way he’s looking at you. And you don’t mind, not really- you know you look good.

“I just saw you this morning. When I picked your sorry ass up from the airport,” You reply and Jimin pouts at you as everyone around you laughs at his expense. 

“Still so mean,” Jimin murmurs and you roll your eyes.

And with that, alcohol continues to flow as the chatter continues on.

You cast another glance to Sana, making sure she’s not by herself. You relax when you see her talking to Yoongi and Hoseok, smiling to yourself at how quickly she takes to them.

“Hey pretty,” Jimin says, seeing you near the alcohol and joining you.

“Hey you,” You parrot back and he smiles at you in that sweet, disarming way, “Want a drink?”

“You always made the best drinks,” Jimin says, handing his cup over to you. You ignore the way your chest tightens at his use of past tense.

“Maybe you just never knew how to make drinks,” You murmur, “Probably still don’t, huh?”

Jimin laughs lightly at that as a silence falls between you both. “You look good,” Jimin exhales, “You doin’ alright?”

You never know what to say to that. “Yeah. You look good, Jimin. You doin’ alright?” 

“Yeah. I’m still in Seoul at the dance school. Don’t be such a stranger,” Jimin murmurs and before you can protest, he pokes your forehead affectionately. 

“You’ll ruin my makeup,” You complain but give him a small smile, “Jimin. ‘M glad to see you. All of you.”

Jimin looks like he wants to say something more. But he bites his tongue. This isn’t the place to pick a petty fight, so he lets it go. Jungkook approaches you both, resting his arm on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin groans dramatically and Jungkook only offers him a smile and a giggle.

“Cup’s empty,” Jungkook says, wiggling his cup to both of you, “Stop hoggin’ the alcohol.”

“Blame Jimin. Everything’s his fault,” You tease and Jimin rolls his eyes at you both.

“It is, isn’t it?” Jungkook grins and Jimin slips out from under Jungkook with another roll of his eyes. “Hey, you met Taehyung yet? My roommate? You ‘member him?”

His eyes are slick with alcohol, and yet they still sparkle at you like you hold all of the answers to the universe in them. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the world. It unnerves you, like many things about him do.

“No, where is he?”

Jungkook shouts for Taehyung to join him and you wince. All of a sudden his sandy haired roommate pops up from the direction of the living area and joins you at the drinks table. He looks a far cry from the boy you had driven home that night many years ago.

You knew being in the presence of so many attractive people was going to kill all of your brain cells by the end of the night.

Taehyung calls your name and nerves seize you inexplicably. 

“You remember me?” The words escape your lips before your brain has a chance to stop them.

“Course I do? The pretty girl who saved Kook and I at that one bar that I’m still banned from?” Taehyung grins, his eyes sweet and sincere.

“Jin was with me too, don’t forget him,” You say dryly, “Nice to see you again after all this time. And you’re Jungkook’s roommate?”

“Unfortunately,” Jungkook chimes in, earning him a laugh from you.

Taehyung is magnetic when he speaks to you, honey dripping from his tongue as he tells you about his journey as an aspiring art museum curator. Passion lights up his dark irises, his smile matching the intensity of it and you’re certain he has this effect on everyone he speaks to. They’re both so close to you, in your bubble and the scent of their cologne wafts into your nose. 

You drink more. You don’t know how to cope with all of this. So you drink.

Jungkook tells you that they’ve been roommates all through graduate school and they had recently moved into a new, bigger place. Now that they were both making a little more money. You find yourself benignly jealous of the life they live- two close friends living together and living for these kinds of nights with their other close friends. The bond they built and strengthened over the years is obvious in the way Taehyung holds Jungkook close, the way Hoseok lights up the entire room and makes everyone smile just because he’s smiling, the way Yoongi and Jimin bicker like an old married couple… Namjoon has already slotted himself within the group. Jin probably introduced him to them a while back, you realize.

Jungkook excuses himself to use the bathroom, leaving his cup next to Taehyung on the table. Taehyung’s gaze makes you nervous- the shift in his eyes is apparent as he lazily rakes his eyes over you.

“Kook told me he was workin’ with you again,” Taehyung murmurs, “What he didn’t tell me was how pretty you are.”

“What a line,” You say flatly and roll your eyes. To your surprise, he laughs, his smile making you smile as well.

“Just bein’ honest,” Taehyung shrugs, “‘Snot everyday you see our hot grad school girl after five years.”

“You’re full of it,” You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully, “‘Our?’”

“Jungkook was-” Taehyung starts but he’s interrupted by the man himself. Jungkook was what?

“You talkin’ about me?” Jungkook says, elbowing Taehyung. Taehyung only shakes his head and hands him his cup, before excusing himself. He throws you another charming smile and if you weren’t so on edge, your knees might have buckled.

“He’s…” 

“A pain in the ass?” Jungkook supplies, “Yeah.”

“No, I was gonna say he’s interesting,” You laugh. A short silence settles between you both, giving you a moment to really take him in. You itch your chin nervously before pushing your lips to the rim of your cup and watching him.

You’ve always known that Jungkook was somehow handsome, sexy and cute all at the same time- wide, doe eyes, pinchable cheeks, pretty smile, and then his body… His thighs strain against the tight material of his pants and you’re certain it’s deliberate. His button up shirt is loose but still molds to his muscles in that way where it leaves you wanting more. His shirt is buttoned at the elbow, giving you a peek to the smattering of tattoos on his forearm. His dark hair is parted in the middle, all soft and shiny, and a little long. It settles over his forehead, almost in his eyes, effortlessly. Two hoops in each ear glint in your direction and you swallow nervously.

Jungkook catches you looking at his tattoos- how ironic, considering he’s doing the same of you. The satin black top you’re wearing has a plunging neckline, giving him a view of the tattoos stemming from your upper arm to your clavicle.

It also offers him a teasing hint of your bare chest where if you turn to the side just a little, he catches a glimpse of even more. It makes him swallow, just as nervous as you. The top itself is loose, only cinched a little at the waist but your pants are tight, your strappy heels adding even more dimension to your legs.

You nervously twist the layering of gold necklaces around your neck. Jungkook has always thought you were beautiful, but he’s never seen you like this. Not even when he knew you years ago.

“Your cup’s empty again,” You laugh nervously, offering to make him another drink. You don’t know what to do with your hands, wanting to keep busy.

“Oh,” Jungkook breathes, “Yeah.”

He tries to keep his eyes on your hands, really he does. But you bend forward just a little and his eyes immediately flit to your plentiful chest. 

Jungkook thinks he might die, and what a way to go.

You pull away from the table, handing him his drink and he thanks you quietly. Jungkook ignores the way your eyes shine curiously at him, and he buries himself in the confusion fuzzing up his mind.

Jin, to your relief, pulls you away from Jungkook before you can do something incredibly stupid. Like let him burst through your carefully structured walls even further than he already has.

Typically, clubs are not your favorite place to be. The intense crowd, the neon lights, the smoke… It’s all over the top. Usually, you can’t even hear yourself think over the music. Though, you don’t mind the sense of anonymity in such a crowded place. Besides, you’ve heard great things about IBEX, so you’re curious about it.

It’s a huge place, easy for everyone to split up, but still small enough that you can easily find your group. You urge Sana to go have fun with the guys as you order a round of drinks for everyone. As one of the oldest of your friends, you felt that sense of responsibility for them. Even if you hadn’t called them friends in years.

You signal them over once the drinks are ready, catching Namjoon’s eye and beckoning him over. They slowly begin to surround you, shouting thank you’s over the music. Jimin slings his arm around your shoulders as if it’s nothing. As if he’s known you for all this time.

It makes you feel warm. He gazes at you with crescent eyes and a full smile. It makes your heart thump heavily in your chest.

“Cheers,” Jimin says, tearing his eyes away from you and towards the group. His toast elicits a sequence of ‘cheers’ from everyone. You scan across all of them before your eyes inevitably land on Jungkook. He’s looking at you with a smile, the kind of smile that makes you wonder if it’s a smile only for your eyes.

Your smile matches his in intensity, neither of you pulling your gazes away. Until Jin pulls you away from Jimin, exclaiming that he needs to dance with you. His best friend.

The moment passes, and you make sure Sana is okay. She’s conversing with Yoongi now, and he’s laughing at something she’s saying. It makes you feel warm. Again.

You allow the music to pump through your veins as laughter bubbles from your lips freely at Jin’s antics. You entertain him, copying his coordinated movements with his same enthusiasm. You can tell he’s drunk, from the fiery flush in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He abruptly pulls you close to him for a tight hug and holds your face in his hands.

“Jin,” You giggle, “What you doin’?”

“I love you,” Jin giggles, “Y’r my best friend, ‘n I love you.” He always got like this when you were drunk, so affectionate. You wonder how he knows exactly what you need to hear, when you need to hear it.

“Can’t wait for you t’meet Yuna when we get home,” Jin slurs.

“I’m excited, too-”

“She’s nervous y’know,” Jin continues as if you hadn’t said anything, “Knows y’r my best friend.”

“Jin,” You exhale, “Even if she doesn’t like me, you clearly like her. I shouldn’t matter-”

“No,” Jin says sharply, “Why d’you think you don’t matter? You matter to me.”

“Jin-”

“Stop it,” He silences you and you comply with a sigh. 

“She doesn’t have to be nervous around me,” You finally say.

“You can be a little scary when you want to be,” He teases.

“That’s exactly how I want to be known,” You scoff and Jin laughs, swaying with you offbeat to the music. You stand with Jin like that for a few minutes, sipping on your drink and giggling at his antics.

“Seokjin,” You murmur, voice a little shaky, “I never say it but… I-I love you. So much. You’re my best friend and my rock. I don’t know who I’d be without you-”

“You’d be you,” Jin says without missing a beat, “You’d be scary, intense, kind, genuine, petty, funny and beautiful with or without me, sweetheart.”

Jin sees wetness in your eyes and pulls you in for another hug. “None of that,” Jin murmurs, “Hey, let’s take a picture ‘n send it to Grandma. She’ll get a kick out of that.”

You stand in Jin’s arms, in the crowd of people surrounding you and not paying attention to you. Despite the throng of people around you, it feels like it’s just you and Jin, and your friends in the club.

“Let’s get back to our friends,” You say, “They probably think we’re making out-”

“You would be so lucky,” Jin scoffs, “Only Yuna gets this handsome face.” You pinch his cheeks affectionately and coo at him.

“Hey, by the way,” Jin says, “Not to be totally unprofessional here. But I’m pretty sure Jeon Jungkook has the hots for you. Kid won’t stop lookin’ at you. Not that I can blame him, I mean look at your tits.”

With that statement, Jin walks away from you, leaving you confused and curious- two words becoming increasingly common with your thoughts of Jeon Jungkook.

“Hey pretty,” comes a sweet voice to your right side. You already know it’s Jimin before you meet his sincere eyes.

“Hey you,” You reply, “Wanna dance? We used to always be in sync.”

If Jimin is surprised he doesn’t show it. He only takes your drink and finishes it, placing it on a high table near you. He walks behind you, a hand on the small of your back as you weave through the crowd easily. Bodies push back into you but you only dance along with them to move past. Jimin pulls you closer to him once he finds a spot, pulling you into his side. He turns you so that you’re facing him, the lights of the club illuminating the sheen of his lips and the shine in his eyes. You push a stray strand of his silver hair back behind his ear.

“I meant it you know,” Jimin murmurs, for your ears only, “You look good.” You lean into him at his praise, a hand on his chest. Your nails press into the soft material of his dress shirt and he tightens his grip around your waist, thumbs rubbing circles. 

“You do, too,” You reply easily, “You always did.”

Jimin scoffs but you look at him earnestly. “I mean it,” You say with a smirk, mimicking his words. He says nothing, only holds you and rolls his hips into yours to the beat of the music. He watches you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction. You snake a hand to the base of his neck and lightly scratch as he presses his nose to your neck. You’re lucky he’s holding you tight- you’re certain you’re knees would buckle if it weren’t for him.

It’s been years since anyone danced with you like this. You let out a soft sound into his skin and Jimin groans, pressing his hips into yours even more slowly if possible.

“Why’d you leave,” Jimin breathes into your skin, “Missed you. Missed my friend.”

“I was a mess,” You mutter, “I’m still a mess.”

“You’re here now?” He asks, looking at you with big eyes. Jimin cups your face tenderly, and you’re not sure how many of these kind touches you can take for one night.

“Yeah,” You say faintly, “I just… couldn’t. I still can’t.”

You won’t apologize for mending your own cracks the way you needed to. And Jimin knows that. “Don’t be a stranger,” Jimin says and pulls you in for a hug.

“Jimin,” You mumble, “I missed you, too.”

Barely stifling a yawn, you look around for your group. They’re all within eyesight of you- Sana and Yoongi were still engrossed in conversation with each other, Namjoon with Jin, Hoseok and Jimin and Taehyung with Jungkook. Taehyung casts a look over to you and immediately whispers to Jungkook. It shouldn’t surprise you that they both saunter over to you, standing on either side of you. Taehyung wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans against you as if you’re old friends. At this angle, you can see the expanse of his tanned, golden skin since the top few buttons of his shirt are popped.

“See somethin’ you like?” Taehyung asks coyly with a wink.

“No, just wondering why you’re wearing tinted aviators inside,” You mutter, pointing at him, “You look like an asshole.”

Taehyung laughs, throwing his head back good-naturedly, “You clearly don’t know fashion. You must think you’re hilarious.”

Before you can retort, a yawn overtakes you. “Are we boring you?” Jungkook teases.

“No, ‘m just tired,” You blink to force yourself to stop yawning, “Hey, you guys wanna get ice cream?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says instantly.

Taehyung nearly snorts but agrees. By the time you and Jungkook say your goodbyes, and you ask for the tenth time if Sana wants to come with you (she declines, opting to stay with Yoongi), Taehyung is nowhere to be found. Jungkook rolls his eyes, his phone vibrating with a text from him-

taehyung: you’re welcome 

“Tae’s not coming,” Jungkook says slowly, wondering if you might change your mind if it’s just you two getting ice cream.

You shrug, “His loss. I know a great place.”

Taking Jungkook to one of your favorite ice cream places that you used to come with Appa to feels intimate. But it feels right and you’re not bothered by it. Once you buy your respective cones (you pay for both before Jungkook can even fumble for his card), you head back outside for a short walk towards the hotel.

The ice cream place itself was close to the hotel, though you had to Uber here from the club. It’s a nice night for a walk, a little chilly but not uncomfortably so. You and Jungkook fall into an easy conversation, talking about the silliness of your shared friends.

He looks nice under the moonlight, you decide. A light breeze lifts his hair up briefly before it flawlessly settles over his forehead.

“I can’t keep up with you,” Jungkook whispers, his words carrying into the night air.

“What do you mean?” Your heart picks up immediately at the anguish in his tone. The air between both of you shifts immediately. What was easy becomes hardened, the space between suffocating you. You can physically see him pulling away from you. Months, or maybe years, of frustration seems to be coming to a head right here. Right near your favorite ice cream shop.

“One sec you hate me. The next, you’re asking me to get ice cream with you,” Jungkook says, something familiar and icy curling in his brown irises. It always looks so off-putting, the callousness in his eyes. It seems to be directed at you so often these days.

“I don’t hate you-”

“You avoided me for 2 and a half months. You’re only talking to me now because you have to!”

“That’s not true-”

“Oh, really? You telling me that you the last two and a half months was all in my head?”

You stay quiet, because he’s not wrong.

“That’s what I thought,” Jungkook says to himself, tearing his eyes from you. The cold look in his eyes has returned and it makes your heart ache. He can’t look at you like that, you can hardly bear it.

“I’m fucked up, I get it. Don’t think I don’t get it-”

“You left. Without a goodbye and now fuckin’ five years later- my dream girl’s my colleague and she hates me.”

A sudden, chilling epiphany douses you- he has no idea why you left. You know him well enough to know that he’ll feel awful once you tell him. Apparently none of his friends had told him. Maybe they thought it was your story to tell. It’s not much of a story, not really. It’s the story of a heartbroken girl with commitment issues.

Your face drops. Maybe he’s hurting you the same way you hurt him. But it changes nothing.

“You can’t even look at me now!”

“You listen to me, Jungkook,” You hiss, “I’m not your dream girl. I’m nobody’s dream girl, so let’s get that straight. I’m awful a-and terrible and mean- and… 

“My dad died,” You finally whisper, “Appa died and I couldn’t handle grad school so I dropped out. Dropped off the face of the earth. Got the first job I could, for Grandma and me. 

“I fuckin’ dropped out, my daddy died and I can’t look at you sometimes because it fuckin’ reminds me of when I was happy and I can’t chase that feeling because I don’t know what it feels like anymore!”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide, pretty pink lips parted in speechlessness. Fuck. You’ve ruined any chance at friendship with him, you know that. So you bury the dagger even further in whatever this is and you turn on your heel and run. Because that’s all you’re good at. Running. Your eyes are blurry with freely falling tears and the sound of your own heaving sobs are loud in your ears. 

You leave your heart out on the streets of Tokyo, near your favorite ice cream shop but you don’t even hear the sound of Jungkook chasing after you.

Remnants

The night was calm, and cool-just it had been before six summers. The sky was coated with the layers of black clouds who were busy in confining the moon. Thus, the night queen couldn’t appear to enlighten the ink-smeared environs. Compelled in a way or another, the yellow-golden sodium lamps guarding both sides of the narrow streets of Bakuten were fulfilling the duty on behalf of her, yet, not succeeding completely. Under the old breeze, the ever-pacifying river was flowing like a serpent. The liquid black crystal was shimmering-even in the blinding darkness. Two leaves trembled in the soothing, yet, ruthless late spring breeze, others were asleep. The atmosphere was obscure, soundless, empty…well, really?

“Huh…”

The 21-year-old neko-jin threw his golden orbs to the boundless, limitless blue-inked in murk as a little amount of white smoke touched it-coming out through his exhalations, belonging to the half-burnt cigar held in his hand. His lips were turning dark, nostrils were burning, he was feeling as if any volcano had been placed there. The vapors were getting invisible by each passing moment which felt like an eternity to him. The taste of nicotine wasn’t too delicious to his tongue. Rather, it seemed poisonous to his taste buds-well, it really was. Nonetheless, unknowingly, he couldn’t drop it on the ground and pass by. Mysterious the attraction…no no, the addiction was.

With another puff, he took a look at his wristwatch. 11.00 pm, she should have come by then. At least, the text sent in the afternoon had said so. Only for her, he’d crossed miles after miles and reached here. Since he was in solitude, the piece of cigarette was accompanying him. It couldn’t be said that he was enjoying the company of the cigar but it was better than being lonely on the old bridge of Bakuten, wrapped with many bittersweet memories. He’d met her at first at the edge of the river, on the greeneries. She’d smiled like a rose, leaving her own color in his heart. They had got to know each other on the same bridge. He recalled another event when he’d slept while waiting for her but she hadn’t come. His soul dried. Would she….

“Honk!”

Startled, the raven-haired neko-jin looked back, carefully holding the cigarette. A pair of golden headlights shown in the darkness like the eyes of a tigress, waiting silently for its prey. Pulling the door of the black wagon which was almost invisible due to the excessive and strange depth of the night, she came out. Just like that night, he was surprised. Though he was waiting for her, he actually didn’t expect her to appear there. She pushed the door of her car back as it retreated, producing a shrill. Her black heel-worn feet walked towards him, her eyes were somewhere else.

No smile bloomed in his lips. Of course, she’d changed a lot during these years. Her hair wasn’t spiky anymore, blood tresses were straight, smooth, unbound-crossing her slender waist. He couldn’t differentiate between those kohl-streaked bumblebee eyes and the mysterious, passing night. Skin tone in black and dark-violet fitting outfits bloomed like the moon confined in the four walls of the dense nocturnal clouds, along with her hourglass figure and a slight portion of her cleavage. Wine-shaded lips became a bit thick but it only added intoxication to her features. Smirk didn’t rise there too. Seeing her appearance, Ray felt to fall in love with her once again, but couldn’t. Just couldn’t.

With a glimpse, Salima examined Ray. She must have admitted, Ray had grown up too. He was always attractive-it just got enhanced during these seasons. Beefy triceps were visible under the half-sleeves of his white collared T-shirt. Well-built, delicious collar bones could clearly be seen because two buttons at the neckline were undone. Eyes were shinier than the sodium street lamps, the perfume emitted from his body was exotic, erotic. Recently, he’d got a haircut but the black yin-yang bandana was present, wrapped around his forehead. He was looking like a seductive gentleman right now with the cigar. Salima praised him inwardly but didn’t utter a single word. Smiting the concrete surface of the bridge with her heels, she moved towards him.

He was waiting for her, enthralled, speechless-yet, his expressions were blank. But at the last second, she turned back, only displaying her back to him. He screwed his brows, not understanding what actually was wrong with her. To his horror, she slid her hand into the pocket of her jeans, hauling it out with a packet of cherry mond cigarettes and a lighter. Putting one on the flame of the navy-blue pocket ignitor, she simply tucked it between her scarlet-painted lips as if it had never been a big deal to her at all. While doing the entire task, she hadn’t looked back at Ray for once, ignoring his existence on that bridge.

The unexpected boldness of the girl who had been a sweetheart once upon a time shook the neko-jin. He was so awestruck that he didn’t even notice that the cigar between the two fingers of his right hand was decaying. The intoxicating fragrance of cherry and nicotine hovered around him. Then, he noticed that his cigarette was on the verge of dying. Quickly turning back, he puffed it, emitting the vapors in the air. The innocent but inebriating aroma of cherries and the dark but desperate stench of clear red wine got dissolved in each other and created a new flavor, hitting both their nostrils.

“What will happen consuming too many cigarettes?” Surprising the man, the woman pronounced first, “You have already started smelling like a pink rose.”

“And you smell like a blue lotus,” He smirked, puffing a bit of smoke, “No worries, when the intoxication will be over, you’ll also be gone.”

“So will you.” Salima voiced, “By the way, I’m getting married in the next month.”

“So am I, in the next week,” Ray breathed, “Needed a bit of celebration.”

“Independent celebration, huh?” The redhead cocked a brow, not facing the neko-jin, “Sure, continue. I’m doing the same. Coz after it, instead of cherry monds, I’ll get to quench blue lagoon.”

“And I’ll guzzle strawberry milkshake.”

“Here I thought you are a man,” The scarlet chuckled, “However, my addiction for coke is no more. It’s harmful to health, you know. I’ve realized it.”

“Am I still addicted to red wine?” Whether the neko-jin questioned the cyber-princess or himself couldn’t be guessed when he sneered, “Whatever, I think I should break the bottles returning home. They can only increase the pain inside the chest.”

Right at the same time, they tossed the residuals of their cigarettes back. Cherry collided with wine and landed on the ground-not a millisecond before or after each other. When their flames met, it lit more brightly. But they didn’t notice it. Their eyes were burning; they didn’t know whether it was for the side-effect of the cigars or something else. Before tears could have blinded them, they straightly walk towards the respective vehicles, rode them and closed the doors. Not even looking back for seeing each other for one last time, they started their cars, they moved towards at 180-degree, pulsating the spring flurries more and more.

Only the remnants to a pair of cigarettes remained on the bridge, hugging each other, smothered, yet the smokes coming out from them implied that love took place here, once upon a time.

________________________________________________________________

Now now...tell me....should I publish this on ffn? xD 

yes I bring in some pain before the new chapter comes. now if you excuse me I shall go and sharpen my pitchfork in case we don't get any hananene tomorrow.

it's also in my AO3 if you guys prefer it there. idk

important note: don't worry about the ending here, the rest of the manga's supposed to be a follow-up. also cuz I'm uncreative lol

Being a better version of the real world, the stars were surely prettier to look at that night.

Hanako had to thank Shijima for the intricate details put into it. It was the perfect setting, perfect moment.

He just didn't count on what would happen later on that time.

He saw from the corner of his eye Nene climbing up to where a lone telescope stood, taking a peek. Seeing her face brighten up at the sight of the stars, it gave him comfort, yet bittersweetness in the end.

He wouldn't see that face ever again once he left this world, after all.

Sneaking up from her field of vision, he heard her softly mutter to herself, still engrossed with watching the constellation. In all his fashion, he continued for her, making her jump with surprise.

"Oh, Amane-kun! You were here all along?"

He didn't look at her, keeping his eyes at the stars. At that time, he didn't have the heart to do so.

If I look at you too much, it'll just get harder for me to leave, you know.

So he just settled to talking about the stars, one thing he had never gotten to do when he was alive. Well, in this fake world, he can, anyway.

He didn't know how everything had lead up to this. He just remembered meeting this clumsy girl, summoning him for a wish. Of course, he couldn't forget he had been aware of her decreasing lifespan since the start, but he didn't think much of it.

The plan was to merely humor her and go along her silly wishes, let her enjoy her remaining time left. Once that day came everything would go back to how it used to be.

Oh, how wrong he was.

He definitely didn't count caring for her more than he should. He didn't expect developing this kind of fondness to her.

He didn't expect to fall in love at all.

That's impossible. I'm already dead. None of those things mean to someone whose life is already over.

Apparently Nene had proved him wrong.

Perhaps this was why he had let himself work with Tsukasa this time. He let them do whatever, in exchange he would be allowed to put her and Kou in the fake world where they could live happily.

Not worrying about death, not worrying about tomorrow.

Not worrying about losing Nene for good.

Even when he himself wasn't there to see that anymore.

"Amane-kun, do you wanna take a look too? Through the telescope." He heard Nene ask. Putting on a wry smile, he shook his head.

"Nah. I'm good."

"But... It's so pretty."

Just like you.

With his smile growing into a wide grin, he chuckled softly, taking a quick glance at her way before turning to watch the sky once more. "Exactly."

I hope you'll understand.

"If I look at it too much, it makes me wanna go there."

But you know I can't. Not anymore.

"And I've made up my mind now. I'm not going anywhere."

I'm sorry, Yashiro.

He tried breaking the growing tension with another laugh. "After all, going to space is impossible!"

"Hanako-kun."

At the mention of his name, his eyes widened. There was some part of his mind that almost let him break off his facade, and the urge to give away his identity as Hanako sat for a while.

Nene reached out a hand, tugging at his sleeve. She looked at him with a look he couldn't understand.

Sadness?

"I mean... Amane-kun. You are Hanako-kun after all... aren't you?"

Her voice sounded pleading, and a little bit scared. She was looking at his eyes, as if searching for any clue of him being Hanako all along.

How he wanted to say yes. How he wanted to just say, "It's me. I'm here."

But Hanako had to be firm. He can't let her know. He had to keep up this fake persona of his former self, just for her.

"...no." He managed to reply, almost stuttering. It was getting really hard to say no to her, really.

"You really like saying that don't you? But I'm Amane-kun!" He waved his hand around nonchalantly, laughing it off. Maybe if he acted more casually, Nene would brush it off as just a strange thought.

She just stared at him, not finding the situation funny.

You've always been the stubborn type, huh?

Hanako's smile faltered, and he sighed, avoiding her look. Why was she so persistent into convincing herself that? It wasn't like he mattered anyway.

"What... kind of person is he?" He found himself asking. He didn't get it. Scratch that, a lot of things about her didn't make sense.

He found it endearing, though.

"Hm?" She looked kind of surprised by his question.

"Hanako-kun, I mean. Are we really that similar?"

Secretly he was hoping that she would say something profound.

"Yeah... you are similar." He turned around as she stood up and walked away a little, her back turned to him.

"He does various annoying things."

What. Hanako almost commented on that, holding back his words with a weird choking noise. Is that how it is, huh?

"He's always acting like a perv... And making dumb jokes. And he doesn't take things seriously most of the time."

Well... The perv insult I can take, but now your just making fun of me.

"T-that guy's similar to me... how?" Hanako raised an eyebrow at her. Is that how you see me, Yashiro?

"But..." To his surprise once again, she walked back towards him, sitting down and leaning backwards, her head almost touching his shoulder. He felt her hand rest upon the top of his, clutching on it gently.

"I don't... hate him."

At that moment, the shooting stars had began to fill the dark of the sky, painting it bright.

He felt himself tremble a little from her soft tone. Unable to look away.

"I really like him."

He held back a gasp, eyes wide with surprise.

Nene liked him. Not as Amane, not as anything else.

She liked him, because he was Hanako. He was himself.

Suddenly it didn't feel so fair for the both of them. It wasn't fair that she had to say those things, and it wasn't fair he had to hear them, only to leave for good.

If circumstances were different, if this make-believe world were real...

It hurt.

"So... Hanako-kun." Nene's hands turned to his face, bringing him to look up at her. She had a determined look, her form almost glowing against the shine of the moon.

She really was like a star. A star he could never reach, no matter how hard he tried.

Even so, it made him happy she was a star that had remained by his side, when no one would.

"Let's escape together. To the real world!"

Can't you understand, Yashiro? If you come back...

Pained memories from his living past flooded back. He had lost his brother, his future, and now, if Nene were to return to the real world...

...I'll lose you too.

He pulled away from her, not really liking that he had to swat away her hand from him, but he had to. He can't give in, no matter how tempting it sounded.

Besides, he couldn't give her the life she wanted if she came back in the real world.

Nene confused him. Why was she insisting on leaving this world? All he wanted was to protect her!

These words came unspoken, however, as all he could do was stare at this strange, frustrating, beautiful girl in front of him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to give of a humorless laugh.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons he had fallen for her in the first place.

All of a sudden Nene took his hand and pulled him along, with them leaving the rooftop. "Let's go, Hanako-kun!"

"Eh? Wha—where?!" He almost tripped on his feet being dragged by the girl.

Nene smiled brightly at him. "Home, of course! Let's get back to the real world!"

Home.

Muttering the word under his breath, he said nothing else, settling for staring at her as they both made their way out of the school, approaching the gates.

The pain seem to just grow more.

Hanako closed his eyes, letting things take its course.

This was no time to get distracted. It was a matter of time before Shijima completed this fake world, after all. And once it was, Nene's memories of him would vanish.

All for the greater good.

He stood there, watching her open the locked gates, looking back at him. "Alright, it's open! We can get out now!"

All for the sake of her life.

"...I'm not going."

I'm sorry, Yashiro.

What books do you recommend me to read?

I’m not sure what your tastes are but I’ll tell you some of my favorites! To be quite honest, I mainly return to the same books over and over again so the list is rather short and I doubt I have anything to recommend that you won’t have heard of already. I’ll recommend my favorites. It consists mainly of my usual rotation of things i read over and over or books that left an impression on me and I refer back to them often.

When it comes to the non-fiction section just like….keep in mind that most academic texts have many, many problems and I’m not presenting any of the texts I list as The Quintessential Must Read Best Flawless Overview of a topic, I’m mainly listing the books I have found to be approachable and reasonable introductions to topics. Read everything critically, always (and that includes everything else on this list, not just the non-fiction).

Plays:

An Oresteia, translated by Anne Carson (Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, Sophocles’ Elektra, Euripides’ Orestes)

Iphigenia in Tauris by Euripides

I mean like. Shakespeare, obviously; my personal favorites are Hamlet, Twelfth Night, As You Like It, Julius Caesar, and Macbeth; recently, thanks to the productions starring David Tennant, Much Ado About Nothing and Richard II have been added to the list

Doctor Faustus, Edward II, and Dido by Christopher Marlowe

Antigone, particularly Anne Carson’s translation, and after you’ve read Antigone, I’d recommend reading Antigonick, but not before

Lysistrata by Aristophanes

The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde (I feel like Lady Windermere’s Fan is also kind of necessary reading and I do love it of course but I’ve only read it the once, for the sake of it, whereas I’ve come back to the Importance of Being Earnest a million times and the 2002 movie is one of the things I watch when I’m down)

Novels (and Epics)

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett if you haven’t yet, obviously

Maurice by E. M. Forster

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

VIRGINIA WOOLF. everything but particularly the Waves, Orlando, and Mrs. Dalloway. The Waves is my favorite, followed closely by Orlando, but I’d start with the Mrs. Dalloway because it gets you accustomed to Woolf’s writing style and the way she approaches her characters if you haven’t read her before.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (If you haven’t read it yet and you have seen 2005 P&P and love it and you’re opening the novel with the expectation that it’s similar to the 2005 film in tone and feel, you’ll be disappointed. If you’ve seen the 1995 miniseries, that reflects it very well. So just approach it with an open mind with 2005 on the back burner and you’ll find it an amazing and very repressed love story)

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

When the Moon Was Ours by Anna-Marie McLemore

The Iliad (the translation I own is Lombardo. It’s extremely approachable and colloquial and I enjoy it, and if you’ve never read the Iliad and you find it intimidating, I would very much recommend it, but my high opinion is not universal. Fagles and Lattimore are very popular translations and I like them both well enough)

I’m dying to get a copy of Emily Wilson’s Odyssey translation. I don’t love the Odyssey personally but I am a big fan of Wilson and from what I’ve read about her translation and what she’s said about it, if anything could make me enjoy the Odyssey, it would be that translation.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. I would personally recommend reading the Iliad first just because Miller takes…….liberties with it, but I also don’t think there’s a problem with that at all, so if you’re not interested in the Iliad, or you think tsoa would get you interested in it, there’s nothing at all wrong with reading it on its own or reading it first. I just think it’s a genuinely more enjoyable experience to read the Iliad first and then see what Miller does with it. And regardless of what order you read them in, if you read them both you will understand how very different tsoa and the Iliad are from one another and you will not be one of those people who talks about the Iliad when what they mean is tsoa. Again, there’s nothing wrong with tsoa, it’s one of my favorite novels, but it’s just a very separate thing and it gets just a little maddening.

Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson. It’s both poetry and a novel but it’s got to go somewhere so

When I was 14 I got very into Les Mis and i will recommend it. I genuinely love it and it will always have a special place in my heart. I have read the entire brick only once however because as much as i love it. as much as i Relate to the infamous off-topic tangents. there is a limit to my patience.

The Epic of Gilgamesh is just like. extremely good. I really don’t know enough about it to recommend any specific translations; in high school I was given a stapled copy of the whole thing and I read that til I lost it and now if I want to reread it or refer back I just look it up online. I’m a fake fan.

Poetry

If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho translated by Anne Carson

The Beauty of the Husband by Anne Carson

Devotions, Felicity, and Winter Hours by Mary Oliver. Those are the anthologies that I have read and I adore them. I imagine that all of her anthologies are also amazing and all of them are on my to-read list. I don’t think you could possibly go wrong

I do not have the singular published collection of Elizabeth Siddal’s poetry (My Ladys Soul) but I have read all of her poetry and she is an amazing poet and I hold her very near and dear to my heart

Crush by Richard Siken

Useless Magic by Florence Welch……..yall knew what you came here for

Songs of Innocence and Experience by William Blake

Non-fiction and Essay Collections (again. None of these are recommended as the definitive, end all, be all, all-you-need book on any given subject, they’re just some of my favorites). I have limited myself to collection specifically because this is long enough already and if I start just adding essays it’ll never end. All of these were either purchased online for under $10, are available somewhere on the internet as pdfs, or were at my library, so if you look, you can probably find them somewhere (I say this bc while trying to find the authors of some of these I have been stunned by their retail prices and I’m assuring you, don’t be scared off by your initial search bc I sure as fuck did not pay $30):

Citizens: A Chronicle of the French Revolution by Simon Schama

Marie Antoinette: the Journey by Antonia Fraser (controversial but well-researched and approachable and I love it. I would recommend reading like. almost anything else first because Fraser does obviously focus on Marie Antoinette and her life and experiences; and while she does talk about the revolution, it isn’t the focus of this biography, and you won’t understand why it was necessary if you don’t come to it with a good grasp on the broader events outside Marie Antoinette).

A Day with Marie Antoinette by Hélène Delalex

Robespierre: a Revolutionary Life and Liberty or Death: the French Revolution by Peter McPhee

The Black Jacobins: Toussaint L’Ouverture and the San Domingo Revolution by C.L.R. James

If you’re at all interested in 18th century art, I recommend Rococo to Revolution:Major Trends in Eighteenth-Century Painting by Michael Levey

A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn is controversial. But it’s approachable and well-researched and if you don’t know a lot about American history, I recommend it highly (especially for Americans).

Eros, the Bittersweet by Anne Carson (okay literally everything by Anne Carson. All her essays, her poetry, her translations, her weird mashups, all of it. There are a few things I haven’t read yet but. I very much doubt you’re going to be able to go wrong, so just take what I’ve listed as my favorites)

This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. The Climate and the Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein

Black Against Empire: The History and Politics of the Black Panther Party by Joshua Bloom

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes: and Other Lessons from the Crematory and From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to Find the Good Death by Caitlin Doughty (also the illustrations by Landis Blair are absolutely phenomenal. Look at this. I love it so much I pulled it out of the book to hang in my momento mori corner because it’s so beautiful.)

The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan

Alexander of Macedon by Peter Green is. okay we have a love-hate relationship, me and this biography; me, and peter green, but I have major issues with every single Alexander biography I’ve read and this was the first so if you want to start somewhere, I guess go for it.

The Empathy Exams by Leslie Jamison

The Honey Bee by James L. Gould. It’s out of date in some respects but a good, simple introduction into honeybee biology and behavior

Before the Deluge: A Portrait of Berlin in the 1920s by Otto Friedrich

Vanishing Bees: Science, Politics, and Honeybee Health by Sainath Suryanarayanan and Daniel Kleinman

Out of the Past: Gay and Lesbian History from 1869 to the Present by Neil Miller

Holy Madness by Adam Zamoyski isn’t by any means perfect, but it’s a alright introduction to the Age of Revolution. Just don’t let it be the only thing you read. It’s here because it has a special place in my heart as my introduction to it.

Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

Erotic Exchanges: the World of Elite Prostitution in 18th Century Paris by Nina Kushner

Radical Love: Introduction to Queer Theology by Patrick S. Cheng

Our Lives Matter: A Womanist queer Theology by Pamela R. Lightsey

Our Native Bees: North America’s Endangered Pollinators and the Fight to Save Them by Paige Embry

At the Existentialist Café by Sarah Bakewell (I really do not know that much about philosophy or existentialism specifically or this subject generally, so I have no idea where the faults of this book are, but I really enjoyed reading it and it made me think a lot. I have a feeling it’s very simplified so take it with a grain of salt as I did?)

Walden by Henry David Thoreau (just. just. it’s enjoyable but don’t get too into it please for the love of God). My copy (and I think most copies?) includes his essay Civil Disobedience as well which is very good.

Never Caught: The Washingtons’ Relentless Pursuit of Their Runaway Slave by Ona Judge

The Uninhabitable Earth by David Wallace-Wells

The Diaries of Virginia Woolf: I’m currently in the midst of volume 2 (1920-1924). They’re very enjoyable, but they’re something of an undertaking as all diaries are if you aren’t already very familiar with the biography of the person in question, so like. If you find yourself moving slowly don’t worry about it.

Gay Berlin: Birthplace of a Modern Identity by Robert Beachy

To Be Broken and Tender: A Quaker Theology for Today by Margery Post Abbott

The New Jim Crow byMichelle Alexander

The Environmental Case: Translating Values into Policy by Judith A. Layzer is a textbook that was assigned to me in my Enviornmental Policy class last semester and I really fkcing enjoyed it. It’s a book of case studies in environmental policy and it’s dense at times, but really interesting and enjoyable.

The Second Amendment: a Biography by Michael Waldman

Michelangelo’s Notebooks: the Poetry, Letters, and Art of the Great Master by Carolyn Vaughan. Just like. Genuinely. Genuinely. unintentionally hilarious. but also sometimes very sad, and very gay. I just adore Michelangelo. Just a shy foul-tempered repressed disaster. Jesus Christ.

Arrival is a stunning science fiction movie with deep implications for today 

Science fiction is never really about the future; it’s always about us. And Arrival, set in the barely distant future, feels like a movie tailor-made for 2016, dropping into theaters mere days after the most explosive election in most of the American electorate’s memory.

But the story Arrival is based on — the award-winning novella Story of Your Life by Ted Chiang — was published in 1998, almost two decades ago, which indicates its central themes were brewing long before this year. Arrival is much more concerned with deep truths about language, imagination, and human relationships than any one political moment.

Not only that, but Arrival is one of the best movies of the year, a moving, gripping film with startling twists and imagery. It deserves serious treatment as a work of art.

The strains of Max Richter’s "On the Nature of Daylight" play over the opening shots of Arrival, which is the first clue for what’s about to unfold: that particular track is ubiquitous in the movies (I can count at least six or seven films that use it, including Shutter Island and this year’s The Innocents) and is, by my reckoning, the saddest song in the world.

The bittersweet feeling instantly settles over the whole film, like the last hour of twilight. Quickly we learn that Dr. Louise Banks (Amy Adams) has suffered an unthinkable loss, and that functions as a prelude to the story: One day, a series of enormous pod-shaped crafts land all over earth, hovering just above the ground in 12 locations around the world. Nobody knows why. And nothing happens.

As world governments struggle to sort out what this means — and as the people of those countries react by looting, joining cults, even conducting mass suicides — Dr. Banks gets a visit from military intelligence, in the form of Colonel Weber (Forest Whitaker), requesting her assistance as an expert linguist in investigating and attempting to communicate with whatever intelligence is behind the landing. She arrives at the site with Ian Donnelly (Jeremy Renner), a leading quantum physicist, to start the mission. With help from a cynical Agent Halpern (Michael Stuhlbarg), they suit up and enter the craft to see if they can make contact.

It’s best not to say much more about the plot, except that it is pure pleasure to feel it unfold. The most visionary film yet from director Denis Villeneuve (Prisoners, Sicario) and scripted by horror screenwriter Eric Heisserer (Lights Out), its pacing is slower than you’d expect from an alien-invasion film, almost sparse. For a movie with so many complicated ideas, it doesn’t waste any more time on exposition than is absolutely necessary. Arrival is serious and smartly crafted, shifting around like a Rubik’s cube in the hand of a savant, nothing quite making sense until all the pieces suddenly come together. I heard gasps in the theater.

The film’s premise hinges on the idea, shared by many linguists and philosophers of language, that we do not all experience the same reality. The pieces of it are the same — we live on the same planet, breathe the same air — but our perceptions of those pieces shift and change based on the words and grammar we use to describe them to ourselves and each other.

For instance, there is substantial evidence that a person doesn’t really see (or perhaps "perceive") a color until their vocabulary contains a word, attached to meaning, that distinguishes it from other colors. All yellows are not alike, but without the need to distinguish between yellows and the linguistic tools to do so, people just see yellow. A color specialist at a paint manufacturer, however, can distinguish between virtually hundreds of colors of white. (Go check out the paint chip aisle at Home Depot if you’re skeptical.)

Or consider the phenomenon of words in other languages that describe universal feelings, but can only be articulated precisely in some culture. We might intuitively "feel" the emotion, but without the word to describe it we’re inclined to lump the emotion in with another under the same heading. Once we develop the linguistic term for it, though, we can describe it and feel it as distinct from other shades of adjacent emotions.

These are simple examples, and I don’t mean to suggest that the world itself is different for people from different cultures. But I do mean to suggest that reality — what we perceive as comprising the facts of existence — takes on a different shape depending on the linguistic tools we use to describe it.

Adopting this framework doesn’t necessarily mean any of us are more correct than others about the nature of reality (though that certainly may be true). Instead, we are doing our best to describe reality as we see it, as we imagine it to be. This is the challenge of translation, and why literal translations that Google can perform don’t go beyond basic sentences. Learning a new language at first is just about collecting a new vocabulary and an alternate grammar — here is the word for chair, here is the word for love, here’s how to make a sentence — but eventually, as any bilingual person can attest, it becomes about imagining and perceiving the world differently.

This is the basic insight of Arrival: That if we were to encounter a culture so radically different from our own that simple matters we take for granted as part of the world as it is were radically shifted, we could not simply gather data, sort out grammar, and make conclusions. We’d have to either absorb a different way of seeing, despite our fear, or risk everything.

To underline the point, Dr. Banks and the entire operation are constantly experiencing breakdowns in communication within the team and with teams in other parts of the world, who aren’t sure whether the information they glean from their own visits to pods should be kept proprietary or shared.

It’s not hard to see where this is going, I imagine — something about how if we want to empathize with each other we need to talk to one another, and that’s the way the human race will survive.

And, sure.

But Arrival also layers in some important secondary notes that add nuance to that easy takeaway. Because it’s not just deciphering the words that someone else is saying that’s important: It’s the whole framework that determines how those words are being pinned to meaning. We can technically speak the same language, but functionally be miles apart.

n the film, one character notes that if we were to communicate in the language of chess — which operates in the framework of battles and wars — rather than, say, the language of English, which is bent toward the expression of emotions and ideas, then what we actually say and do would shift significantly. That is, the prevailing metaphor for how beings interact with each other and the world is different. (Some philosophers speak of this as "language games.")

This matters for the film’s plot, but more broadly — since this is sci-fi, and therefore actually about us — it has implications. Language isn’t just about understanding how to say things to someone and ascribe meaning to what comes back. Language has consequences. Embedded in words and grammar is action, because the metaphors that we use as we try to make sense of the world tell us what to do next. They act like little roadmaps.

You have empathized with someone not when you hear the words they’re saying, but when you begin to ascertain what metaphors make them tick, and where that conflicts or agrees with your own. I found myself thinking a lot about this reading Arlie Russell Hochschild’s Strangers In Their Own Land, which is up for a National Book Award this year and describes the overarching metaphors (Hochschild calls them "deep stories") that discrete groups of Americans — in this case, West Coast urban liberals and Louisiana rural Tea Partiers — use to make sense of the world. She isn’t trying to explain anything away. She’s trying to figure out what causes people to walk in such drastically different directions and hold views that befuddle their fellow citizens.

Part of the challenge of pluralism is that we’re not just walking around with different ideas in our heads, but with entirely different maps for getting from point A to Z, with different roadblocks on them and different recommendations for which road is the best one. Our A's and Z's don’t even match. We don’t even realize that our own maps are missing pieces that others have.

Presumably one of these maps is better than the others, but we haven’t agreed how we would decide. So we just keep smacking into one another going in opposite directions down the same highway.

Arrival takes off from this insight in an undeniably sci-fi direction that is a little brain-bending, improbable in the best way. But it makes a strong case that communication, not battle or combat, is the only way to avoid destroying ourselves. Communication means not just wrapping our heads around terms we use but the actual framework through which we perceive reality.

And that is really hard. I don’t know how to fix it.

In the meantime, though, good movies are somewhere to start. Luckily Arrival is a tremendously well-designed film, with complicated and unpredictable visuals that embody the main point. Nothing flashy or explosive; in some ways, I found myself thinking of 1970s science-fiction films, or the best parts of Danny Boyle’s 2007 Sunshine, which grounded its humanist story in deep quiet.

The movie concludes on a different note from the linguistic one — one much more related to loss and a wistful question about life and risk. This may be Arrival’s biggest weakness; the emotional punch of the ending is lessened a bit because it feels a little rushed.

But even that conclusion loops back to the possibilities of the reshaped human imagination. And this week, especially, you don’t need to talk to an alien to see why that’s something we need.

from: https://www.vox.com/culture/2016/11/11

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BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #157

And now for something entirely different.

For the first time in the entire series, we have a chapter in which Tomoko Kuroki is completely absent. For a series whose initial premise was so dependent on having Tomoko as the solitary focus, it really speaks volumes that the side characters can now carry the series on their own. Of course, it wouldn’t be Watamote if Tomoko wasn’t there in some way, shape or form, and as we see today, her spirit lives on in rest of the Watamote Crew.

Chapter 157: Because I’m Not Popular, I’m Suspended

I really dig the hatching in this opening shot. It automatically gives you the sense that this is a retroactive moment and that Tomoko will be MIA until further notice.  

And just as we already knew, Tomoko and Yoshida got busted.

I’ve noticed quite a few people criticize this school policy, claiming that’s it’s unreasonable for the “crime”. My assumption is that riding a motor scooter reflects poorly on the school, which its students are supposed to represent with “proper” behavior. While I don’t think it’s really a justified punishment, I don’t think it’s necessarily an unjustified punishment either. Dissecting the reason would mean pulling apart much about Japanese cultural values, and this ain’t the place for that.   

This, on the other hand, seems a teeensy bit excessive. But that’s just me.

Naturally, Komiyama takes this as an opportunity to validate her less-than-savory impression of Tomoko. Gotta eat up those friend-of-a-friend brownie points. 

The true endgame of this series is when Tomoko and Komiyama call each other “friend.”

Blatant disregard of sensei’s instructions? Looks like Yuri’s the next to join the new delinquent posse after Tomoko and Yoshida.

But on that note, I really do enjoy that Yuri cares enough about her buddies to break the rules. She’s always been an obedient student overall, but I always had this inkling that Yuri wasn’t really a goody-two-shoes. Rebels gotta stick together.

And Tomoko’s (and Yoshida’s) reputation continues to brew. And through the semi-popular kids at that. If nothing else, Tomoko is going to leave school known as the “Weird Kid” that everyone admires.

I now wonder just how much these guys knew about Tomoko and Yoshida’s friendship? I’d imagine that this whole suspension might actually paint the two as BFFs in everyone’s eyes. 

Lastly, I wonder what was the manga Tomoko and Yoshida were reading? Maybe a sequel to “A Happy Cat”?

Can I get a Prison School shoutout, anybody?

Yup, like I said. Everyone knows about that “Weird Kid” in high school who did stupid stuff, but you couldn’t help but admire them for having the nerve to do it. Nemo may give Tomoko a lot of shit sometimes, but to some degree, I think she wishes she could be like her.

Girl’s itching for her Kuroki-Kimoi fix. 

Perhaps someone can enlighten me, but are Japanese shoe lockers really left unlocked? I mean, you see it all the time in manga–how else would the love interest send letters/chocolate to their crush?–but I’d like to to know if there’s any truth to that. 

If Ucchi really was getting ready to confess apologize, then I gotta hand it to her. It took her a lot faster to get to that point than I thought she would.

Unfortunately, the universe discriminates against emojis, and when they flippantly confront a random girl to inquire about their obsession, you know a blast of karma is heading their way.

The Counseling Room, huh? For those who’re uninitiated like me, that’s supposedly where they keep the suspended students to do their schoolwork and reflect on their actions. 

In Ucchi’s eyes, however, it’s the higher beings keeping her from her beloved. 

Sorry, Ucchi, but you gotta work on your “Uwaaaah!”s. Maybe you ought to get some pointers from Komiyama.

More and more, Ucchi’s cries of despair get even more absurd. And more and more, I wonder how she justifies it in that head of hers. 

Aw damn, is it that same dude that criticized Tomoko for supposedly almost falling into a ravine? And on film, too? Bro needs to take a chill pill.

That seems to be the food for thought amongst the student body these days. 

Is it wrong that I laughed at Katou’s very obvious face of absolute boredom? You can just feel the Tomoko withdrawal symptoms destroying her from the inside.

I used to be pretty ambivalent about her increasing affection to Tomoko, but these more humanizing moments make me grow fonder about their relationship.  

Fuuka’s never gonna let this one die, is she?

That’s basically the exact same thing that Tomoko said to Fuuka, wasn’t it? Shoot, gotta had another tally to the “Tomoko-Katou ship is actually kind of cute” chart.

At this point, she and Okada need to start a support group for the Tomoko-challenged.

I gotta say, I fully expected Tomoko to be hypocritical enough to deny Fuuka an answer, but not Katou. More than anybody else, it feels like nobody, not even her closest friends, really understand who Katou is. I’m counting the chapters to the day it all comes to blows. 

So close, and yet so far.

Back to fill the void with the ol’ earbuds, huh, Yuri? 

Well, Tomoko is perpetually tired, but I’d imagine suspension isn’t doing her any favors. A loner Tomoko may be, being locked up for a week in pseudo-solitary confinement (with Yoshida, no less) is bound to lead to some cabin fever.

I think the old Tomoko would brag about it before the fact, but after experiencing it, she'd take it back after realizing that suspension actually kind of sucks.

In old news: Yuu is a sweetheart and deserves the world.

Ah, Komi. I can't tell if you're ignorant, in denial, or just being a bitch, but your delusions of grandeur towards Tomoki never fail to amuse me.

It took me a while to realize that we were going over several days throughout this chapter. The time transitions are just that subtle, and I'm pretty sure that was intentional in order to emphasize how Tomoko's absence is really screwing with everyone’s sense of time.

Is this the first time anyone other than Minami has acknowledged Ucchi's lack of a face? Alright, Minami, you win this one.

Also, this is so going to add fuel to the fire on those NSFW headcanons about Mako and Minami’s "pet play" relationship.

Wow. When she says it like that, it puts Minami in an almost sympathetic light. Curse that endearing dependency of hers.

I see that Okada’s infamous shut-her-down moment from the field trip has left some after effects. If nothing else, Fang Girl knows when to fold ‘em.

Obvious imagery aside, I do like that they include Yoshida as one of the “loud” ones in the class. She’s definitely more of the “in-your-face” type of loud, while Tomoko is mostly loud in presence, and it really drives home just how extra loud the two are when together.

A wild Hirasawa appeared!

Somewhere underneath Yuri’s veil of apathy is a very particular layer of empathy. That being, her affection for Tomoko. Yuri may get jealous of other girls, but she can understand how it feels to have an attachment to someone, and when she recognizes that in someone else, that’s when she’ll go the extra mile.

Even she can’t abandon an underclassman all by their lonesome.

That said, it wouldn’t be Yuri if flashes of green didn’t flicker in her eyes at times.

Then that green turns into...whatever color is usually associated with begrudging respect.

Aw damn, this is going to be one of those heartwarmingly bittersweet endings, isn’t it?

Continuity porn.

Okay, ya’ll, but that glimmer of hope in Yuri’s slightly widened eyes is just golden. I hereby put this at the top of my “Top 5 Purest Moments in Watamote” List.

You know, if this were earlier in the series–as in, before Nemo opened up to Yuri–this would come off as pretty mean in the context of the plot, even if it really isn’t. It’s still trollish in a way that only Nemo can, but it feels like a genuine offer of friendship now that we’ve seen these two slowly come closer together. And if slice-of-life manga has taught me anything, it’s that walking home from school together is the Friendship Rite of Passage.

I’m sure Yuri’s first instinct was to punch her out, but hey, any reaction is a good reaction.

Actual proof that Tomoko has temporal powers that allow her to accelerate the passage of time at a rate that’s proportional to her exuding weirdness.

Or, you know, they all just miss her.

If there’s one thing that this series has taught me, it’s that the most wonderful of friendships can start with a mere coincidence.

At the start of Watamote, I never would’ve thought that the series could hold its own without Tomoko. And yet here we are. Gone are the days where the cast was just her, Tomoki, and Yuu. The cast has expanded exponentially since then, and their stories are all rich enough to headline their own series. But no matter how far the web grows, it always comes back to Tomoko. Even with Main Character Privilege, her existence is the glue that binds everyone together. And while this chapter gave us a unique insight on favorite characters, it also gave us a chance to see an alternate reality where Tomoko (and Yoshida) don’t exist.

And as expected, it’s a dull, dull world.

TWD ~ Negan Imagine - “Evolution”

Summary: Not much has worked out the way Negan wanted since his imprisonment, but as he finds his cell door open one night, the wishes he’s had for his life with the reader without the cell in their way suddenly aren’t that impossible anymore...

the last part / all other previous parts (None of the previous parts have to be read to understand the plot!)

”Really? The whole damn night?”, Negan’s voice echoed half annoyed, half disappointed through the cell as he glanced at you, clenching his jaw while you nodded slowly, shifting over the cement floor beneath your feet. You looked for a moment up to the cell’s window, to the people who had seen off just a couple of their own this morning. Michonne was one of the people who had left, along with the newbies and Siddiq after she had much to everybody’s surprise not thrown them out, but instead offered them to bring them to the Hilltop. You did were glad about her decision, despite what had happened in all these years between Alexandria and Hiltop, still, you and Negan were indirectly the ones who had to to carry the can for this new path. ”Yeah, rubs me the wrong way too but there’s no one else at the infirmary till tomorrow midday at least...so I gotta stay there”, you grumbled, watching as Negan stepped closer, his fingers reaching towards your hips until their fingertips could fumble on your shirt’s loose threads while his glance followed their movement.  He hated nights alone, you knew that, and so did you. The evenings and nights were the only times of the day reserved only for the both of you, without any time pressure as there usually was during your shared lunch breaks. His days already weren’t filled, only Gabriel and mostly Judith stopping by if he had luck and even though you knew how much he enjoyed to be a bit of a mentor and teacher for her, at the very end it still left him alone in the cell. So taking away the night, even if it was just for now, was nothing more than a big pile of shit for him, especially if you were looking back at his history and the nightmares that weren’t only coming for you when you were alone. You sighed softly as you ran your hands up his chest, stroking with your fingers a little over the fabric as you smiled gently at him, hoping to get that toothy grin back on his lips. ”After that, Miles might be able to take over so I can slow a little down”, you said, slowly allowing to let his eyes dart back at you as he slightly nodded. “And I probably get a whole day off when they’re back so that’s good”, you added, giving him another soft smile as he pulled you closer, allowing you to settle in his embrace. ”At least I got time to think what the hell I’ll do with you on that lucky lucky day”, Negan lowly chuckled, winking at you as you let out a snort while you caught his glance wandering to his more or less hopeless seeming project on the nightstand, ”And uhm, work on your bracelet.” You knew that trying to repair it was a pain in the ass to him, the tiny diamonds had to be way too small in his big hands and the broken strap way too thin for his long fingers. But he did his best, you could tell, trying to give you some joy with repairing his former gift to you and besides all that, a little part of you knew that he did like the idea of having you wearing something that was in some way connected to him. ”You really sunk your teeth in that, huh?”, you softly chuckled, glancing over to the nightstand as you leaned your figure against his body, watching from the corner of your eyes how a bigger smirk grew on his lips.  ”As much as I’ll sink my dick in that tight pussy of yours as soon as you got that day off”, he chuckled, raising his brows suggestively as his large hand squeezed your waist playfully. ”Sure”, you teased, giving him a small grin as you backed a little more away to glance right at him. ”No, really, my magic crystal balls can see that shit in the future”, he teased back, chuckling to himself as you raised your brows ,”What? Want me to look again?” With that he grabbed one of your hands, biting his lower lip as you kept glancing with curiosity and surprise at him  before he lead it right towards his pants. ”There ya go”, he grumbled, placing your hand right over his crotch, cupping the bulge beneath his pants as his own big hand engulfed yours while an even bigger and toothy grin painted all over his face. ”Oh Negan”, you chuckled with a small groan, although leaving your hand right were it was, feeling how he adjusted it some more while he closed his eyes, acting out his little theater.  ”Yeah, I can clearly see it, Baby...can see my dick pumping orgasms over fuckin’ orgasms into ya, can see those legs shaking’ and fuck, I can feel that pussy tighten ‘round my cock”, he grumbled, opening his eyes just enough to glimpse at you as he jerked his hips a little forward. ”Sounds promising”, you chuckled, softly squeezing his bulge that immediately elicited a small groan to fall from his lips. ”Fuck, don’t do that...or hell, I’ll be forced to keep ya here”, he lowly growled as he smirked at you, snaking his tongue over his lower lip while you shook your head with another soft laugh. ”C’mere”, he mumbled in the next moment, loosening his grasp on your hand enough to let it fall and instead wrap his arms around you. You hummed as soon as he cradled you against his chest, allowing you to melt against him and sink your face into the warmth of his neck’s curve. ”Don’t wanna go”, you quietly mumbled into his skin, cuddling closer into his embrace. ”Mhmm..I know...can’t wait to have you back here”, he mumbled back, not as suggestive as before but rather filled with genuine anticipation. Moving his head a little he turned enough to press a kiss to your temple, tickling you softly with his beard stubble as you hummed out, falling for a last time into a small trace. “I love you”, you mumbled, closing your eyes for just another moment as a low growl rumbled through his chest as he pressed another kiss to your skin. “I love you too, Sweetheart.” Nuzzling your face a little deeper into his warmth you took his scent in, humming as he cradled you a little tighter against his chest before footsteps that echoed over the staircase made you shift a bit in his embrace. ”Oh it’s Gabey boy, comin’ for that weekly meditation shit”, he grumbled into your hair, holding you for the last time a little closer as you lifted your head slowly out of his neck’s curve. ”Hmm...looks like I gotta get going too”, you mumbled with a sigh, craving to stay a little longer huddled up to him even though you knew that the work that was waiting for you at the infirmary would just get more the longer you’d stay. ”Hello”, you heard Gabriel’s voice echoing through the cellar in the next moment, urging you to turn a little in Negan’s arms and look right at the priest who was holding onto his key and the utensils for their mediation session. ”Hey Gabriel”, you said, giving him a small smile before he gave you a nod and headed towards the bench at the cells opposite wall, letting down his utensils as you turned towards Negan again. ”Then I’ll see you tomorrow”, you mumbled, giving him a soft smile as well, trying to cover the annoyance the both of you were sensing about this situation before you leaned up to press a soft kiss over his lips. ”Yeah, see ya tomorrow”, he mumbled back against your lips, leaning once more in to peck them before you could feel him reluctantly loosening his arms around you, stroking a last time along your waist before you let another sigh fall from your lips but forced a smile upon them. ”Remember, you got more time for the bracelet”, you joked, nodding towards the nightstand and giving him a soft chuckle as a small grin grew again on his lips. ”Yeah I know,...but if you don’t leave now I’ll keep ya here, I mean it”, he chuckled, stroking over the salt and pepper stubble as he nodded towards Gabriel who was finally done with sorting his utensils and was now walking over to the door with the key in his hand. ”Hmm, that’s not much of a threat”, you laughed, still forcing yourself away from stretching this even further out as you stepped closer towards the gate and heard the unlocking door echoing through the cell in the very next moment. With a bittersweet feeling running through your veins you eventually slipped out, hearing the door crashing into its look right after before you glanced at the priest. ”Then good luck you two”, you said with another smile, watching the little hope spark in Gabriel’s eyes that Negan might finally begin to find sense in his meditation techniques. ”Thanks”, he mumbled back, smiling a little as you glanced a last time to Negan, shooting him a look that laid somewhere halfway between appealing him to not bug Gabriel too much and longing to actually get right back to him into the cell. But as soon as you got yourself to glance away from him you urged yourself to rush up the stairs and step back into a day packed full with work and stress and a bunch of Siddiq’s patients that were waiting just for you. With a thick huff the priest leaned himself not more than half an hour after his girl had left against the wall, looking almost defeated at him as he set his meditation utensils aside. It hadn't worked, as fuckin’ always. It wasn’t only about the kids he had heard outside who were daring each other to step closer to his cell as if he was some kinda monster residing in here, it was  also the damn bad news about having been robbed of his damn favorite hours of the day and the usual shit. He probably just wasn’t made for meditating.  “Ah, don't take it personally, Gabe”, Negan said as he instead picked up his baseball and slid the leather mitt over his hand, searching for another way to pass the time before he glanced at the other man, “I know I'm never getting out of here. I do appreciate you coming down here and helping me when that was touch and go for me. But now I got everything I need. This little window right here...It's as good as a TV. And I loved the shit outta TV back when that was a thing.” He chuckled, throwing the ball against the opposite wall before watching it bounce back and landing ultimately safely in the leather glove. “Acceptance is an important first step”, Gabriel mumbled, shifting over the bench beneath him as he sighed quietly, as if he was trying to find a new starting point with him, trying to dig deeper even though that was going against Negan’s plans.  “Funny thing about this window here. People stand out there, and they talk. And it's like they don't remember I'm here. And that, well, that is when I get the really good shit”, Negan chuckled, distracting him instead of waiting for the priest to choke up some interpretation of whatever this whole session would mean once he would fully let himself fall into it. “You know, just the other day, Rosita was out there chatting up a storm. She said some things that you would find very interesting”, a grin spread over his lips, watching as the priest tried to hide the curiosity in him with an annoyed glance. He was growing oddly confident since he was with her, fuck knows how he got to win her over, but hell, maybe the priest was kinkier than he thought...still, it was way more than enough for Negan to get at least a little fun out of these sessions and tease him a little. “I don't need you to tell me how Rosita feels about me”, he retorted, acting as if he didn’t care even though he could see how it began to bug him. “Now, who said she was talking about you?”, and snap, with that moment and a  throaty chuckle of Negan he watched some of the choked up and almost pretentious confidence falling of the priest’s face. For a moment, it grew quiet in the cell, only the sound baseball bouncing off the wall reechoing through the room before the other man suddenly rose his voice again. “I don’t get it”, he heard Gabriel say, huffing as the priest adjusted himself on the bench behind the bars. “What now, Gabey boy?”, Negan grumbled, exhaling with a scoff as he glanced towards the other man, waiting for some philosophical shit to flow out of his mouth, telling him how he needed to get back into meditation to get that whole crap. “You know...when I see you with her, you actually seem human...even...even soft”, Gabriel suddenly grumbled, wrinkling his eyebrows as if he was trying to mindread the fuck out of him as Negan let out a deep chuckle. “Now I can be hard as fuck with her too”, he grinned, overplaying the obvious truth in the priest’s words as he caught him shaking his head again. “What are you working on there? That thing (Y/N) talked about when I got here”, he mumbled instead, glancing up to the nightstand and right as his little project. “A little over curious today, huh? What’s the next question gonna be? How I like my dick to get sucked?”, Negan grumbled teasingly, flashing a toothy grin at the uncomfortable growing priest before he shook his head and glanced for a moment at the sprawled out tiny diamonds on the wood ,”It’s (Y/N)’s old bracelet, I’m kinda fixing it for her.” The diamonds on there weren’t even part of what he was working on anymore, to be honest they were just there so his girl wouldn’t grow suspicious. He was already done with it all. Not with the bracelet exactly, that shit had nearly drove him crazy but Gabriel, and he couldn’t even believe that this shit whirled through his head, had made him indirectly replan and make him use something else to turn that whole thing in some nice ass little piece again. He’d used the old ring that was laying beside all the other broken things they had found in a little box in his nightstand. All its stones had been gone for fuck knows why but to Negan’s luck the holes they had left almost matched the size of the diamonds, at least enough for him to glue them inside and actually make it seem like this was exactly what it was supposed to look like. He did was a little proud of his work there, especially after how much nerves it had cost him that were paired with the unwanted urge that made him admit to himself that Gabriel had actually helped him there. All that jabbering about the meditation shit, of that whole letting go thing, of rearranging your mind and finding other ways got him to actually rethink. He wouldn’t admit it to him, hell no, that fucker would just start on telling him about the power this meditation shit had for fuckin’ days without stopping once. But he did was thankful. ”Kinda?”, Gabriel asked, snapping him back into reality as he glanced over to the priest. “It’s already done, in the drawer, glued those crap diamonds onto that old ring they found ‘cause I could’t fix that strap. Enough information, Gabey Boy?”, Negan sighed, trying to not let the priest grow too confident again and let him think he could influence him all too much. ”A ring?”, The priest asked, raising his brows and the tone in his voice as if he wanted to suggest that there was more to it. And there was. At least there could be more to it but hell, there was no fuckin way he’d let that shine through to the curious priest. ”It’s a ring, Gabey. Nothing to wrap your holy head ‘round all damn day”, Negan grumbled, smashing the baseball back against the wall and catching it in the very next moment while he could feel himself growing a little nervous as the other man’s glance burned into him, even though he wouldn’t show. ”I know you’re trying to distract, I know there’s more”, Gabriel said as Negan’s glance stayed fixed on the ball that landed repeatedly on the other wall and in his hand. ”What? I’m gonna give it to her at some point and then I might get some nice ass blow job as reward”, he flashed a toothy grin, hearing the scoff of Gabriel reecho through the cellar while he hoped that he would just be able to turn this damn conversation into another direction. There was one person he was going all sappy with and that person was working at the infirmary right now, and not sitting on a bench on the other side of the cell. ”Are you sure it is not more? Don’t you crave to have a real marriage after those...’arrangements’?”, Gabriel tired to dig even deeper, slowly but surely hitting the right spots within Negan even though he tried to counteract as much as he could. This wasn’t going to happen. Hell no. He’d done it once back in the day, back when they had been stuck together in that caravan and surrounded by dead fuckers. But not again. ”Fuck, that was years ago, Gabey”, he scoffed, running one palm over his salt and pepper beard before he gulped, feeling how something stirred against his will in his head,” And it doesn’t matter what the fuck I crave, ‘cause this is no damn chapel as you might see.” Shit. That was already too much. He had said more than he should to the priest ‘cause judging from that glance in the other man’s eyes that said as much as “So you do crave it?” without saying a single word, that fucker was deep down celebrating that he had stepped closer up to him. Negan wrinkled his nose as he grimaced in annoyance, feeling how that little stir was growing thicker, how the priest’s glance was growing more telling and how the truth was sneaking further up in him. ”So you don’t want it?”, the priest asked further, bugging the fuck out of him as more and more whirled up in Negan and worked thoroughly on him. He knew exactly what Gabriel was trying there and he usually got to counteract the whole shit pretty fast, but this shit, this was his goddamn soft spot and he hated the shit out of the other man for torturing it right now. Scolding he glanced at the priest, feeling it stirring further in him while the glance in his eyes told him that neither he nor the whirlwind in his head would stop if he wouldn’t give him something to still his hunger. ”I’d marry her right off the damn spot, I fuckin would. Without batting one damn eyelash”, he said as he turned the ball in his hands, watching it twirling within his fingers before bouncing it back against the wall. He had actually thought about it once he had started gluing those little fuckers against the empty troughs of the ring, kept smearing the damn glue all over his fingertips and make it look like some weird ass cum was sticking to them once it was dry. Again, and he couldn’t even tell how much it bugged him, Gabriel wasn’t wrong. He wanted something after the shit of the past. He wanted her to be his wife, his real wife and finally lift the bittersweet shroud that laid ever since over this word. He couldn’t have it, he knew that, but that sure as hell didn’t make him want it any less. Catching the ball once more he kept it in the leather glove, scoffing slightly before he looked sighing up to Gabriel. ”Best damn thing that has ever happened to my sorry ass”, he added. biting his lower lip before the glance of something almost as fucking much as triumph in Gabriel’s eyes let him snap back out of his way to growing as soft as some poor fucker’s whiskey dick, and made him flash his toothy grin once more as he pushed himself right back into where he wanted this conversation. ”Enough from me, Gabey and back to you, feel like you’ve been distracting a litte as well huh? So you and Rosita...”

”(Y/N)? I feel like my temperature’s rising...can you check it again?” the cranky female voice from the room across the hallway called for you as you let out a small sigh and glanced down at the half done bandage on the patient right by your side. ”I’ll be right there, Lauren. Just gonna finish up Will’s wounds”, you called back, feeling the exhaustion crawling further into your bones as you stared back onto the hurt leg in front of you. ”Whole lot of shit for one person, huh?”, Will scoffed weakly but with a little supportive humor stuck in his tone, leading your glance right at him as you softly nodded. ”Yeah...not the best moment for all this to happen but I’ll get through it. I’ll make it work.” You hoped that you were telling the truth there, you really did but part of you felt like you were straight up lying to Will and yourself. It really was too much for one person, the whole bunch of patients that was laying in the infirmary’s beds right now. The small handful of people you had to take care of just days ago had seemed to multiply since and without Siddiq or even Miles and Karen who were on a small run outside you were pretty much drowned with work. The last two would come back before Siddiq you assumed and all you hoped was that it would give you the possibility to get some break or that at least some wonder would happen so that the patients would recover just a little faster. Right now, you just wanted to tumble back over to the cell and fall into Negan’s arms, let him drag you with him on the bed and tuck you in so you could close your eyes, breathe through and cuddle up to his side before sleep could sway you into its comforting depths. But this was out of question at least till some point tomorrow when the others should be back and take over and you had to deal with it, some-fucking-how. Twirling the ring within his fingertips and watching the little refelcionts the sun was casting from the stones onto the cement ground, Negan shifted over the mattress of his bed, drowning back in thoughts now that he was alone again. He couldn’t rip himself from the conversation with the priest, at least from one part of it that was tied to the slim ring in his hands. He’d told the truth, even though it had been just the tip of the dick. He’d really marry her right off the spot. But after everything that had happened, that wasn’t much of a surprise, was it? They’d been through the hardest shit one fucker could imagine, topped off with one of the lowest, if not the lowest point of his life. And she’d helped him out of this damn pit, had stayed with him through the ugliest times and gave him that throaty laugh of his back after a while filled only with sobs and whines. Sounded cheesy as fuck but yeah, she truly was his very own Savior. And even though he could still hear her say that in the end, he had to be the one to want to drag himself out of this shithole, and he knew this was true, he doubted that he would have actually made it without the comfort and strength she had given him. He was one lucky fucker, he really was. And he wouldn’t only marry her if shit was different, if he could, hell he’d want kids with her, a little family just of their own. Especially after the talk they’ve had recently, the damn wish was more present than ever. It was hard for him to admit it, mostly because it was painfully true. If things had worked out differently, they could have had all that what they were dreaming about easily. They could have married, not the damn way it had been with the wives. Of course not. All that had taken was some dumb ass jabbering from his side and for that girl to grab some black dress but that was about it. Nothing real, just some kinda deal. But with her, well he could have definitely found someone to give them a little ceremony, make sure both of them had something nice to wear and give each other the promises for real and the rest, hell, he could exactly imagine how they could have spend the whole damn night afterwards. And then, fuck knows exactly when but some day they could have started planning a family. The Sanctuary had been the safest place he had known, he had enough resources to take care of everyone’s needs and shit, they could have used the empty rooms on their apartment’s floor for a nursery. It for sure wouldn’t be easy to get there, there was a reason why he’s had those problems with Lucille but still, he liked to believe that some day they would have made it and could hold a little boy or gal in their arms, shit, maybe even a second one after some time. It was some dripping and sappy shit he was thinking about there, he knew it, some kinda apple-pie-life he’s never really had before but that was really something he had wished for, no matter how unbelievable it had to be for most people to believe that those thoughts and wishes were produced by his brain. But after all, those ideas stayed ideas and he had to painfully realize that. There was no way he could live them out with her in this shit thing and he had to cope with that, no matter how hard it was. So for now, maybe he could get a small part of that with giving her that ring and showing her what he wanted it to represent. Just so she knew, just so she had it boasting there on her finger as evidence. Just so they knew, that would already be more than enough.

”Messengers from the Hilltop are here!”, you heard Barbara’s voice call through the infirmary, in the very first instinct eliciting the shock in your bones that she had waken some of the finally sleeping patients before your mind actually realized what she had just said. Wrinkling your brows you pushed yourself away from one of the small pantry’s shelves, tossing the bandages you had just reached for back onto it before making your way into the kitchen. ”They’re already got their horses into the stables, they got news”, she almost panted as soon as you could see her face, painted in a bright red that almost matched her hair. Quicker than you thought you found yourself following her outside, still confused and with a little fear sweeping through your veins as you were watching as one of the men approached the porch and climbed it with a few big steps. ”Already told a couple of you, thought you all should get it from the source as well before misunderstandings go the circuit”, he said, adjusting his armor before he stepped a little closer. ”Anything happened? Michonne reached you?”, you asked as soon as his glance caught yours, nodding as he took a deep breath. ”They were on their way there, I’m sure they got there safely...which leads to the other thing...Rosita is hurt, she’s still unconscious and a couple of ours are outside searching for Eugene”, he mumbled, running a hand over his jaw as you gulped thickly, question marks almost filling your entire head before he caught your asking glance. ”As far as I know she should wake up soon and now with Siddiq there, she’s going to be all fine. Same thing counts for Eugene, your brother’s a good tracker, they’ll get him”, he added, both calming and agitating you. You were sure they both were going to be fine, but the mention of your half brother still struck a cord within you, even after all this time. You had hoped things would change, even after Rick’s death and the small step you seemed to had made towards each other, but this wish had failed greatly. You hadn’t spoken to Daryl in god knows how long, which was only fueled by his life between the communities and outside, and the urge of his to not cross your ways more than he had to. It still somehow hurt, and it would always do in some way, except if things would magically change at some point. ”Okay”, you mumbled back, forcing yourself to not sink too much in any more thoughts about something you couldn’t change before you heard the man speak up again.  ”Well, then I’ll get to the others”, he said, giving you both a small nod before he turned on his heels and made his way down the porch, followed by Barbara who gave you just another glance before she mixed along with the messenger into the people that were strolling over Alexandria’s streets, talking to each other about the news. Sighing softly you followed their tracks a little longer, trying to not let your head fill with too many worried thoughts and instead finally take a deep breath after the hurry of the last hours before the call of one of the patients catapulted you back into reality and sent you right back to your duty into the packed infirmary. “You know, I read something fascinating the other day. You know what a smell is? It's when odor molecules activate neurons in your nasal passages”, Negan said as he watched the priest crouch down to his bedpan, the biggest pain in the ass in this cell since the small bathroom in the cellar by his cell had failed and those fuckers had decided to give him this literally shitthing instead of repairing it. “So every time you come in here to change my bedpan and smell my shit, something that was actually in my ass goes right up your nose”, he chuckled, watching the body of the priest tense up as he lifted the bedpan. It wasn’t something personal, the peeving, besides everything, he could stand Gabriel well but still, if he had to shit in this thing he might be able to at least get some fun out of it about the people who made him do it, right? The biggest downside of this shit cell had to have at least one upside. “Shut up”, he heard Gabriel suddenly growl in an unusual anger filled tone as he straightened his posture and let a thicker frown spread over his face as he glanced at him. “I'm sorry. I never know exactly which eye I'm supposed to look at. It's a little bit distracting”, Negan chuckled, teasing Gabriel a bit more as a little revenge for trying to squeeze him out earlier before the grin on his lips fell as soon as he saw how Gabriel began to slowly explode. “Just. Shut. Up. For once in your life, shut your damn mouth”, he growled loudly, actually startling him with the complete opposite of Gabriel’s usual calm behavior as he stepped towards him, a glance in his eyes as if he wanted to haunt the shit out of him. “I keep scratching at you. I keep trying to figure out what's underneath it all, 'cause I think, if I dig deep enough, I'll find something but all I find is more-”, he chocked on his own words in anger before pushing himself past him. “What happened?”, Negan carefully asked the other moment, watching the priest as he stopped in the cell’s door. He’d never reacted to his teasing like that before, not even closely so there had to be some shit off, whatever the hell it might be. “Rosita's at Hilltop. I sent her out, and she got hurt. The messenger doesn't know what happened or how bad it is. And I can't go to help her because I have to be here with you...because somebody has to stay behind to be responsible for you”, the other man growled without turning around, eliciting a small wave of remorse to wash through Negan’s body. He liked teasing him, course he did, still he didn’t want to hurt him in a situation like this. Hell, if his girl was hurt at some other community and he couldn’t be there with her, he sure as shit would throw a fit too, and he’d raise a storm bigger than the one Gabriel was raising now. Fuck, he didn’t want to imagine what kinda shit he’d say and do to the indirect reason that kept him away from her. “I'm sorry, man. I didn't know”, Negan mumbled genuinely, sighing slightly as he kept glancing at the tensed priest. “Don't. It's bad enough I got to clean up your shit, I shouldn't have to listen to it, too”, he growled, slamming the cell door shut and just like that, leaving him alone in this shithole once again, and to top it of, with some shitty bad conscience as well. The night was finally settling fully in as the infirmary was growing quiet and the stress of the day was falling a little off. The most patients were sleeping by now, the others on their way to doze off as well and you could feel the exhaustion sneaking up in you, urging your lids to grow heavier with each second. Yawning deeply you finally dragged yourself over to an empty room, realizing that you had to catch some sleep now or you’d pass the chance as soon as most of them would wake up again. A soft smile grew on your lips as soon as your eyes caught the bed before an even bigger one grew on your lips as soon as you fell into the sheets, humming quietly as they comforted your exhausted body. For just another moment you glanced through the window outside, onto the completely empty streets of Alexandria that almost made it look like a ghost town. You’d prefer by far to curl up in Negan’s arms right now and fall asleep right there with him, have him cradle you until the next morning started but right now, as another yawn traveled up your throat you forced yourself to stop thinking about where you’d much rather be right now and instead use the time you had to get some sleep until another patient would call for you and you had to fully function again. And just as you began to realize that, sleep finally won its fight over you and dragged you into its depths.

The dull sound of the baseball bouncing against the wall by his side echoed through the cell, only growing quieter each time he caught it within the leather glove before repeating the whole circle again. He’d tried to sleep, hoped that the night would finally let him doze off but instead his fuckin head and the small storm outside had other plans and urged him to stay awake and ultimately end up trying to pass his time somehow. Growling he caught the baseball once more before glancing once more at his bed beneath him, longing to just have this turn into every other night instead of this shit. Around this time he usually was everything else than bored and alone, around this time she was always here with him, either already curled up in his arms and talking or laughing with him until her voice grew all sleepy or even still panting beneath him and digging her nails into his back until both of them came undone. But now he was all fucking alone, only him and this shit ball, hoping that he'd soon grow tired.  Huffing he tossed the ball harder against the wall, just to regret it in the very next moment as it bounced into the other direction and right through the bars of his cell. ”Well shit”, he growled, watching how this little fucker rolled over the cement ground until it reached the other side of the room. Even more frustrated than before he shook his head, running his hands over his face as a harsh wind gust rushed through the cell and shook against his cell’s door. Annoyed he glanced up, scoffing as another gust rushed through the cell and spread goosebumps all over his body before his eyes caught the creaking door moving against its frame, shaking like the legs of someone who was about to cum with a nut busting orgasm. This had never happened before, usually this thing seemed like rammed into its lock, unable to move just the tiniest fucking bit. Once again it lifted itself out of its frame a little just to slam back into it the next second, beginning to let something stir in his mind, sending him back to Gabriel’s angry departing earlier. Had he locked the door? Had he- Without thinking more his flat out working head urged him up, slowly walking towards the still shaking door, still not believing what might have happened, and what could happen if the boredom and annoyance of this night wasn’t fucking with him. Only a few feet parted him as he stepped closer to the door, enough for him to slowly reach up, let his fingers brush over the metal before pushing them against it. For a second, he thought he was dreaming. For a second, he thought his mind was only playing tricks on him. But it wasn’t, the door was open. A shivering breath fell from his lips as his mind turned into a mass of thoughts and emotions that began to drown him, mixed with the incredibility of what was happening right in front of him. The door was swinging wider open as his glance followed it, watching it like a miracle was happening right in front of his eyes before his head caught one clear thought. Maybe that was it. Maybe this was finally his opportunity to make it right for the both of them. Maybe this was finally his possibility to get the future he wished for. Maybe.

(The gif isn’t mine/ it was originally posted by dancing-at-the-funeralparty) tagging:

@agespenst @imaginesforthepeople @porgs-r-us @squidgy84 @toxic-ink@Nobodylastname @nice-shoes-nerd @thegirlwiththelyrics99 @tolieboy @writteninthestars288@magical-spit @straightestgay-voice @xsnak-3x @myrabbitholetoneverland  @dasani-saraai @negan-is-god@harry-titss@traumbruch @negans-network@theblankestostares @amysuemc@ashzombie13 @trashimaginezblog @jeffreydeanneganstrash @sweetwittlebosco @futureofdestiel @bananakid42 @dragongirl420 @kalliewinchester-queenofhell@futureofdestiel @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @osakamilk @kattyshea20 @dinodiegos @missmotherhen @kinkygamertrash @beahippie23 @xabeautifultragedyx @negansmagic@starwarsandstufff @bdohe21 @lovesjdm @vanilla-negan @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @roselover159 @mamarhee @the-writingdead @traumbruch @bellawindixon @dlb1999 @thelittlewolf45 @collette04 @ask-kakashihatake @princessbelgoof@adixon13@botanicalthoughts @nijiru@cheyanhicks @jtklover123 @twentyonewalkerss@originalwinchestervamp @readytourie @ijashanaa @i-am-lady-anarchy @marauderspads @humble-thumb @hp-hogwartsexpress @mydeliciousdandelion @warriorqueen1991 @unholyjs @kentuckywalker @mydeliciousdandelion@dancing-in-embers @gackts-guwashi @ugh-abbyxx @frozenhuntress67 @hela-rious48 @thoughtfullyoptimisticgalaxy @xojeffreydeanmorgan @thelittlewolf45 @babygirlmeepi @thehybridsqueen@blueeyedsoutherngal @naniky @negans-network @the-wintergirl @fangirl-and-medstudent-help @lovesjdm @oofasaurus

(In case you want to be tagged or untagged for specific things or everything I write, just let me know! Also: The gif is not mine, I got it from google so credit to the original owner)

THE ENHANCED

  Part 3! | Part 2

          Elliot had come and gone, recording Issac’s first temperature, blood pressure, pulse, and respiratory rate. Physically, he looked closer related to Chris than he did to either Hailey or Issac, but had jet black hair and a more burly body build. Food had been offered, and ultimately left in the room for Issac when he turned it down. He may have never eaten before, but he just didn’t have an appetite. Too much was going on; thoughts constantly swam and wrestled for the forefront of his attention, giving him a grueling headache and intense dizziness. It almost felt like his brain was trying to make up for the lost 20 years of activity it should’ve gotten before being as developed as it was.

           The brown haired boy fell onto his back against his bed, puffing out a heavy exhale as he covered his eyes. He crinkled his nose in a small grimace at the throbbing pain that threatened to burst out his temples, his mind working overtime in a desperate attempt to file away all this new knowledge and experience. “…So is life always this ouch, or just at the start?”

           You mean ‘painful’, Hailey kept to herself as she looked over at him with pity; she’d been trying not to stare or ask too many questions, figuring he might be wanting to sort things out on his own for now. As much as she loved all of the enhanced for being the only family she’d ever had, whenever Gabriel had hovered over her in the beginning it was very overwhelming. She already had him in her mind for what few of his memories she retained, so to have him all up in her business physically, too… it was just too much to handle sometimes. And that was merely from bits and pieces: Issac had way more memories than she ever did back then, so he must be feeling that a thousand times over. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, swinging her legs over the edge of her own bed to face him. “Too many thoughts?”

           “Way too many.” Issac took another hefty inhale, feeling his chest swell up as it filled with air before he forcefully expelled it again.

           “Sorry,” Hailey spoke almost sheepishly, unable to help feeling at fault for his pain. But now she understood why Gabe had been so all-over-her back then: it can be very scary to see someone you assisted to bring into this world struggling when you know you can do something to help. “Try to think about one thing at a time. Remember when I hadn’t learned food etiquette yet and I grabbed two fistfuls of spaghetti and put them on my head, saying I looked like Gabe now?”

           This garnered a small snicker from Issac, and even if it was brief, Hailey was ecstatic that she was able to distract him from the overwhelming storm of voices. It was something that always made her smile, looking back.

           “That was so embarrassing once I learned better,” he laughed, before averting his eyes. “Before… you learned better, I mean.”

           “You learned from that too,” she consoled, sliding off her bed and crossing the room to flop beside him horizontally onto his.

           Issac closed his eyes, back to his somber state of confusion and overthinking. “I hope this doesn’t come off wrong, but it’s just hard,” the boy trailed off, wincing again like he had earlier. “Knowing everything about me isn’t… actually about me at all.”

           “I get that. I can relate my experiences to an extent, but it’s nothing you don’t already know. And honestly, that must suck.” Hailey turned her head to face him, a small amount of bittersweet sorrow painted across her features. “You’ll figure it out. You have the biggest problem-solving center in your frontal lobe out of all of us. Plus, you’re already starting to be yourself, not me.”

           He twisted his head as well, confused. “What do you mean?”

           “Well for starters, I would’ve never turned down a Chris-prese salad.” The girl smiled teasingly, leaping to her feet and taking the liberty to pop a slice of his untouched mozzarella into her mouth.

           Issac rolled his eyes in amusement at the sudden turn in conversation, sitting up now. “Take the whole thing. The vinaigrette has been stinking up the room anyways.”

           “Really?!” Hailey beamed at the offer, a small glint of mischief twinkling in her amber eyes. “I read about this off-handedly once in the Typical Human Behavior archive on our learning database, I think people call it… A middle of night snack? I’ve never had one before!!” She happily scooped up the plate and Issac’s fork, stabbing a Sycorax-grown grape tomato and popping it between her teeth. “This is so spontaneous and un-regulated!”

           The newborn chuckled, raising an eyebrow at her erratic behavior. “If I had known giving you the go-ahead to have it would make you that happy, I would’ve done it much earlier.”

           “It’s not just the salad,” she explained, pushing another small tomato around with the fork. “It’s the fact I’m doing this on my own behalf.”

           “Yeah,” Issac nodded very slowly, starting to understand. His shoulders sank as he kicked his feet in the air over the edge of his bed, deep in thought once more. “They really do kinda control everything around here, huh?”

           The tanned girl finished off his small portion, setting the dish on her small bedside table. “They also gave us everything,” she reminded him, wiping her hands on her gray pants. “Food, a place to live, knowledge, the best healthcare anyone could ask for, life,” She puckered her lips to one side, before meeting his eye contact. “This is the life we were born into, so no sense in being upset. Certainly could be worse, you know?”

           When he remained silent, Hailey sighed quietly to herself and stifled a yawn. “I think I’m going to head to bed. You should too, your first breakfast at the caf with the rest of us is at 8:30AM.” She climbed into her bed and stole one last peek at her brother, worried about how he would handle his first night, but well aware she’d done everything she could.

           “Goodnight,” he said softly, breaking his zone-out and offering a small reassuring smile, one that fell as soon as she turned out the lights and wished him a goodnight back. His pupils dilated to adjust to the lack of light as he stumbled around the foot of his bed to their shared bathroom and shut the door. Inside he turned on the dim room’s light, resting the heels of his hands on the corners of the sink and leaning some of his weight onto them. Issac stared long and hard at his reflection, this being the first time he’s really gotten a good look at it. He scanned every last detail of his face, taking in all the different curves and crevices the muscles made as he moved his jaw, twitched his nose, raised his eyebrows, anything. His skin was the same exact shade and undertone as Hailey’s, most likely due to all the common genetic data they were comprised of. His hair fell almost to his shoulders, and tickled the back of his neck whenever he moved his head. Tearing his gaze away from himself, Issac began to rummage through the drawers for a hair tie, remembering seeing them somewhere in here from Hailey’s upload. Finding a solid black one in the back-corner of one of them, he pulled his hair back into a tiny low pony just to keep it out of his face. His head was still over-congested with Lunch is at 12:30 every day the past tense of run is ran when introducing yourself to someone new the proper response is to shake their hand Sycorax is a biotechnology company investing in the future of this planet I like the lavender scented soap the best plant cells have stiff cell walls and large vacuoles that animal cells do not Chris is the oldest of any of us and Liv’s clear favorite Derek has been in quarantine for 3 days now due to his genetic makeup failing tomorrows dinner is pasta primavera the four main macromolecules are proteins carbohydrates nucleic acids and lipids bacterial cells don’t have a nucleus-

           Issac squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find any sort of silence in the screaming competition for attention within his mind. He shook his head violently in attempt to physically rid the thoughts, but only managed to let loose some stray hairs that had fallen out of his tie. Who are you? All you’ve ever known is Hailey, and you’re not her, he mentally told his pained reflection, who looked like it was cracking under the weight of a million burdens. How could you ever be someone else than what you are right now?

           The boy shoved the faucet’s handle on and frantically splashed the brisk water onto his face, dribbling it all over his shirt as well as he desperately tried to rip himself from this downward spiral into panic. The bitingly cold liquid seemed to kickstart his lungs again, which he hadn’t even realized weren’t working. Issac gasped in a deep breath of air, feeling how he did when he was ripped out of the growth pod all over again. His eyes refocusing from their hazy blur, he couldn’t help but notice soft red glow was pulsating from the nape of his neck, just on the inside of his collar. Issac pulled it out to its full stretching capacity, the confusion actually doing more good than harm as it provided him with something to focus his attention on. Panic button, he quickly assessed, and it was sending out a signal about his extremely elevated blood pressure and labored breathing, no doubt. Not wanting it to report this personal moment for all to see and possibly be in trouble with Ms. Amara, Issac nimbly slipped the shirt off his body and let it fall to the floor in a heap, the red alert dulling until it completely stopped- no longer attached to a body to sense emergency signals from

His chest still expanding and compressing heavily, the boy stole one last glance at himself before shutting off the bathroom light and climbing up into his bed. Even though he’d never experienced it before, Issac instinctively knew he was a creature of comfort, and sought it out by swaddling himself in the provided blankets. He forced himself to close his eyes and hoped as hard as he could that the thoughts would stay quiet just for this one calm moment. His muscles listened and soon relaxed as well, succumbing to the great exhaustion both mentally and physically he’d endured.

           Day one of being alive: Done. And Issac could only hope it would get easier from here.

Once Upon A Dream

Mystic Messenger Fanfiction [Read on AO3]

V (Kim Jihyun)/OC

Angst with a happy ending for @photoproses.

Word Count: 3k~

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." ― Edgar Allan Poe, A Dream Within A Dream

I know him, I walked with him once upon a dream.

I have always believed that only a fine line set dreams and reality apart. It was in the midst of slumber that it was most difficult to distinguish what was real and what wasn't.

But at that time, I knew I was in a dream.

In the middle of a glade in a forest, I stood surrounded by different kinds of trees. The sunlight filled the gaps of the leaves that covered the branches and its yellow glow overlaid the short blades of the grass. This place reminded me of Namiseom in the summer, only it wasn't crowded and even a tenfold more beautiful.

The pathway seemed to never end and I began to wander around without a clear destination in mind. As I went further, there was an unexpected sight of a picnic table in the middle of the empty forest. No one else was around and neither refreshments nor a plaid tablecloth was set on top of it.

It wasn’t until I got close enough that I realized that it wasn’t bare; scattered all over the wooden rectangle were jigsaw puzzle pieces.

I picked up the nearest piece and felt the glossy texture on one side and the plain one on the opposite. When I flipped it between my fingers, I couldn't help but flip it back in confusion.

How strange. They were both white.

I sat down. Was I supposed to solve the puzzle?

My fingers began to interlock the oddly-shaped pieces together. The fact that there was no picture, just a blank slate, made it quite difficult to assemble.

Time passed, I couldn’t be too sure how much, and I set the last puzzle piece on the jigsaw only to find the space beside it unfilled. Nothing was more frustrating than working hard to solve a puzzle only to find out it was incomplete all along. My brows furrowed in concentration as I tried to look for the missing piece. Where was it?

It was then that a voice spoke. "White puzzles… I was wondering where I left it.”

A man reached out to the table. He set the final piece on the sole empty space and completed the puzzle.

“Who are you?” No matter how much I tried to remember the response the man gave me, or if he even did, I couldn’t.

“Is this yours?” I remember that I asked him that question.

“I can’t be too sure as well.”

“Then, you have one of these?” The idea that someone owned this kind of puzzle surprised me.

He nodded. “Yes.”

Out of curiosity, I couldn’t help but voice out the question that burned in my mind, “Why is the jigsaw puzzle white?”

He paused in deep thought. “The purer something is, the easier it can be tainted with other colors.”

“What?” I didn't quite understand.

I shifted my gaze to the completed puzzle. Instead of the distinctive white fragments, there was an image of a flower depicted in it. A lotus. The unmistakable stroke of a paintbrush in the colors across the tessellated pieces made me stare in wonder.

It was unlike anything else. Strange, but beautiful.

When I looked up to the mysterious man, I realized his attention wasn’t on the painted puzzle like I had. He stared intently at the tree which stood tallest among the others.

"That tree... how rich and abundant it is... I wonder how old it is..." he whispered.

It was true. That particular tree looked so strong, as if it had withstood a lot of storms and seasons.

“Do you think a place like this exists in real life?” I asked him.

“It does,” he replied. It was then that I understood. The sadness in his eyes led me to believe that this vision, whatever this dream was, it was his. “I don’t remember it much but I guess dreams have a way of filling in the details I’ve forgotten,” he added, eyes still trained on the tree.

Thoughtful at his statement, “Right now… I am also dreaming…” I told him, all the while confused. Why was I in a vision that belonged to him?

His eyes held surprise as he looked back to where I was.  His smile was kind.

“Why don’t we take a walk around? It’s been a long time since I’ve been here too," he suggested and reached a hand out.

I couldn't explain why but I took his hand. After I stood up and reached his side, I let go. The warmth of his palm lingered, a faint sensation on my skin.

Our footsteps made a dull sound, still audible in the tranquil forest, as we walked beside each other. From time to time, I couldn’t help but steal glances at the man who kept me company. There was a gentle smile in his face. Perhaps, he was reminiscing about his memories of the place. He was calm, his movement collected. His silence told me that maybe, he was a reserved person. At one point, he noticed my glances and asked, “What is it?”

“Your hair…” I could only say response.

I remember how his hand reached to touch his turquoise locks. His eyes crinkled as he said, "So it's true.... that my hair color is... unique."

“Your eyes too.” It was true. At that moment, under the light of the sun, his turquoise irises shone brighter.

“Thank you,” he spoke with laugh and looked away, bashful.

We made small talk here and there and continued to walk around the forest. I couldn’t remember how much time passed but after a while, we stumbled upon a small field of flowers.

“This place…” I said in a whisper.

The expression in his face told me that he understood. This vision, whatever this dream was, it wasn’t just his.

I turned to him. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I come to this place a lot.”

“Yes,” he muttered as he admired the place.

“There is a big rock somewhere in the middle we can sit on,” I told him. “The view there is the best.”

We walked towards the field, careful not to step on the dandelions. My curiosity burned brighter as I wondered why my safe haven was in this vision. With each step I took, my heart began to pound faster that I felt every beat in my chest. His eyes were trained on my every move and the gentleness in his expression gave me comfort.

I stopped in my tracks when we reached the area where the rock was supposed to be. In place of it was something more familiar… No, something that was once familiar. I could only gaze at the sight in shock.

The stems of the dandelions were twisted like vines around the half-moon silhouette. It was reminiscent of how I had held it in my arms whenever it would rain and I forgot to bring an umbrella. Back then, I thought it was fine for my clothes to get soaked, or even if I catch a little cold, if it meant it would be safe.

My hands shook as I knelt down and moved closer towards it. Fingers closed in on the handle, I began to set it free from the stems that chained it. It took a few attempts until I released a deep breath I didn’t realize I was holding when I finally succeeded.

It dawned to me that I didn’t know what to do as I continued to kneel on the ground. I could only stare blankly at the sight before me.

There was a shuffling sound. The man knelt from across. I was about to apologize when he said, “Why don’t you open it?”

I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out. The past haunted me in many ways.

But in this beautiful dream… Maybe, I could be happy in a dream?

My hands began to feel steady. At that time, a bittersweet feeling washed over me as I undid the latches that sealed the fiberglass shell. It held the passion I've always had but had grown to neglect. After I set both sides on the ground, my fingers glided across the velvet interior, the texture foreign yet still familiar. I reached out to move the cloth that protected the instrument with the fear that I would find it broken the way I did a long time ago.

It wasn’t. The hollow was filled, my violin cradled safely inside it.

“You were right,” I told him, “Dreams have a way of filling in the details we’ve forgotten.”

He smiled. “I guess it is special to you.”

“It… It is.” I nodded.

“If it’s alright, may I hear you play?” he requested, his expression hopeful.

It has been long since somebody asked me that question.

As I pondered how to respond, a pair of hands held mine. The man in front of me held between his fingers a white handkerchief that was now soiled by my hands as he gently wiped them. In my struggle to free the violin case from where it was, I failed to noticed how my hands were dirtied. But now, as I gaze at the earthy contrast against his pure white cloth, I realized he was right once again with one more thing.

The purer something is, the easier it can be tainted with other colors.

He was kind. I felt I didn’t deserve his kindness.

“You don’t have to but thank you,” I told him. I wanted him know that I was grateful.

“It’s okay. I wanted to.”

When he let go of my hands, I carefully removed the bow from one side and the violin on the other. I looked over everything and in that dream, it was in perfect condition, a stark contrast to how it was supposed to be in real life. After I made sure it was tuned well, I stood up and nestled the instrument under my chin.

The man stood. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to.”

“It’s okay. I want to,” I smiled as I reassured him.

A gust of wind made the dandelion flowers dance around our feet. I closed my eyes and began to play. The melody of an old lullaby from a fairy tale I loved as a child echoed through the serenity of the forest. A surge of memories filled my senses as the bow met the strings through my movements. Instead of pushing it away, I welcomed it, reveled in it even. It was like I caught up with an old friend I haven't seen many years. The leaves rustled as they swayed with the gentle breeze and for a moment, I imagined they danced to the rhythm of the music I played.

Before I knew it, it was over. The sight of the man with his eyes closed as he exhaled a deep breath tugged at my heartstrings.

“That was beautiful,” he said and his turquoise eyes fluttered open.

“Thank you,” was the only thing I could say. I couldn’t believe the happiness that welled up inside me from what just transpired.

“Have you been playing for a long time?”

“I haven’t played in a long time.”

“But that was…” He began and trailed off in thought. “Why?”

“Because I… I’m not good enough,” I said, “I’ll never be good enough.” I bent down to move both the bow and violin to back its place and left the case open as I stood up.

“You already are,” he spoke. “I hope the day will come where you realize that.”

The sincerity in the way he looked into my eyes as he said the words I didn’t know I needed reached the depths of my heart. For the second time, there was nothing I could say but my words of gratitude and the words, “I hope so too.”

The wind blew. Some of the yellowed leaves from the distant trees rained down on us. I reached out and opened my palm to catch one and the man beside me did the same, but what his hands grasped weren’t leaves but two pieces of paper.

He looked at them both for a long time. His face was a neutral mask but from the way he stiffened and his eyes shone, there was an internal turmoil he faced.

After a moment, his voice broke the silence. “Do you… want to see them?” he said, the slight tremble in his voice betrayed his calm demeanor.

“Yes. May I?”

There was a bittersweet smile on his face as he reached for a hand on my side and put the papers on my palm. I couldn’t understand why but I felt nervous.

The first paper was an illustration from a child’s hand. The page was already yellowed and although the colors were faded, the gifted talent in the way the picture was drawn was still evident. The page depicted a detailed urban cityscape, much like Seoul. I smiled at the fact that, like any child, the sun was drawn on top of the paper, a circular figure with rays.

I moved to set the child’s drawing under the next paper and froze.

This was a work of an artist. A beautiful work that conveyed emotion with every stroke of color and yet…

A huge tear marred the artwork in the middle. From the way the edges were unevenly curved, it was intentional. The two sides barely held on together, the crumpled texture made by the two hands which tore them apart irreversible.

Droplets of tears made fresh round marks on the paper, replacing the faded ones.

“What… is this….?” I choked out a sob. “Why?”

I felt the stream of wetness on my cheeks. Why would someone do that? Why was I so sad? I wasn't sure of what I felt or what I wanted to say.

“It’s one of the things I regret the most in my life,” he shared. “I was always thinking about the future that I forgot the present.” He walked a few steps closer and said, “Please don’t cry. Don’t cry for me.”

How can someone so kind, be so broken?

“One day, I hope you can forgive yourself,” I began. “I hope you can find the courage in you to move forward and live in the present.”

A gust of wind. Yellow petals and white fluffs set adrift into the air.

“Do you think we’ll forget when we wake up?” he asked.

He was right. It was a dream. “I don’t know,” I replied in all honesty. “But I don’t want to forget,” I blinked back the tears and closed my eyes.

I felt his gentle fingers on my cheeks as he wiped the tears that managed to escape anyway.

“Who are you?” I heard him whisper.

A stillness took hold and I felt my surroundings disappear into it, until everything faded into the darkness.

I opened my eyes. I was in my bedroom, my cheeks damp and heartbeat fast. It took a few moments for my vision to focus. A glance to the window told me that dawn would break soon.

The clock was ticking. I didn’t want to forget. My blanket tossed aside, I went to the study table.

I found an old diary and flipped it open. I began to write down everything I could remember.

Trees. White puzzle pieces. Dandelions. Violin. Artworks. Him.

I tried my best to put into words the hazy image in my mind but my shaky hands could only accomplish so much. It wasn’t enough. Like my memory, my vision began to blur and more tears ran down my face in frustration.

It was then that I realized I couldn’t remember what he looked like. No matter how much I tried to, I couldn’t.

A blur of vibrant color flashed in my mind. The uniqueness in his hair and his kind eyes.

In haste, I pulled the drawer open and shuffled the things inside it for the colored pencils I had but never found the need to use. In an unlined page of the diary, I scribbled the turquoise pencil all over. The messy scrawl tainted the white page as a reminder.

From that day on, I pondered from time to time about the reality of dreams. How they could be a reflection of a person's desires. How, at times, they could even be memories of one's waking life. How some dreams recur, others forgotten. Ever since I had that dream, there was a lot for me to think about.

I didn’t have the same dream twice. Until now, I struggled to grasp for its meaning. But after that night, I began to come back to the dandelion field more than ever. When I mustered up the courage to purchase a new violin, it was in that safe haven that I played for the first time in a long time. Just like in that dream.

The happiness I felt granted me the courage to pursue my passion.

A good year passed and now, I am in an art gallery in Seoul to perform as a representative of OO School of Music. As I walk around the venue, a particular section catches my eye and I make my way towards it, having a hard time believing what I am seeing.

The first painting, taller and narrower compared to the others, was depicted as if the viewer is the one standing in the forest and looking up at the tall trees and blue summer sky.

Right beside it was a different piece. A landscape artwork of a dandelion field where a girl stands in the middle, playing the violin. Her hair and the skirt of the white dress she wore seem billowed by the wind as shades of white and yellow float all around her.

I close my eyes as I was taken back to those places. The fragments of the blurry memory of that dream click into place as the paintings fill in the details I’ve forgotten.

“It's you,” I hear a voice behind say.

A year ago, I told myself that if he exists and in any circumstance I see him, I will definitely know. I will definitely remember. At least, I hoped I will.

I turn around and gaze at the man standing before me. He is dressed in a beige coat and a black turtleneck underneath. His hair is still as unique, the gleam in his turquoise eyes still so familiar.

“Jihyun.”

I know him, I walked with him once upon a dream.

This work was inspired by V's CGs and spaceship reveals in Another Story.

OUAT Episode Analysis- Knightfall

Well, congratulations, Gothel. You’ve actually managed to make me hate you even more than I hated Rumpelstiltskin Prime from Season 4 onwards. I’m now REALLY hoping you die in the worst possible way before this show ends.

The flashback for the episode started off so beautifully wholesome, it made my heart swell.  It begins with Young Alice and Wish Killian.  We see Young Alice has become quite the painter, and it looks like Wish Killian has, too.  As evidenced by him standing next to a painting that is similar to the one Young Alice is painting.  The quality of the second painting is significant enough to suggest that they were not painted by the same person.  So it’s safe to conclude that Wish Killian learned how to paint to help Young Alice cope with being magically confined to their tower home by helping her see the world through paintings.  And Young Alice ended up taking up painting to emulate her father and create her own visions of the world she’s never seen.

Now, I’m wondering exactly how Wish Killian learned to paint.  Is this a skill he learned through Milah?  After all, it was heavily implied that she had a great artistic talent. If that was the case, it suggests that Killian Prime also has an artistic side. (Which means we have something else to add to Killian’s growing list of talents.)  But what stuck out to me the most is that Young Alice and Wish Killian’s paintings feature a ship.  Was this supposed to be the Jolly Roger?  That aside, it’s rather heartbreaking that Alice chooses to paint the sea.  Perhaps being by the ocean would have been cathartic for her, too, like the way it was for her father.  But because of the curse on the tower, she cannot see it in person.

Young Alice even picks up on the bittersweet nature of it, as she verbalizes how her paintings only makes her yearn for the chance to see the ocean with her own eyes.  And its clear Wish Killian’s heart is breaking for his little girl, as he has yet to find a way to lift the enchantment that’s keeping her trapped.  (Also, how adorable is it that he calls her Starfish?  I wonder how Alice earned that particular nickname.)  In an effort to lift her spirits, Wish Killian presents Young Alice with a small chest that he claimed to be planning to give her as a birthday present but decided that it would be better to give it to her now. The chest is revealed to be filled with glass vials filled with sand, which he’s collected from the nearest beach. He goes on to explain how this was his attempt at bringing the sea to her.  Touched by the gesture, Young Alice embraces her father.  But the heartwarming moment is abruptly interrupted by Gothel, who appears out of nowhere, Force Choke Holding Wish Killian before magically shoving him out the window, much to Young Alice’s horror.

But then, it turns out that that whole segment was just Young Alice having a nightmare.  When she wakes up in a cold sweat, Wish Killian is by her side in an instant, doing what he can to calm and comfort her.  Now, the thing that stood out to me the most is that Young Alice somehow knew what Gothel looks like.  How did she know?  It’s never indicated that they ever met in person.  But Wish Killian mentions something about how Alice sees the world in a ‘special way’ and that he believes her when she insists that her nightmare wasn’t just a dream, and that it meant something was wrong.  Does Alice have some sort of psychic ability?  Is she channeling Fiver, the clairvoyant rabbit from Watership Down?  Because that would actually explain a lot.  Like why Tilly has to be on medication in Hyperion Heights while no one else does.  Maybe these pills were what helped suppress her visions?  As to how Alice gained that ability, it might have something to do with how her vile womb donor was a witch.  Perhaps magic is genetic to a certain degree.

In light of his daughter’s visible distress, Wish Killian ends up making a decision he clearly didn’t come to lightly.  He admits that there’s one thing he hasn’t tried in his ongoing efforts at freeing Alice from her tower, but at this point, he’s willing to swallow his pride and risk taking that option.  Before he sets off, he comforts Young Alice, promising that he’ll return soon.  In the process, he gives her his white knight chess piece so she’d have something of his to hold onto until he returned, prompting Young Alice to do likewise and give him her black rook chess piece.

It turns out that Wish Killian’s plan is to go to Wish Rumpelstiltskin for help.  That alone shows how much Wish Killian loves his daughter. He’s actually going to the man he hates the most for help.  Imagine how much that must have rankled him.  We’re talking about the man who murdered the woman Wish Killian loved in cold blood, right before permanently maiming him by brutally cutting off his hand. But Wish Killian was willing to put his pride aside and ask for that man’s help in order to help his daughter. He is really that desperate.

When Wish Killian visits Wish Rumpelstiltskin’s cell beneath Wish Snowing’s castle, Wish Rumpelstiltskin is at his most manic state.  So, how exactly did Wish Killian know where Wish Rumpelstiltskin was?  Did that whole thing with Snow and Charming approaching Killian/Hook in the 6x20 flashback occur in the Wish World, too?  Was Wish Killian stepping forward to cash in on the favor they owed him for helping them reach EQ Regina’s castle?  Because I thought Shady Blue said that everyone would forget about their experiences while that whole singing spell was in effect. Also, is there a Wish Emma somewhere in this world?  I know the whole Wish World creation thing is beyond confusing, and it was suggested that our Emma was the only version of Emma.  But maybe it was like how it was with the 2003 anime version of Fullmetal Alchemist.  Remember when Ed wound up in that other world beyond the gate?  His spirit essentially got implanted into the body of his counterpart in that other world.  Maybe that’s what happened when Emma was sent to Wish World?  Then again, that wasn’t the case when Regina ventured to Wish World. Considering Wish Regina had imposed exile on herself and probably was nowhere near the Enchanted Forest.  But maybe that had to do with how Regina Prime simply wished to be taken to the same world Emma had wound up in.  After all, wording is very important, especially with the arbitrary rules of magic.  Of course, I’m probably trying too hard to make some semblance of sense from this.

Anyway, Wish Rumpelstiltskin eventually makes a deal with Wish Killian.  It involves Wish Killian seeking out another ship captain.  One who managed to obtain an artifact that’s later revealed to be Maui’s Fishhook.  So apparently Moana exists in this world now.  Once Wish Killian has Maui’s Fishhook, he’d be able to use it to use it to destroy the tower and thereby free Alice.  In exchange for his help, Wish Killian promises to release Wish Rumpelstiltskin from his cell.  So, with the knowledge of how to help Alice, Wish Killian heads off into town, where he reunites with Wish Smee.  Which I did like.  At the end of the day, it’s quite clear that Killian and Smee were good friends.  Wish Smee even offers to return ownership of the Jolly Roger back to Wish Killian.  But Wish Killian’s life now revolves around Alice and finding a way to free her.  He manages to trace Maui’s Fishhook to Captain Ahab of Moby Dick fame.  The irony of this is interesting.  Because of Ahab’s famous hunt for the White Whale, he’s become an iconic representation of obsessive hatred.  One might even accuse Killian Prime/Wish Killian of that, prior to him finding a reason to live inside Emma or Alice.  

When Wish Killian confronts Ahab over the matter of Maui’s Fishhook, Ahab taunts Wish Killian for a bit, accusing him of being old and washed up.  However, Wish Killian doesn’t let these taunts get to him and proposes a wager. He invites Ahab to join him in a game of dice.  The winner of the game would get both Maui’s Fishhook and the Jolly Roger.  Even though it is kinda strange how Wish Killian saw fit to use the Jolly Roger as a gambling chip despite the fact that she currently belongs to Wish Smee.  (And there’s even a brief moment of mild levity when you see Wish Smee reacting to Wish Killian’s statement.)  Regardless, Wish Killian and Ahab have their dice game, with Wish Killian winning.  

Unfortunately, when Wish Killian returns to Wish Rumpelstiltskin’s cell to uphold his end of their deal, it’s revealed that Ahab followed him, and he once again starts to mock Wish Killian, accusing him of no longer being a pirate and being so pathetic, he has to resort to seeking Wish Rumpelstiltskin’s help, etc. etc.  But really, who cares?  What’s it to Ahab, anyway?  Since when is it any of his business what Wish Killian does?  Seriously, Ahab, why do you even care?

Unfortunately though, Ahab’s mocking accusations end up getting to Wish Killian, and, in an effort to save face and uphold his pirate name, he challenges Ahab to a gun duel.  But as they fire off their shots in unison, Wish Killian has one of those life-flashing-before-your-eyes moments. In the process, he remembers Alice and how she’s waiting for him back in her tower.  And he realizes that, if he died, then she would be all alone. Thankfully, he manages to come out on top in the duel, with Ahab’s bullet simply grazing his shoulder.  Wish Killian doesn’t stick around to gloat, however, as he has remembered that Alice is his top priority, so he immediately heads back to her tower, with Maui’s Fishhook in his possession.

And that is when the episode flashback reaches its tragic turn. Upon returning to the tower, Wish Killian is given a warm welcome by Young Alice, who is quick to hug him.  But the moment they embrace, Wish Killian recoils in pain, and a mark appears on Young Alice’s wrist.  Out of nowhere, Gothel appears, announcing that Wish Killian’s heart is now cursed.  It turns out that she somehow made it so Ahab’s bullet was infused with the Curse of the Poisoned Heart, and that when it grazed Wish Killian’s shoulder, it entered his bloodstream, thereby placing the curse upon him.  (Does this mean she somehow put Ahab up to this?)  She proceeds to taunt Wish Killian about how he brought it all upon himself by letting his pride get the better of him before magically removing him from the tower.  She then continues to taunt and gloat to him even more about how he’ll never be able to safe Alice now before teleporting off, leaving Wish Killian to listen to Young Alice’s desperate voice as she repeatedly calls out to him to save her.

Okay, seriously, what is Gothel’s malfunction?!  Why would she do this?  Hasn’t she hurt Wish Killian and Alice enough?  Why did she feel the need to torture them even more?  Wish Killian and Alice were just simply living their lives together, not doing a single thing that would have bothered or inconvenienced her at all.  What, will Gothel somehow get returned to her tower prison if Alice ever escapes?  If that’s the case, there was nothing in the narrative to indicate it.  And the fact that she took advantage of this moment to forcibly separate them is just sadistic and cruel.  She better not later act like she was doing this for Alice’s own good by claiming she was protecting her from having a selfish father or whatever.  Because that is horsebuck of the highest order.  Not to mention how she has no right to act like she ever has Alice’s best interests in mind.  This is the woman who only birthed Alice to escape from the tower.  And she didn’t hesitate to up and leave Baby Alice to die alone in the tower.  There is no reason why she’s allowed to suddenly act as if she cares about Alice now.  Especially when she has purposely separated Alice from the parent who actually loved and was there for her.

Neither Wish Killian nor Alice deserved this.  And Wish Killian is nowhere close to being a selfish father.  He gave up his WHOLE LIFE to be there for Alice and raise her as best he could.  He spent the last 12 or so years with everything revolving around her.  Just look at all the toys Alice had lying around in her tower.  Wish Killian clearly went to town in providing her with things to play with, even to the point of spoiling her.  And we see though that whole flashback moment during his duel with Ahab that he did everything in his power to make sure Alice had a full life, in spite of how she couldn’t leave her tower.  He did everything he could to make sure she’d want for nothing, and never stopped trying to give her the one thing she lacked- her freedom.  The fact that he’s now being punished so harshly for one single mistake he made by letting his pride get the better of him just one time?  That is just despicable and sadistic.  Especially since he’d already realized that he’d made a mistake by listening to Ahab’s taunts. And you just know that Wish Killian is going to spend the rest of his life feeling guilty over this, especially knowing how much this has hurt Alice, who has lost her father and ONLY companion because of this.

In Hyperion Heights, Rumpelstiltskin and Rogers (who has yet to wake up and remember that he’s Wish Killian) are still trying to find the culprit behind the string of murders.  As they’re working, Tilly/Alice stops by unannounced, inviting Rogers to have a chess match with her.  But Rogers essentially brushes her off, stating that he’s busy with his police work and needs to focus.  After Tilly shuffles off, Rumpelstiltskin states that their best bet at preventing further murders is to know who is involved with the Coven of Eight. Because knowing that would enable them to offer protection to the would-be victims.  But the only one who would know the identities of the remaining members of the Coven of Eight is Eloise/Gothel.  Which is a problem, as the woman has seemingly gone into hiding. But then, as if her ears were burning, Gothel appears right in front of them, announcing that she’s willing to provide them with information.  However, when they bring her into the interrogation room, Gothel refuses to say anything in front of Rumpelstiltskin.  Which is obviously because they both know they’re both awake. But the fact that she plans to be alone with Rogers indicates that she’s up to no good, as Rogers is the only one of them that hasn’t woken up yet, so he has no idea who it is he’s talking to. Rumpelstiltskin, pulling Rogers aside, informs him that it’s not a good idea for him to be alone with that woman, but Rogers just rolls his eyes, confident that he can handle Eloise/Gothel.

Honestly, I’m kinda annoyed at Rumpelstiltskin here.  Sure, he’s trying to warn Rogers not to let Gothel get into his head and all, but Rumpelstiltskin is awake and therefore knows exactly who Gothel is.  And he knows what Gothel did to Wish Killian and Alice.  And it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Gothel will most likely take full advantage of the fact that Rogers doesn’t remember who she actually is.  If Rumpelstiltskin really wanted to help protect Wish Killian/Rogers from Gothel, then you’d think he would be putting a bit more effort into it.  Maybe Rumpy Rumps hasn’t actually fully let go of his animosity towards Killian Jones and is therefore only putting in the bare minimum of work into keeping Wish Killian safe.

Anyway, when Rogers goes back into the interrogation room, Gothel doesn’t hesitate to get all creepy, even commenting on how Rogers might look good if he was clean shaven.  Okay, I REALLY want to strangle this disgusting woman! Where does she get off, commenting on his appearance here?  She has no right to do so, especially after everything she’s done to him and his daughter. But then Gothel starts going off on this weird tangent, saying that Rogers has to figure out who he really is before he can even hope to help protect the other members of the coven.  Which is really weird.  Because I seriously doubt she’s actually wanting to help Rogers wake up. Eventually, she convinces Rogers to bring him his favorite painting, revealing that she knows Rogers liked to paint. Refusing once again to heed Rumpelstiltskin’s warnings, or pointing out the obvious that Gothel’s friends might die if she doesn’t knock it off with the guessing games, Rogers complies and fetches an oil painting he kept. Which is the same painting we saw Wish Killian had painted in the flashback.  (Ugh, the feels that Wish Killian was able to keep that painting when the Dark Curse brought him to Hyperion Heights)

Again, Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t seem to be putting much effort into keeping Rogers from playing into Gothel’s hands.  He KNOWS Rogers doesn’t know the full extent of how dangerous Gothel is.  He KNOWS that Rogers doesn’t know the first thing about this woman.  But he responds to Rogers’ stubborn ‘I can handle this’ attitude by basically throwing his hands into the air and going ‘fine, do what you want.’  So I’m once again side-eying Rumpy Rumps.

By the time Rogers returns to the precinct with the paining he made in Pre-Curse Enchanted Forest, Tilly has once again returned.  This time, she’s seen that Gothel is present and she is freaking out.  I’m guessing she’s once again channeling Fiver the rabbit, as she can sense that something is not right about that woman.  But when she begs Rogers to not go back into the interrogation room with Gothel, Rogers abruptly, and rather harshly, dismisses her and ignores her pleas. And my heart is breaking for them both. Because it’s clear that Tilly has some sort of sixth sense that is setting off serious warning bells in her head. And you just know that Wish Killian is going to beat himself up over how dismissive he was to his daughter once he wakes up, even though it wasn’t necessarily his fault due to the fact that the curse was preventing him from remembering.

 (And my hatred for Gothel increases even more when she reveals that she can see Rumpelstiltskin, Rogers and Tilly’s confrontation through the security camera when she mockingly waves at Tilly.  That woman is the WORST!)

Once she sees the painting, Gothel once again starts spouting riddles before she finally gets Rogers to admit that, like his true self, he feels a connection to the sea.  But he’s never been there as Rogers because there’s no one for him to share it with.  Is that what you were after, Gothel, you complete sicko? Is that what you wanted Rogers/Wish Killian to admit?  Were you just looking to pour salt into his wounds?  Haven’t you tortured that poor man enough?

Finally, Gothel states that both the lady doctor and the blind baker both got a gift of a heart-shaped box of chocolates before they were attacked, suggesting that the chocolate box might by the killer’s M.O.  But when Rogers and Rumpelstiltskin follow that lead, they end up at a dead end, I guess, as the florist whom the next chocolate box was delivered to reportedly died years prior.  Wondering if they were intentionally sent on a wild goose chase, they head over to the hospital, where the blind baker was recovering under the watch of some armed guards. When they get there, however, they find the guards have been taken down, and the blind baker has been killed.

But then, a hysterical Tilly suddenly appears from the shadows, brandishing a scalpel.  She begins to yell at Rogers and Rumpelstiltskin, shouting at how she tried to warn them something bad was going to happen but they refused to listen to her.  She then jumps out of a nearby window and runs off.  While Rogers and Rumpelstiltskin are unable to follow her, they make their way to her boxcar home.  Inside, they find a rather incriminatory painting of the Coven of Eight’s mark, with two of the points crossed out in red.  At face value, this probably would suggest that Tilly was behind the murders, but neither Rogers nor Rumpelstiltskin believe that she is the actual killer. However, they are unable to ignore the fact that Tilly was present at the scene of the crime, and that she’s now wandering around somewhere, having a full-on panic attack.  So, while Rumpelstiltskin volunteers to return to the police station to buy them time and do some damage control, Rogers takes it upon himself to track down Tilly.

While all of this is going on, Lucy is off coming to terms with the knowledge that her father would die if the curse was ever broken.  In a misguided attempt to keep this from happening, she tries to tell Jacinda that she no longer considers Henry her favorite author as she no longer believes in happy endings and fairy tales, stating she’d rather her mother not see him again. Which is really frustrating, as she is giving up too easily.  While we don’t see how Jacinda responds to Lucy’s statement, Henry is feeling upset that Lucy is now pushing him away and even confides in Regina about it when they run into each other on the street.  Regina is apparently returning home from Facilier’s place, which just makes me think even more that they spent the night together.  As well as wonder what exactly they’re doing with this particular pair up.

At some point, however, Drizella, still reeling from Steppunzel’s death, as well as the knowledge that her mother really did love her all along, asks Henry to come over to help her out with things.  When Henry stops by with the intention of being there for someone he believes is a friend (remember they seemingly bonded during the Halloween episode), Drizella makes a move on Henry and tries to kiss him.  Which is extremely gross, considering that Henry is Drizella’s stepbrother-in-law, and Drizella is fully aware of this fact.  At least, I think Henry and Parallel Ella are married.  I realize that it’s safe to assume that they were probably married before the new Dark Curse was cast, but we see them kiss for the first time in 7x08, and then, two episodes later, we flash forward to Lucy being born.  To date, we’ve never seen anything that happened between the first kiss and the birth of Lucy.  They never specifically said that they were married, did they? Not that it really matters, of course.

Thankfully, Henry is quick to reject Drizella’s advances, telling her that she’s not in the right state of mind and that she shouldn’t do something she’d later regret.  At the same time, he empathizes with her, because he still believes his wife and daughter are dead, and he knows how it feels to lose the people you love. But he reminds Drizella that, unlike him, she still has family and advises her to reach out to Jacinda and Lucy.  At first, Drizella doubts that Jacinda will want to see her, but Henry convinces her to at least try to extend an olive branch.  So Drizella stops by Jacinda’s apartment under the pretense of returning some of Jacinda’s childhood things that Steppunzel had stored away. Eventually, the two women begin to have a heart-to-heart about the difficulties that surround the relationship between a mother and daughter, with Jacinda admitting she’s facing her own issues with Lucy because of the little girl’s sudden behavior.  Overall, this is a really nice scene, and I don’t find anything to fault with it.  In the end, Jacinda and Drizella seem to make amends, with Jacinda even returning a toy that Drizella apparently favored as a child.  Whether or not this truce will still stand once Jacinda wakes up is anyone’s guess.  But during their conversation, Drizella, I guess, has an epiphany and she realizes that she still has something to do.  And she ends up leaving the apartment, stating that she has to finish what Steppunzel started.  I have no idea what this means.  What exactly does Drizella plan to do?  Is this going to be good or bad?

The episode ends with Lucy FINALLY following my advice and seeking out Regina, showing her the page from the Storybook.  Why Lucy didn’t show this page to Henry or Jacinda, I can’t figure out.  Especially since it would prove what she was saying about the curse was true all along.  But upon seeing the page and finding out that Lucy knows what will happen if the curse ends, Regina admits to Lucy that she’s awake and suggests they work together to find a way to save Henry.  Which is what I’ve been saying they should do from the moment Regina woke up!  And again, while this scene is a nice one, there’s something about it that rubbed me the wrong way.  Regina brings up the fact that Henry also worked to find a way to break the Dark Curse, armed with just a pair of walkie talkies and an operation name.  While this is completely true and accurate, the way Regina talked of it made it sound as if this was something she and Henry did together.  But it’s not. Operation Cobra was Henry and Emma’s thing.  Regina was the one trying to stop them from succeeding.  

Also, can we talk about Regina’s claim that ‘Mills women save people’ or however she worded that statement?  Okay, what?  Was I watching a different show for the past six seasons?  Is this the Mandala Effect at work here?  Because if memory serves, saving people was the Charming family’s claim to fame.  The Mills family, however, mainly consisted of Cora, Regina and Zelena.  No offense to the Regina fandom, but when did any of those women actually make a habit of saving people? In fact, apart from Zelena, who I think only killed two people in her life (and I don’t count Neal as he killed himself through stupidity), they all had a pretty high body count.  So… is Regina just falling back into her old habit of acting like she was always the real hero or something, and that she was not actually responsible for any of her past crimes?  I’m sorry, but that just really irked me.  Especially since I thought Regina was doing really well this season.  But once again, we have her acting like she was always on par with the Charming family in terms of heroics.  Although, I guess that’s nothing new.

Next week, however? I honestly have no idea what to expect.  With an episode title like ‘The Girl in the Tower,’ you’d think the next episode would continue to focus on Tilly/Alice.  But the promo only focused on Lucy and Regina’s plan to spy on Faclier.  If that’s going to be the main focus of the next episode, I’m going to be disappointed.  Because at the moment, I’m only interested in seeing Wish Killian and Alice wake up and remember each other.

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Fighting in the Age of Loneliness, supercut edition: A conversation with Felix and Jon

Secret Base is re-releasing our MMA documentary series as a single cut. Here’s a talk between its creators, Felix Biederman and Jon Bois.

Secret Base now has one million subscribers on YouTube. It’s a big moment for us, and it’s a testament to all the ambition, creativity and years of hard work put in by our team: Alex Rubenstein, Clara Morris, Graham MacAree, Jiazhen Zhang, Joe Ali, Jon Bois, Kofie Yeboah, Mike Das, Phil Pasternak, Ryan Simmons, Seth Rosenthal, and Will Buikema.

Out of appreciation for our viewers, we’ve decided to re-release our 2018 documentary series, Fighting in the Age of Loneliness, as a single two-hour video. Jon spent years working with Felix Biederman of Chapo Trap House fame to tell a story of mixed martial arts, sketchy business dealings, power-hungry families, the fading of American empire, and the refuge offered to us by our weird, stupid, beloved bloodsport.

Jon and Felix also took the occasion to have a long talk about what the project means to us two years later. It was a free-flowing conversation that sort of went where it went. We hope you enjoy.

Jon: I’ve been on the internet making all kinds of different shit for a really long time, and two years down the road, Fighting in the Age of Loneliness is one of the things i’m very proudest of. One reason it was such an interesting experience for me is that tonally, it’s just so different from other things I tend to make. It’s fundamentally a bittersweet story and it refuses to forecast a happy ending. It’s honest until it hurts.

I know you grew up watching MMA, and you’d wanted to make a large-scale MMA project for quite some time. Was there a specific point at which it stopped being merely a fun Saturday night for you, and you started to notice the erosion of the things that made it so special? Did it go hand-in-hand with you growing up and beginning to see the world for what it is? I’d be really interested to hear how and when you arrived at this place.

Felix: First of all, I want to say that FITAOL is the sort of thing I have dreamed of making since before I ever knew I’d work in media. It was a distant glimmer and I would never have been able to do it with anyone else. The way it looked and felt outpaced even what I had imagined something like it would feel like as a kid.

As for MMA, I didn’t notice the decline until I was in my early- to mid-twenties. Maybe there’s something to be said about the final parts of your childhood now dying around that time nowadays as opposed to earlier. I definitely became more prone to noticing seedier, more depressing, hollow aspects of things I enjoyed, but it was something more than that. There are tons of things I love that I now see the darker aspects of, but I’ve never gone from full obsessive mania to not touching it like [I have with MMA]. Or at least not as an adult. I knew everything, every fight, every event, who left which training camp, whose manager is an asshole, etc. I didn’t go from that to not watching instantly, though.

I think the moment my enjoyment declined too much for me to love it was 2016. I had more responsibilities and worked a ton that year, but to put it bluntly, I developed a life. I don’t think I really had one as a 22-year-old, and suddenly it felt like I had been dropped one from the sky. That’s never gotten in the way of me getting obsessive about things and drawing a singular focus, but in this case I had started missing fights I never would have and not really missing them. There was nothing drawing me back. If you can maintain an interest, hobby, obsession, or mania in a time of new meaning and excitement, there’s something at the core of it that’s radiating out to you on a very deep level. MMA did not have that for me anymore. I felt like that core had been hollowed out and it took me a while to figure out why.

Jon: You know, I think there’s something singular and special about that age you’re talking about, somewhere around like 20. A lot of parts of your life and things you always believed kinda melt off and float away. At the same time, the “rest of your life” – maybe not in everyone’s case, but in mine and by the sound of it yours – hasn’t started yet. So you’re left in this sort of twilight where you’re just sort of there, trying to make it day to day and clinging to whatever resonates with you. Despite all the confusion and indirection, while I’m glad I’m no longer there, I do get very nostalgic about it. It was this age of time-wasting, aimlessness and stupidity, and at the time it never dawned on me that I should cherish it, that it’s something I’d never experience again.

That was a time I thought about a lot as I started reviewing your script, actually. In most of the chapters you slotted in an interlude that painted a picture of the sorts of people this resonated with. People who were forgotten and rudderless in one way or another, and took refuge in a thing that was so unique and tasteless and off-the-path that it could feel like it was theirs. That was the case with me. Although my appreciation of MMA was much more casual than yours, it picked me like a lock. I was just like, so much of the shit I thought I was supposed to care about doesn’t make sense to me. But this does, perfectly.

We’ve talked about this a little before, but the thing about this I’m proudest of is its determination to try and capture that lonely, disjointed, forgotten feeling that countless people around our age experienced (and still do!), but is virtually never talked about. I mean, this isn’t new. Every previous generation has 900 million pieces of media documenting what it was like to be them. While each one is no more or less important than the next, each is different and shaped by different conditions. I don’t know if you wanna venture a guess. Do you think future generations are in for more of what we were in for, but worse? Can you imagine a realistic possibility that things will get better?

Felix: When I think about coming generations, I think about what Jarvis Cocker says in “Common People”: “you’ll never watch your life slide out of view.”

It’s a gut-wrenching line in a song that’s musically upbeat. It hits at something very deep emotionally with me that I could never put into words. That’s exactly it: peoples’ lives just fall out of the collective field of vision. They’re forced to live at the periphery of everyone’s vision. They’re UberEats guys or they wipe down the aisles at CVS every 15 minutes, or they’re the saving someone else’s place in line for a COVID test.

The next generations will have a few carefully-doled-out seven-figure futures, and then a fleeting and tenuous middle class that is only defined as economic “freedom from” and not “freedom to.” Your purchasing power is shit compared to your parents, you’re going to live like a bug in a major city or in a new construction monstrosity that’s built to collapse on itself, and you have fewer family and friends every year.

Your dream of having someone you love and somebody that loves you, much less bringing someone new into this world, seems like more of a distant fantasy every day. But you’re the person ordering the food on the delivery app. You’re the guy who those CVS workers make way for when you sadly waddle down the aisle. Aren’t you glad you’re not those people who you only ever see in the corner of your eye? And that’s where everyone else will be: increasingly invisible. They’ll leave your food at your doorstep and be penalized at work if you make eye contact with them. They’ll bring you pallets of agribusiness-grown chemical bullshit that makes you feel sick and fucking miserable all the time. Your greatest fear on that middle class iceberg will be drifting off and becoming someone who does not exist to people like you, and it will keep you in line.

I don’t know how that changes. I don’t think anyone currently holding federal office gives a shit about those people or even putting their finger in the dam to momentarily pause the constant degradation and pain most people in this country feel that you never hear about. I don’t know what the path out is.

Jon: I don’t know either. I’m an optimist by choice because being that way makes me happier and motivates me to make whatever infinitesimal speck of difference i can make. It’s like religion. I can’t justify it, I can’t tell you you should be, it’s just the way i choose to be. One thing i’m fairly sure of is that if it gets better, it’ll happen over a long, long span of time, in increments usually too small to collectively celebrate, and so slowly that neither of us will ever really see it. It’ll be as imperceptible as Jarvis Cocker described. The small, illusory prize of seeing Bernie lose, for instance, is the fantasy that we were THIS close to getting on the right course, that we’re only a few breaks away from pulling the switch and rolling down another track.

And since it happens so slowly, we can’t let ourselves be driven to agony. I mean, we can, but we’ve only got one of these lives. We have to have things that make us happy, even if the avenues toward those things grow narrower, and even though the very nature of community crumbles and sends us seeping between the floorboards looking for it.

I remember during the aughts, when I was first trying to work my way into sports media, the popular line among the cool kids was that things like sports are a distraction that monopolizes peoples’ attention and energy that otherwise would go into enacting real political change. But things like sports are the fucking point! MMA, or learning how to play the lap steel, or thrift fashion, or Counter-Strike, or Scrubs fan fiction, or whatever in the world it is for you. That’s what you’re fighting for, if you’re fighting. Every hour you get to spend in that world is your victory against all this. Maybe it is the bread-and-circus shit that every guy on an aughts forum with a name like TheChortlingAtheist or whatever said it was. Maybe it is. But what exactly would we ask? Can you blame them? What the fuck else would you suggest, annoying guy i remember?

Felix: That’s exactly it. There’s this thing that happens when people get monkeys as pets: they go insane from a lack of enrichment and play (as well as not being around other monkeys). They never learn how to be a monkey. They’re just naked and vulnerable to the world because all they can do is hit the button or make the face that makes their owner give them food. That’s all their life is and it’s fucking miserable and terrifying. Sports isn’t the thing you strip away and then find meaning. It’s part of the palette we color our lives with. It’s the only way left we have to describe certain things.

I think it’s interesting, that for however highly Americans poll on the military on paper, the military feels it absolutely must have this massive presence at American sporting events. That for all the polling, no American recognizes someone from the joint chiefs of staff or the ranks of SEAL Team Six like they do someone from the NFL or NBA. I think people reflexively say they worship the military in this country, but they clearly don’t seem to believe we have any war heroes. We haven’t made any of them celebrities in a long time. We fundamentally don’t believe our wars are heroic. Our actions show we think our athletes are. That’s the thing actually giving our lives enrichment and color.

How to channel that, I don’t know. Maybe our Napoleon is at Michigan or Clemson right now. If we ever have a highly transformational single ruler who washes out the old, it will be an athlete.

Jon: RIGHT! It’s in sports where we find some of the most pure, honest expressions of humanity. To borrow one of my favorite lines of yours from the series, nothing about it lies to you. It’s so intensely expressive in ways people can almost never achieve even when we script it. I think about this moment a lot:

Looking at this, you’d never know the Astros would win the next game and go to the World Series for the first time ever. A stadium full of people is losing their shit, Pujols hits a ball 700 miles, and in an instant, the entire place sounds like a shopping mall. There’s no lesson in it, there’s no narrative arc, there’s nothing being sold, no message sent. It’s just 50,000 people having their hearts ripped out. You’ll never see a more essentially human moment. Give me times like those over every TV show i’ve ever seen.

I’d love to say the military’s days of polling high are numbered, that younger people are beginning to see things for what they are. But hell, however old you are, odds are that either Vietnam or Iraq shaped your upbringing and understanding of the world in some way, and apparently that’s failed to sufficiently register. Once again, everything progresses so slowly and silently that maybe it’s just a foregone conclusion that most of us come to accept it.

I gotta reference the Civilization games here. The start of a Civ game is a hell of a time. You’re exploring the world, discovering things, introducing new technologies, building all over the place. then you start waging war as a colonizing piece of shit, and that’s a great time. After a healthy amount of that, Brazil invades and burns down half your cities, and you spend the next 700 years plotting revenge. And one day you strike back and take that revenge, and it’s so satisfying. It feels like it should be good times from there on out, but to your surprise, the late game is incredibly dull and lifeless. All you’re doing is researching how to build fighter jets and bombers. You hunker down, and you stop giving a shit about whether all your cities have enough food. All you’re doing is selecting a stealth bomber, scrolling across the map, bombing Barcelona. Then you scroll back to Philadelphia, select another bomber, bomb Barcelona again. This is all you’re doing now. You don’t even know why you’re playing anymore. You just keep doing it because that’s all there is to do.

Then sometimes you’ll scroll around and notice some ancient unit you forgot you had. Like a spearman or something you left on a far-flung part of the map in 400 A.D. and forgot about. You could disband the unit, but you don’t. You could send him to bum-rush a helicopter unit and get destroyed, but you don’t. Because you care about him. He’s all that’s left about what you once loved about all this, back when you at least thought you knew why you were doing what you were doing.

Felix: I think we’re headed in this strange fragmented direction none of us can quite place. Very few people want to admit that this is the end, the beginning of an imperial unraveling. I see all these debates over whether China is communist or not, whether they’re the fucking Third Reich or something ridiculous, or they’re the saviors of humanity. They all miss this very basic fact: China overcoming mass poverty on a scale we’ve never seen, China modernizing on the timeline and scale that it has, is the only generational human accomplishment of the last 30 years. That’s it. That’s the only thing anyone actually remembers in one thousand years if we’re still here.

They’re the only nation that has done anything at all. The United States, European Union, India, no one has any equivalent accomplishments. Oh, uninterrupted peace in Europe? Shut up! No one gives a fuck! You’d have to dig deep for something one one-hundredth as impressive.

In America, though, you never hear about it. You never hear about how they’re fucking spitting in each other’s mouths at water parks while we’re toiling in the slush. And you know what? I don’t care if more people died than what they said. I know nations lie, blah blah blah. The simple fact is that we’re squirming around in the mud while they are living in the present and that’s an unmistakable fact. Sorry. We may have the capability to kill some people and knock some governments over still, but we’re done. We’re revealed as pathetic. No one is actually afraid of us. So what happens next?

The one thing working in the military’s favor is that they’re the only institution with the resources and manpower to assume control and/or fight current oligarchical powers if it came to that, but I don’t know if the military will have the same emotional powers in people’s minds then. It may leave a different taste in people’s mouths if there start to be falls of Saigon every day. Maybe that happens under a Mike Lindell presidency in 12 years. We’re dragged kicking and screaming out of the world. We never acknowledged our time was up. That’s certainly the direction we’re heading in as Biden drools out something approximating “we’re going to restore global leadership.”

MyPillow / YouTube

Jon: In high school I was annoyed by this dude I knew who liked to go on about how America was in a state of decline. He was also a guy who signed his homework as Tyler Durden, but 20 years down the road, can you argue with him? I’m glad we talked about Hurricane Katrina in the series, because that wasn’t an aberration. It’s all Katrina. Sometimes it manifests loudly, like it does with this pandemic, but most of the time it happens completely silently. Someone sitting in Rikers for years without a trial. A $45,000 medical bill sitting on a kitchen counter. Whatever we collectively thought this was is long gone if it was ever here at all.

I’m watching an NFL game at the moment and it feels just like 1996. Aside from flipping on an old movie, sports might be the only thing that can do that for me. The material realities of our world completely evaporate there. Colin Kaepernick was blackballed from the league in his prime and the league’s owners knew they would never have to admit why. The moment it seemed like NBA players were on the precipice of the most radical labor action we’d seen in ages, it was whittled down to something compatible. Granted, they are stenciling END RACISM behind the end zones now. But it just dries up here, and a consequence of that is that we get this world that sort of exists outside of time. It’s our constant. It’s like you said: that’s where our heroes are, that’s what captures our imagination.

There’s no prescription I feel qualified to offer for any of this. Fighting in the Age of Loneliness doesn’t really either! We ended it with, keep fighting, keep putting one foot in front of the other, the only way out is through. But ultimately, a lot of this project’s ambitions lied in simply acknowledging the feeling of living in a time that we argue is unquestionably an era of American decline. Nobody wants to try to tell that story, and understandably so. It wasn’t us because we’re so smart or insightful or brave or whatever the hell. We just got a chance to try to tell it through Google Earth, iMovie, and inconsistent audio leveling on YouTube, the world’s most prestigious and important platform. As with any project that’s a couple years old, I’ll sometimes see something and wish I’d done it better or cleaner. That’s inevitable. But damn if it isn’t one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever worked on. It was fantastic to be able to make this with you, man. Maybe we’ll do it again someday.

Felix: Every day I have to remind myself that we did this. It doesn’t seem like something I really got to do because it’s so completely our own. I could not have written this with anyone else. Whatever happens, whether we’re just the next Turks or Brits, sad crusts of a water pie, a former imperial core driven insane by the frontier we created, whether we live in a Chinese century or the next power is some unexpected axis, or maybe even something good happens, I hope we can do this again.

hope is for the lucky ones. //

A/N: This is going to get quite lengthy – the A/N, I mean – but please read until the end if you can... And thank you if you do, it means a lot ♥ The story was loosely inspired by my trip to London to see The Ferryman last month – don’t really want to get into details again because it doesn’t matter anymore, but the trip left me with rather bittersweet memories and also lots of self-doubt that was really hard to get rid of later on. I made this story by a great amount of thinking and jotting down bits and pieces of information everywhere I could but somehow I just couldn’t bring myself to write it. Now, a month later, I needed it again and it sort of became my coping mechanism as I’ve been dealing with lots of, well, stuff lately – and writing certainly let me take my mind off that. I’m actually really happy I made it happen because I generally give up on my plans way too easily – and completing something gave me a push to give myself a chance to try again. I admit I projected onto this story way too much and put lots of personal experiences in it but let’s leave it at that, it doesn’t really matter which parts are pure fiction and which relate to me personally in some way. Tl;dr I put a lot of effort and personal feelings into this story so don’t be afraid to send me both positive and negative feedback :) I haven’t got so invested in writing in ages (if ever) and I hope it shows just a little. I listened to lots of very random music while working on this but if I can recommend anything, you could try listening to Kygo’s This Town while reading, I feel the atmosphere of this song sort of compliments the story. Also, I most probably won’t write anything else, like I’ve said somewhere before. Anyway, thanks for putting up with me and, well, enjoy! x

What: sometimes luck strikes when you least expect it... what happens when a lucky person like Tom meets the exact opposite, a ‘bad case of bad luck’, as she likes to call herself?

Word count: 3137

Warnings: none, unless you’re afraid of getting cavities?

Hope is such a vicious word – it makes you look forward to things then tears your heart out when they do not happen the way you wished them to. And she was an expert on having her dreams crushed by the unknown forces of the universe.

“O-of course, I understand, the end of the month it is then,” she said and ended a call, letting out a heavy sigh and feeling a wave of panic rushing through her already tired body.

It was happening. Again. The universe just loved to keep dropping bombs at her without any warning, as if she existed for the sole purpose of being ridiculed by it.

She had just recently quit her job and it was a well-thought decision, having grown in her head with all the pros and cons attached for several months; the job had been draining all of her life energy like a badly developed app would a smartphone’s battery – and she had had enough. There was no turning back; she ended up being unemployed of her own accord, but at least she had found a nice and affordable place for herself and tried to make it home ever since. Somewhere she would finally belong.

The temporary calm was just the calm before the storm, as it turned out soon; the landlord called to tell her they had changed their plans and they were so very sorry and all that but she would have to move out by the end of the month… Now she could add homeless to the ever-growing list of -lesses. Jobless. Homeless. Worthless…? And, to end it all with a huge cherry on top, her favourite band had just cancelled their only gig in the vicinity, the one she had been waiting for years to attend, the only thing she had been excited for, her only ray of hope left in this world.

Wasn’t hope just plain overrated though? Especially when you were what she would call a ‘bad case of bad luck’; a pessimism-painted realist, somewhere along the way she had learned how to hope and expect good things to happen – and that was the nail to her proverbial coffin. To most people, an unfortunate event or a mild inconvenience, which the things she would experience might or might not have been, would be quite far from the end of the world. But to her, they were. The end of the world. Over and over again. Some of the days, she would even wonder how good it would be if it came for real one day and ended her misery.

But to her ever-growing disappointment, it just would not come quickly enough. And now she ended up in a shady back alley on her way to pick up some groceries, having just ended up that dreadful call, unable to move or think straight. In normal conditions (if there were ever conditions considered as ‘normal’ with her), she would somehow manage to make a straight face, do her business as fast as possible and run back home, just to burst into tears the moment she would close the front door to her flat. But today was different. Crushed with the bearable-no-more weight of living, she just dropped to her knees and started crying right where she had stood, silently sobbing at first just to go full-on wailing, too busy being lost in her own misery to realise anyone could actually see (or hear) her like that. She quickly readjusted her position and now she was sitting with her back propped against a cold brick wall and her arms wrapped around her head, resembling a child who had just lost their parents and could not find their way back to them.

Listening only to her own quickened breathing and the heartbeat thumping through her ears, she did not recognise a sound of footsteps slowly coming into her direction.

***

After having taken care of some business in town, he was now taking a stroll through the neighbourhood. As the streets were rather empty this time of the day, he was enjoying the peace and quiet in the middle of hustle and bustle of the city, lost deeply in his own thoughts… until he heard a peculiar sound coming from a back alley he was just passing by. He did not even slow down at first, trying to ignore that slight disturbance to overall peaceful surroundings, but something at the back of his head started to nag at him to turn around and check the source of the unusual sound.

“Whatever…” he mumbled to himself and headed back to the dark and ugly alley he would normally never give a second look – just to find her. A young woman, sitting all alone on the cold cobbled ground, crying her heart out.

Suddenly hit with an unpleasant pang of worry, he rushed to her without a second thought.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked with a concerned but warm tone in his voice.

Startled out of her mind, she immediately lifted her head up – strands of hair sticking to her wet face and mascara starting to run down her cheeks – just to be met with a pair of deep blue eyes staring down at her with a rather vague expression. She blinked twice, thinking it was just her wild imagination playing tricks on her already messed up mind – but he was still there. A man resembling an angel looking down at her with concern, running his hand up his blonde hair to prevent the fringe from getting its way into his eyes.

She tried to say something – anything – but words just would not come out of her mouth; he was not even supposed to be there with her, she would always be invisible to that kind, only being noticed by drunks and overall dodgy types… She even half-expected him to turn into one of those if she blinked one too many times.

“H-huh…?” she murmured, her stiff tongue only allowing her to produce this much of semi-coherent speech. She still was not convinced he was real and did not want to get her hopes up for nothing. She knew better than to hope again.

He saw reluctance and pure confusion in her glassy eyes. ‘What a beautiful girl she is…’ he thought, wondering what on earth could make her so incredibly sad and put her in the state she was in.

“What happened?” he continued aloud.

“N-nothing,” she answered and her voice was barely audible, accompanied with constant sniffling.

He was suddenly hit with a rather strange idea.

“Wait a sec… d-do you like tea?” he blurted out and smiled sheepishly at her, rubbing the back of his head, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself. In fact, he just could not stand the sight of someone like her sitting out there all alone with tears streaming down her face.

Even though he still had no clue what had caused all that despair, he did not want to push; he could come back to that later if she was willing to share her experience with him at all. All he knew at that point was that he just had to keep her safe and make sure she would get home without any trouble, be it catching a taxi for her or just walking her himself – whatever she would not find too suspicious as they were strangers after all. He decided to protect her from the world that evidently had hurt her so much, even if it would be just for the day.

With his newly found resolve now deeply engraved in his conscience, he took off, leaving her all alone again, hoping and praying she would be fine until he came back.

She stared at his slowly retracting silhouette with astonishment and mouth now wide open but as he disappeared around the corner, she started to overanalyse the whole situation – as ridiculous as it was – just to come up with the only possible explanation.

‘I knew it,’ she thought as she sighed loudly. ‘Of course he would run away, I wouldn’t even want to look at myself right now.’

And then she went onto telling herself how hope was only for the lucky ones, definitely not for someone like her whom the universe hated so much; how no hope was better than actual hope, since no hope equalled no disappointment. And deep in her heart, disappointment was exactly what she felt that very moment.

***

‘Shite, why did you leave her out there, you idiot?!’ he scolded himself as he was running back to ‘her’ alley as fast as his legs allowed him to. He was worried out of his mind for that unknown girl he would probably never even meet again but he just made it a point of honour to somehow ease her pain, whatever had caused it.

“Here, drink it and you’ll feel better,” he bent down in front of her, handing her a takeaway cup from a small café she had previously passed by a thousand times, as it was located just around the corner. “Tea makes everything better,” he added and smiled, as she gave him a confused and a bit wary look.

‘At least she isn’t crying anymore,’ he thought, looking at her damp and pale face slowly producing something in a shape of a soft smile. Maybe he was just imagining things but he could swear the corners of her lips moved even more up when she took a sip from the cup. “I didn’t know what you liked so I went for herbal to help you calm your nerves, hope that’s alright?”

“You’re not trying to drug me, are you?” she asked gingerly and looked him deep in the eye, holding the cup in both her hands, trying to warm herself up a little.

“I give up,” he held his hands up in the air in a defensive gesture. “Whatever I say, you’ll have trouble believing me anyway… At least I would if I were you,” he stated and an honest laughter escaped his mouth.

She giggled almost inaudibly and took another sip. “Thanks.” she murmured quietly.

“Now tell me what’s wrong… You got me really worried here,” he added and the expression on his face shifted to a concerned one.

“D-do you know what Murphy’s law is?” she asked and looked at her own feet, suddenly unable to face him straight on. “Well, it’s not really a law per se but I’m pretty much a living example of that.”

“I reckon I’ve heard that term before… What’s it about?” he replied and scratched his head, wondering where she might be going with that.

“You know, ‘anything that can go wrong will go wrong’ and all that… This is basically the definition of my life, I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.” she explained and sighed heavily, lifting her head up and finally locking her eyes with his again.

“Tell me more,” he said intrigued, sitting down next to her on the cold and unwelcoming cobbles, noticing a shade of resignation in her voice.

When she mentioned Murphy’s law, or whatever that was, he certainly was not too convinced; but as her words started flowing out of her mouth, a sign of understanding slowly appeared on his face. In any other situation he would most probably think she was just overreacting but that was no ‘other’ situation and he found himself drawn into her wild and meandering explanations, believing her every word.

Her story was very chaotic to say the least; she would often lose her train of thought, just to find it in the middle of something completely unrelated, throwing in yet another digression after digression. Buses that come too early; lost phones; broken bones; missed opportunities; bad things coming in threes (or in swarms, as she liked to say), never raining but pouring... Her life was a mess and she knew it all too well. And now he did too.

He listened to her rambling intently, nodding here and there to let her know he was paying full attention to her, astonished at how many ‘inconveniences’ she had to deal with every day. He slowly came to realisation that she must have been all alone in this whole mess, otherwise why would she even want to share her story with someone she has just met?

As she went on and on about the ‘bad case of bad luck’ that she was convinced she was, he knew he had to help her somehow; everyone had a fair share of the unlucky in their lives – and he was no exception – but he felt that in her case it was a bit too much... How was a girl like her even supposed to lift all of her ever-multiplying misfortunes on her already weakened shoulders? He did not want her to. He was not going to let her.

He felt so sorry for her.

“The universe must really hate me…” she said in a voice filled with sadness and shrugged as to brush off the feeling. “But what can I do…” she added and smiled at him weakly.

No, what he felt was not just sympathy. It took him a moment to think that through but now he was convinced he wanted, needed to be a part of that girl’s life. What role he was to be cast in – he could not care less; all he had to do was to make her happier somehow.

All of a sudden the world went completely silent. The confession was over and he knew it was his turn to say something but he just could not find the right words.

He did not understand the rush of emotions that started to fill him up but, just like when he had laid his eyes on her for the first time that afternoon, all he wanted to do was to protect her at all cost. No, it was actually more than that. She had put trust in him – a total stranger – and let him see a part of her broken soul, something she must have kept hidden for a very long time. Now, in turn, he was willing to help her fix whatever she needed to, even if it was going to take a whole another eternity. He had time. He was patient.

“But karma always comes back, doesn’t it?” he finally said, taking the long-forgotten cup out of her hands and putting it on the ground next to himself. He reluctantly placed his hand on both hers, now free, unsure if he was not crossing the line. The last thing he wanted was to scare her off by making her think he was taking advantage of her state.

But she did not brush it off; his hand was warm and she shivered at the unexpected but pleasant sensation on her skin.

“Maybe the universe has something bloody amazing in store for you just around the corner,” he continued, now taking her hands in both his and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Isn’t there a café around the corner though?” she replied and as she realised how lame her joke was, she could not help but start laughing.

“Exactly! What did I bring you anyway? ‘The amazing stuff from just around the corner’!” he exclaimed and joined her, letting out a hearty laughter.

“What if I told you I was a pretty lucky type? Maybe that would even things out, don’t you think?” he added in a more serious manner and looked her in the eyes, letting his lips form a lazy smile.

“Pretty or lucky?” she asked in turn, deliberately putting more emphasis on ‘or’. “You can’t possibly be both.” she quickly explained, smirking in triumph and punching her small fist gently against his arm.

“Hey, that was rude!” he replied and punched her back, seeing her tense muscles slowly relax under his touch.

In fact, he still slightly intimidated her; she tried to hide how much of an impact that combination of great looks and what seemed like more than just a decent personality had on her. His smile was genuine, she could tell – but she also could feel it take its effect on her weary body, like a wave of calmness coming at her out of nowhere and washing off all of her troubles. As much as what he had said might have sounded a tad cliché, she wanted to believe him. She just needed that kind of reassurance in her life.

While she was trying to enjoy that sudden but rather pleasant calm, he decided to just let her; if it was making her feel better, even sitting out there in a cold dark alley was more than worth it. Encouraged by her newly-found relaxed attitude, he put his arm around her and brought her closer; she did not protest and responded with a soft hum.

“So… what now?” he suddenly broke the temporary silence and stood up, dusting the dirt off his trousers. “Up we go!” he smiled and extended his arm to help her up.

As she was trying to think of something to say, he took a tissue out of his pocket and pressed it against her cheek. “Let’s make you all cleaned up, shall we.”

“Am I five years old or something?” she pouted but let him finish what he had started.

“Definitely ‘or something’, I’d say,” he tried to defend himself smoothly and she gave in when she saw him smiling innocently at her, laughing it all off.

“Care for a walk? Walks also make things better, you know… Let you take your mind off things, just breathing in the air and landscape around you.“ he said, staring off into the distance.

He hoped she would say yes. It was just a moment they had shared together and he suddenly realised she did not necessarily have to feel the same way about him as he did her. What if she did not? What if she would not let him into her life after all? Was hope really only reserved for the lucky ones? But then again, he did consider himself rather lucky…

“Sure, why not?” she shattered his doubt in a split second, re-establishing eye contact and presenting him with a warm and genuine smile – that kind of smile that produces a spark in the eyes the moment it reaches them.

Without giving it a second thought, he grabbed her hand and felt her fingers intertwine with his. His warm palm against her cold skin, they started to walk along, unsure of their final destination; maybe there was not even one, maybe the whole point lied somewhere along the way. Somewhere in between.

They did not even know each other’s names – but everything at that moment just felt right. 

Okay my thoughts on the season finale… (as posted in the ABC advisory group)

If this wasn’t Jennifer Morrison’s (as good as) Last episode I would probably be fine with it, another rinse and repeat finale with a one group of people occupied doing one thing in one place while another group is kept busy elsewhere doing something else. It was very like what we’ve seen in the season finales in recent years – very formulaic. And I guess, with so many of the cast members departing and this being touted so heavily as “the final battle” I guess I just expected more. And that’s my mistake; I own that. I’m starting to think that Once Upon a Time is not a show that should be thought about on any level. It is fast food storytelling. You enjoy it at the time but ultimately, it’s not very satisfying and if you think about it too closely you’re likely to feel regret. I think you’re supposed to enjoy the surface level of the show but not concern yourself with the depth. And this is a huge and sad realisation for someone who has watched the show from the beginning and spent the last four seasons writing about and analysing the episodes in depth – sometimes writing thousands of words about one episode. It wasn’t always like this though and it makes me sad.

My biggest problem with the episode was the disconnectedness between the two sides of the story. We see the people transported back to the Enchanted Forest do various things – there’s collapsing worlds, there is a hunt for a bean, Regina is trying to do magic for …reasons. But ultimately nothing that those stuck in the Enchanted Forest does has any purpose whatsoever – it’s mindless busywork to keep them occupied and out of the way. Why didn’t Hook use the bean? Why didn’t he throw it on the ground and create a portal and get back to Emma quickly like Snow told him to? How nice it would have been to get a pay-off on Emma’s brief flashes of memory of her wedding day, Hooks image burning in the book, with him coming through a bean portal and Emma feeling a strange stab of recognition for this man and then them Kissing to restore her memories. Then Emma and Killian would have gotten their TLK! I feel so sad that so many couples got one, some that didn’t really deserve one (Hades and Zelena, I’m looking at you!) except for Emma and her true love. They still could have had their season one inversion of Henry giving Emma a TLK to save her life after the fight with Gideon (even though I think, and I am a mother, it’s really, really weird for a child to give their parent a true love’s kiss.). It would have connected the two parts of the story beautifully and it would have given purpose to the Enchanted Forrest side of the story and just improved the whole episode overall. I can’t help but think the episode would have been more entertaining and more of a parallel to season one if the curse had kept everyone in Storybrooke and robbed them of their memories – Henry still could have been the sole believer (I guess it was the book or his author role that kept him exempt?) and given him more purpose, more people to try to get through to… And maybe Emma wouldn’t have had to do the strange and oddly fast (8hour round trip!) visit to Boston. Ultimately, I felt there was no connection between why it was so important to separate Emma from her family and the realisation that she was never alone and the battle with Gideon and the curse . . . and yeah.

The Black-fairy was a big anti-climax. I knew she would be. She literally functioned as a Regina-substitute and I can’t help but wonder if, as this was the ending that A&E envisioned from the start, it was supposed to be Regina in the end. It would have made a hell of a lot more sense! I really believe the show was derailed from its purpose with, not by the befriending of Regina as a tactic to defeat her … but that that tactic worked so efficiently and without question. Regina’s redemption felt like a slap-up whitewash and somewhere along the line the writers became too scared to challenge the character. She got away with everything she ever did with no consequence. It’s hardly a satisfying story. Fairy tales are about good versus evil. With good supposed to win after trial and hardship. It’s a shame that Regina was never put through the same trials and challenge that say, Rumple or Hook or even Emma and the Charmings’ were put through. Seeing the dwarves paint “Queen” on her door and bowing to her was sickening. She is not a queen, she is a usurper. At the very least she should have admitted this as part of her “redemption”. The very least. All I could think when there was the shot of her looking at the red apple at the end, was that she must be very pleased with herself. She Won. She won everything. Her evil plans and schemes paid off big time – she’s rich, powerful, she apparently “owns” a town, the people now love her, she has a son, friends and a sister and she never had to pay the price for any of the terrible things she did. It’s not logical to expect people would just ‘get over’ decades of abuse and torment. It’s not fair on the people she hurt. Not to mention that her clone also rides off happily ever after into the sunset? Of all the unnecessary inclusions in the finale the presence of Regina 2.0 was the worst. She dominated and nearly killed the show; I seriously hope that this is the last we see of her. In this new-look season seven, I really hope that they make Henry’s nemesis, whoever that may be, his nemesis. And keep it that way. Don’t make Henry befriend him (or her)! Enmity is a good thing to keep between enemies. It drives a story, it gives purpose – it gives the audience someone to root for. And as ironic as this sounds – it doesn’t divide. People may love a villain but they love them for being a villain and they love the hero for standing up to them. It makes a much better story than making your protagonist sweep the past under the carpet, and put their blinkers on about every questionable thing that their nemesis is doing. And don’t turn Henry’s archenemy into a sainted Mary-sue (or Bobby-Stu) who is annoying and sanctimonious while at the same time being self-centred and selfish and boring and rendering themselves superfluous to the point where every appearance in the story feels like a shoehorn…

The ending of the episode was nice, but a bit twee. Everyone got a happy ending. Yay. I guess. Whether they deserved it or not. Belle, why wouldn’t you have taken that newly babyfied Gideon and run for the hills? I liked that Rumple did the right thing in the end but it was too little too late for that marriage – and with Belle not coming back next season, surely a melancholy bittersweet parting of the ways would have been more appropriate for them? As it is, it feels very much like all these Happy Beginnings that have been gifted to everyone are going to be ripped out from under us with the departing characters. Its’ inevitable. I will be incredibly sad if Emma Swan is killed off to move the story forward. But I won’t be surprised. I’m not sure the writers gave us enough of a hook to pique our interest with the duplication of the original story at the end… the show felt very much done. I felt a sense of relief that it’s over. That I can finally stop thinking about and worrying about these characters. Before the finale, I was fully intending to keep watching – I like Colin O’Donoghue and the Character of Killian Jones so I am predisposed to continue…. But that ending, it made me feel a sense of ambivalence. I’m not sure I can be bothered re-investing without the guarantee of a decent return. If Emma was back, I would be back. No doubt. But with how I’m feeling at the moment, there will have to be some very interesting information released over the hiatus to get me back and they will have to tell us something, some crumbs, instead of this nonsensical evasive “wait and see” discourse.

Whenever we write, it’s something we do together. We may not always actually talk, but we both contribute more or less equally (whether or not Terra actually notices it and doesn’t chalk it up to eir own thoughts ahaha) Anyway, thought we should make a list. Or rather, two lists. Fics in progress, and fics we haven’t started but want to.

In progress, in order of current motivation to finish (kind of)– *“"sequel”“ to fake dating au. Just need to add some stuff (maybe up to 1k? We can’t shut up about these two and their healthy communication I mean talk about goals, right) and tweak the characterization to fit the established au. Motivated by time, mostly. Hope to get it up by Valentine’s Day. *gym au where it’s gay and such a pity Javert’s has prosopagnosia and always distracted by Valjean’s arms, and how Valjean’s never seen Javert out of uniform and doesn’t recognize him in workout clothes and is ever so distracted by his runners calves. Absolutely tragic. *dw doctor/TARDIS fic. I think I’m into that a lot because of that symbiotic relationship. I’m always about symbiotic relationships, probably given my own nature, haha *dæmon au, because that’s always important. Won’t be finished anytime soon. *magic au, because it’s almost done and why not? *leverage ot3 fic, since we don’t expect that to be too long, and also I mean it’s leverage so that’s always good. *phone call perceived unrequited perfectworldshipping fic, since we still think that’s really good and just the right amount of angst that is satisfying as hell. At least for us to read. That bittersweet kind of thing, where they’re just a hair’s breadth too late, they miss each other by just a second, if they had only reached out sooner but it was never the right time. Both of us love that shit so much. Kind of wary of posting two 5+1 fics so close together though. *Vampire!Javert, even though we’re undecided what direction to take that one right now. We have up to the bridge, but we can take it to the potentially nsfw direction or somewhere else that’s sfw. *self indulgent fic, since it’s self indulgent. Also at a standstill since we lost so much of it. Might not ever post because it’s fairly personal with the amount we project our own struggles with depression onto Javert. *sad fic, because that seems short. It’s hard to write. Haven’t been struck with that inspiration where the words come with that yet. Terra wants to write that more than I do, out of some kind of desperation to prove we can do something other than sickening fluff we can hardly bare to edit lol. There’s no rush. We have two modes: sickening fluff that apparently makes people scream and/or laugh out loud (which is? Unexpected? That funny stuff is fun to write but we never expected it to be as much fun to read), or angst fic that will break you. Absolutely no in between. *the other sad fic, which is also really personal, but it’s also half informative so somehow the part of us who loved to educate overtakes the anxious part of us hahaha. That fic requires an actual map so we can get things in order, and more research than we’re willing to put in at the moment. So, standstill. We know exactly where we want to go with it though. Probably the fic we actually use words to talk to each other about the most. Usually it’s just feelings, melding together in that writing zone to where we are really one with each other and not separated at all. That can be fun too, but I like talking. *the one where Javert is a ghost. We have the beginning, but Terra’s more interested in how Javert works and functions as a ghost rather than actual plot and I’m stuck on what to do so it’s at a standstill. *wolves fic, because that’s such a good quote we can’t not use it. Don’t know where we’re quite going with it exactly. Have a vague idea but nothing solid. *Vegas au, requires casefic which means a case and we aren’t quite sure how to handle that yet. Of course, because it revolves around casefic, we can’t do much with it yet but we have the first scene written out that probably will need redoing at a later date but whatever. It’s Vegas. *butter for lube. I hate Terra for this. So much. *touchfic, requires massive reworking. It’s 25k. Like half of that is going to have to be rewritten entirely or cut and that’s going to take so much time and effort. Totally know where we’re going, it’s just how to get there that’s the issue. *3rd person POV fic. Know what we’re doing, just not sure how to make it into a good fic. Also we keep getting distracted by OCs, so large sections of that are going to have to be cut or at least severely minimized. Those are just the things we have actual parts written, not just outlined.

To write, in no particular order– *REVERSE GROUNDHOG. We’ve been wanting to write this for literally years. And we have about 80% of it planned to a T in our brain. We just. Need to write it. And figure out that last 20%. *werewolf Valjean, for obvious reasons. There’s never enough supernatural (not the show, although the influence is most definitely there) AUs nor creature!aus *superhero AU, fight us okay *coffeeshop au #3, where jvj is a crime novel author and lowkey uses the cases Javert mutters about in his books that Javert’s a closet fan of. Idea half stolen from Paper Monsters, a cherik fic. *olive garden au aka coffee shop au #1, which Terra promised Stephanie like four years ago *Coffeeshop au #2, which is so similar to the Australian au that we might scrap it, or just write it for our own enjoyment and never post. *the one we call Mercy, with swensonvert and raminjean, which is decidedly nsfw and will go to the Shame Account. *buddy cop AU inspired by… oh what’s that movie. With the two lady leads. It’s kind of recent and super good. *leverage au with the Les Mis faves, of course. I wish we had more straight up Leverage ideas, because that’s such a good show. We yell at each other about it so much. *ink on skin soulmate au because we love soulmate AUs. *dw dæmon au where humans are the only species who have dæmons and the Doctor is absolutely fascinated by this. Thought of this yesterday, so it’s pretty new. *the one where the main pairing is Javert/Seine with lots of suicidal ideation. *Toulon nsfw fic. We don’t know how to introduce the nsfw aspect, honestly. And our Jean le cric isn’t canon characterized and it bothers me. Terra says run with it, "because fuck it it’s fanfiction,” but it bugs me. Technically, it’s partly written, but it bugs me so much I’m not counting that. *TiMER soulmate au. That one’s interesting because it plays off the idea of people evolving and growing, how the person that’s “perfectly comparable with you” may meet you earlier on (and at that point, you are good with them) but their timer doesn’t stop then. Javert’s timer resets and resets to the point where he thinks it’s faulty and Valjean’s remains constant, only skipping around near the barricades because Javert himself is fluctuating then too. Anyway that’s a lot of fun but requires a lot of looking things up in the brick and referencing the Les Mis timeline often. *music au, because we love those too, and although we collaborated with Star on the one we did for the Big Bang, we’re still not satisfied because it doesn’t /exactly/ match up with the one we constructed in our head. It’s good and we enjoy it immensely, but it doesn’t scratch the itch. If we end up rewriting it with the same plot points and stuff, we won’t post it. Might change it up, making Valjean a solo piano or luthier, but always secret composer Madeleine and always concert master Javert. *coffeeshop au #4, where they keep meeting on accident during rush and leave post its on each other’s coffee and only know each other by their coffee names. Occasionally they talk in line but it’s just a meet-cute honestly. We don’t expect this to be long, just a cute little idea. Javert always freaks out with the reveal and makes things longer and harder though, even when we expect that of him. *possibly doctor/surgeon!Javert and Valjean always coming to the ER because of shit he gets himself into by performing mostly selfish actions. Javert has beef with him for some reason. Maybe mugged him when he was a student of important things that held him back, or otherwise heavily inconvenienced him and he pressed charges, of course. *lowkey artist Valjean, who is really good but doesn’t think he is. Don’t know if this should be modern or canon era. Inspired by a friend who has Valjean hair we met at fiddle camp. He’s very good and does both realistic and caricatures that really capture people and that’s such a Valjean thing. *white collar inspired fic, half planned out. Valjean as an art thief and Javert as his pursuer. When Javert puts him away the first time, Valjean’s just gotten in with bad people. He changes when he gets out. His motives change to be more Leverage-like, and it becomes almost a game of cat and mouse. In his forgeries he starts writing stuff to leave Javert, little post it notes on the wall where a painting used to be, etc. Javert is confused but honestly missed chasing Valjean. Then after one incident where Valjean handcuffs Javert to something and leaves him there after banter/lowkey flirting, he leaves these files proving how corrupt the people he’s robbing are, as well as proof that the paintings get returned to a good place or the money from the sale goes to a good cause with only a little bit missing to pay for Valjean’s own humble life. Javert starts doubting. Valjean sees him on the bridge, paints him, then breaks into Javert’s house to hang it (and also buys him food because Jesus your fridge is barren, must feed you). It’s even signed with his real name and painted in his own style. Javert is kind of touched, even if he’s pissed off that Valjean could break into his apartment so easily (he changes his locks and only gets halfway through the milk before it goes bad. There’s a reason he doesn’t keep much food. It’s because he’s never home to eat it). Then, when Cosette is in danger, Valjean panics and doesn’t know who to go too except Javert. Javert comes home one day to Valjean pacing in his front room (and is annoyed he broke in /again/, why can’t he ring the doorbell like a normal– he doesn’t know why he could even thing of Valjean as normal and then thinks he should be more angry a know criminal is in his home and somehow looks like he belongs there). And then minor casefic- Javert helps him in exchange for his freedom. After, Javert manages to get Valjean as a consultant with an ankle bracelet thing a la white collar because damn it, he’s definitely gone for him. The first time Javert visits Valjean’s house he’s annoyed because Valjean has an original Monet hanging in Cosette’s room, which means the one they think is real is actually a forgery. That’s been developing in our brain for a long time too. We should just write it already. *TWEWY au, where Valjean ends up dying the same week as Javert. It’s a normal Game, of course. Unsure if we should have Reaper!Javert or not. Still working out the logistics of that. Who should be Conductor, Game Master, other reapers. Composer, even. *modern au where Javert’s a cop and keeps pulling over former criminal Valjean who’s now a successful and well know businessman. They end up making out against the side of Javert’s cruiser after many cop-based innuendos. Valjean’s license plate has 24601 in it, obviously. *original!weird friends AU. Featuring Grantaire/Javert friendship that neither will admit is friendship, born of over a year of arresting Grantaire for being drunk in public and various other minor crimes and watching him in the drunktank. They talk about being mentally ill, so bipolar lithro Grantaire and prosopagnosia lowkey depressed Javert. They talk about Grantaire’s unrequited crush that’s both ideal and hell for him, and teases Javert relentlessly about his not so lowkey crush on Valjean. Probably Grantaire POV. Grantaire crashes his car/motorcycle through Valjean’s shopfront window, and Grantaire just has him call Javert, totally unknowing that this is the guy Javert’s crushing hard on and has to deal with that awkward mess while very drunk and very manic. Possibly recognizes Valjean as Cosette’s dad, idk. Arranges for them to meet up very sneakily, because they’re not friends and this is just to make Javert shut up about this guy, yes totally, not to make him happy or anything. Shut up. They’re not friends. (Wow that was almost entirely Terra there. It’s late. We’re tired and not used to separation.) *AU!weird friends au where everything is the same as the above au except Grantaire has a vine account (Vine will be mourned). Obviously set when Vine was still alive and well. Consists mainly of Grantaire filming Javert while mentioning Valjean and watching as Javert attempts to be chill but is totally /not/. May involve him dropping massive amounts of paperwork, or spilling boiling hot coffee on himself. Definitely features him threatening Grantaire with arrest, not like that phases Grantaire anymore. Cosette sees his vines, mostly the one where Javert actually sees Valjean and walks straight into a street sign or trips over a parked car or something, and recognizes “oh my god that’s my dad”. They gleefully try to get them together and Grantaire’s vines consist of them actually meeting and Javert crushing harder than a 12 year old girl and Valjean’s being absolutely smitten with him. Probably told strictly through social media and video descriptions? It would be fun to try that since the texting was so fun in fake dating. Grantaire’s name is drunktank420 and you can’t stop me. *Canon era transman Javert. Can’t stop us. It’s ideal. …there’s more, because there’s always more. We are always thinking of fic. Anything cute or neat that happens in real life you can bet one of us latches onto it and an AU is born right there. It’s 5am we should sleep. Fic is too much fun for the both of us, which is why I completely endorse it. I would love to explore Valjean’s PTSD and anxiety more and having Javert learn how to calm him down or see the signs to remove him from his stressors. Also, obviously, Javert’s depression, suicidal ideation, and recovering from his suicide attempt. And his prosopagnosia, ADHD-ness, and his dyslexia in more detail. I put bits of it in almost everything but we want to examine it more.

Music Memoir

chapter one: this must be the place (naive melody)

 “C’mon, Annie” Lauren elbows me in my side, “stop dragging ass!”  I push her and laugh, spilling her Miller Lite tall boy in the process.  We’re followed by our usual round-up: Tori, Gabby, and Blake.  I feel the bass in the air well before I see the party itself.   It was an old house, a couple miles down from our university campus.  It was our friend from high school’s housewarming party, and we didn’t know anyone else who would be there.  I was nervous, but had also found it’s usually more fun that way.  We can be anyone in the distorted light of parties with strangers.  The summer after high school, she was our first friend to get her own place and we were ecstatic to party somewhere besides our mom’s houses.  The door ajar, I push it open, feeling the warm air against my legs.  The traditional fluorescent lightbulbs have been abandoned for bulbs in hues of pink, orange, purple.  People are packed, not quite to sardines, but it was going to get there before the night was through .

My eyes drift, surveying the scene and people within it; warm eyes and sangria smiles across everyone’s face.  There’s beer pong playing right inside the door, a timeless game of skill and drinking. I move past a giggling couple to the table where drinks are in the kitchen and they had everything, and I mean everything.  I was impressed by the spread of refreshments, from cheap beer to the most popular liquors and even wine in addition to the bowl of sangria.  There were six packs of Gatorade stacked up on the left side, which act as a sort of holy water against the evil of tomorrow’s likely hangover.  I scoop some sangria, a tangy red with floating bites of oranges, into the signature solo cup of the same color.  I become best friends with a girl in the bathroom who had an extra hair tie, whose face I immediately forgot as soon as I stepped from the bathroom.  My boots stuck to the floor, creating a noise of tape being peeled from plastic as my heel escaped the layer of sticky, spilled PBR. I feel the laughter in the air almost more than the rhythmic bass itself.  The unmistakable verve of David Byrne’s voice echoes through me, “This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody)” is welcomed readily and I can’t help but agree with the title: this must be the place!  Any party that ditches the tradition of electronic music in favor of 80’s pop automatically wins a place my heart and ears.  I lean against my best friend Blake and we smile, dancing to the irresistible nostalgia of the 80’s which we never lived through.  How long has this song been playing?  It feels longer than usual.  Or faster.  Is it the tempo?  It could be a remix.  Or did some asshole accidentally push the “repeat” button on their Spotify app and we’re doomed to repeat dance to this song until the end of the time?  Ha! What a weird limbo to exist in, neither here nor there; neither of the 80’s nor modern dance music.  I know one thing for sure, if I was going to be doing the limbo, it would have to be with Talking-Heads era David Byrne.  Talking Heads eventually leave their spotlight, and is picked up by fellow nostalgia. Tears for Fears, DEVO, David Bowie, Hall & Oates, Prince, and the like; all my classic pop friends were here.  The strangers were strangers nor more.  They were the girl from the bathroom with the hair tie, the cute boy that pulled me in to play beer pong with, the smiling couple who just had to have us over for dinner sometime, and of course a few faces from high school in addition to the friends I arrived with.  

Under the lavender light I felt alive.  My heart swelled and I felt like a babe in the woods.  My wide eyes were naïve in this sweet light.  I felt like I could touch the stars of glitter across my friends faces and swim through the night.  I felt beautiful and infinite and all the clichés at once.  I didn’t want the night to end, and ended up passing out on the couch between my friends, still wearing my sticky boots.

Cover up and say goodnight, goodnight.

chapter two: golden years

 It’s the summer again, this time three years later.  It’s the summer of which two balloons, gold, were permanently taped up in my kitchen: “21” they read.  My birthday was before the official beginning of summer, a sunshine day in late May.  Every two weeks after that, more or less, one of our friends turned the same, ever-so-hyped twenty-one.  It felt like “Groundhog Day”, but instead of Bill Murray and a rodent, it was cheap beer and bad decisions .  I found myself in the same night with the same people with the same events playing again.  We felt originally liberated by the party.  But, by this time, house parties had grown old, and the thrill of paying too much for liquor in public was very much in trend.  It was a Tuesday.  Or a Wednesday.  It was some day, it was any day.  I remember I wasn’t feeling incredible.  Something inside me itched, and I bit my lip anticipating the night.  I was feeling an anxiety in going out again, already having a bad night worrying about having a bad night.  I had been snappy all day and was talked into going out to the bar, my friends convinced this would relax me.  Why not give it a shot, I thought.

Our friends dropped us off as they rolled downtown on their way to a nightclub instead.  Arm in arm with my boyfriend, Conner, we were followed by two more friends as stepped out into the pavement.  The day’s heat still radiated from the sidewalk as we flashed our ID’s to the bouncer. In the state of Utah, all alcoholic beverages purchased must be consumed within the fence of the patio, making it a very crowded space.  This patio wasn’t much of a patio at all, more like a wooden pig pen attached outside this building.  It was about five feet deep and thirty feet long.  It overflowed with loud twenty-somethings, chain-smoking cigarettes and breathing it into each other’s faces.  In the small space their laughter bounced off each other, each smile magnifying the last.  I couldn’t make out individual conversations because of the crowd, so they simply buzzed as a whole to me as I walked by.  The smoke was lit by the neon signs behind them, Budweiser AT THE TWILITE CLUB.  Vivid pinks and blues shadowed their faces in opposite directions.

We had to push past layers of bodies to make it the bar.  Two of their cheapest beers (Rainer tall boys) and two shots of whiskey, please.  While I gagged, I couldn’t deny the whiskey warmed my stomach and got me closer to where I wanted to be.  That anxious itch in my heart felt soothed, but I still felt tense about work.  I had worked somewhere for three years, and needed to quit.  One shot please.  I was pissed at the dent a stranger left on my car, another. I wasn’t making enough money to cover student loans? Fuck it, let’s do a whiskey ginger.  It tastes better anyways.  Starting to feel anxious about the money I’m spending here, too? Hey, treat myself, right?  The heat of anger left my heart and moved to my stomach.  I didn’t want to be an angry girl, I wanted to just be fun.  I didn’t want to snap at drunken compliments, I wanted to be the party.  I wanted what those pink-blue faces had out front, I wanted the smiles and to forget the rest of the world outside of this dingy bar. I wanted to be happy again.  I realized I ached for the easy summer after high school, when I felt forever was now.  I remembered my sangria smile and wanted to be that again.  

My thought was interrupted.  I had to pee. The lounge’s bathroom as painted an outdated pink and the line poured out.  Why did I even come here tonight?  The cheap drinks were hard to resist (whiskey sours for four dollars?!) but I sure was paying for it now in this endless line to sweet relief. Groups of girls and boys would pour out of these tiny single stalls, cackling in shrieks louder than when they went in.  One girl, donning a beanie labeled “baby” shoved into me.  I pulled back: “lighten up!” she yelled past the sound of her friends’ grinding teeth.  I made my way into the stall, finally, and pulled my skirt down and took a seat. That hyped-girl was right, I need to loosen up.  Why did I come here if I was just going to be pissed off about it?    It started feeling hollow to me.  I found comfort in the dim light before, leaning against friends in the old pleather booths.  They weren’t here anymore; they vacated as newer things excited them.  People familiar had left this scene and I felt terribly alone.  I wasn’t where they were, and home is where I wanted to be.  

Past the bar there was a jukebox.  A relic of a past I never knew, I still was fond of it.  I liked this jukebox.  I liked it because when I flipped through the selections again and again, I saw my friends.  I found David Bowie’s “Greatest Hits” resting after D’Angelo but before The Rolling Stones. I keyed in 6809, enter and Bowie’s “Golden Years” started to creak through the old speakers and serenaded the bar from the grave.  The twangy yet funk guitar rang in; and I moved my hips in rhythm.  I loved to dance but this felt foreign.  My legs moved wrong and arms were awkward.  That heat in my stomach returned, but not for long while it started working its way up my throat.  I moved past my boyfriend and the bodies, back into the baby-pink bathroom.  No line, I managed to grab a stall just before the whisky evacuated my stomach and right back the way it came.  Don’t let me hear you say your life is over, life’s taking you nowhere, angel.  Oh, Bowie, how do you know?  You’re an angel now; or maybe the mothership took you back to mars, Starman.  Come on, get up, baby.  Never in the twenty years we both lived on this earth did he call me baby my name, but it felt good to think he was singing to me.  Look at that sky, life’s just begun. Nights are warm and the day is young.  There was no sky in this stall, just a bittersweet pale pink.  I wiped my mouth and looked up nonetheless.  I felt cold in this bathroom, and rocked back.  I didn’t want these to be my golden years. Those my senior told me these were going to be the best years of my life, and that scared me.  What the hell was I doing I sat on the floor with my back to the wall.  There’s my baby, lost that’s all.  A soft knock on the door.

“Baby?” his familiar voice asked.    Once I’m begging you to save your little soul.  Standing up, I wipe my gagged tears.  I open the door and there’s my guy.  Conner takes my hand.  “Let’s go home”.

Come, get up, my baby.

chapter three: warm enough for you

The next day I wake up to my roommate’s cat sleeping on my face.  I picked him off me and he looks at me, annoyed. He blinked, meowed, and ran off. I wrap myself in my robe and make my way to the bathroom.  I run the water into the ivory bathtub.  As the water is running, I find my Bluetooth speaker in my roommate’s room.  I work my way back, stopping only to feed the cat, and stop the water, adding the finishing touch of pink rose Epsom bath salts to the blue water.  I find the album on my phone and press play.  To SZA’s sweet voice, I drop my robe and step in, feeling the warmth rise as I sink in.  

Why is it so hard to accept that the party is over? Bring the gin, got the juice

Bring the sin, got that too

 I’m glad I got over my aversion to contemporary music.  Thinking back to those summers before, I couldn’t believe I dismissed decades of music purely because of the time it was created. Pretentious, yeah, I thought I was the shit back then. It was as if I was somehow superior because I owned “Dark Side of the Moon” on vinyl and definitely listened to it before you had (despite being born twenty-three years after its release).  I remember holding my iPod classic, finding it proper I only fill it with classics.  At this early age, around fourteen, I had fallen victim to the “hipster mentality” that was gaining traction in my suburbs, with a dash of rigid loyalism to classic rock.  I would dismiss artists or songs, simply because they were popular. Looking back at this, I don’t completely understand why I would limit myself.  Music could make me feel so many things, why would I dismiss entire categories or eras of music simply to feel “cool”?  In my bath I still felt the cold shiver of cringe, the kind only past embarrassment could cause.  I felt I knew so much back then.  This was met by an irony I was well aware of, that at any point in time I will think I know so much.  And three years from now I’ll think the same about this moment, then three years from then, and three years from then, and so forth.  I’ll be in perpetual state of vanity and naïveté until the end of my days. That’s something I should just accept now, I figure, why fight it?  There are plenty of other things that have happened over the past few years, besides my slight increase in self-awareness.

Won't you just shut up, know you're my favorite

Am I...

The cat found his way back in and sat atop the bathroom sink.  He stared blankly at me again, got down, and walked over. He put his front paws against the rim of the tub.  “Mrow” he yelled.  I reached my wet hand out and waited. He gave sandpaper licks then gave me a wide-eyed stare.  His name was Bowie, which my roommate named due to the striped marks across face; not too unlike the Aladdin Sane cover with the blue and red lightning bolt across the rock star’s face.  I called him Bowie-cat, so no one would confuse him with rock-n-roll’s deity—as if that was going to happen anyways.  He could be the reincarnate, I hoped, as he was born around the time his human counterpart died.  There’s the vanity again!  If David Bowie decided to come back down to our earth I’m sure as hell it wouldn’t be this cat.  I could dream though, I figured.  

Bowie-Cat stepped down and I let my hand rest in the air after him.  I wanted him to stay, but who tells a cat what to do? I was alone in my dim bathroom, and despite the warm water I felt the unmistakable chill of loneliness.  I wanted my friends back, real and famous. I wanted Bowie and Prince back, I wanted my old friends from that summer after high school to come back.  I wanted my friend that overdosed to come back, and all his shitty friends too.  I remembered the night before.  I did feel better, in those moments.  All those people in the Twilite Lounge were in it together that night, in a pool of whisky and laid-back smiles.  We were swimming together in it and I felt a little less lost.

Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah

(Tell me that it's warm enough here for ya)

Is it warm enough for ya inside me, me, me, me

Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah

 SZA’s lament still echoed in my bathroom.  I lowered my face into the bathwater, smelling the rosewater and I submerged. I sink my nose in first, blowing bubbles against the water.

I get so lonely, I forget what I'm worth.

We get so lonely, we pretend that this works.

 I lower my face in and feel the warmth creep over my closed eyes and hair.  I want to incubate in here, have this rose bath become my cocoon. Then perhaps I could emerge once again in three years, doubly wise and not hungover.

chapter four: blackstar

It had been a few months since my last visit to the Twilite Lounge downtown. I know this because the leaves had abandoned their post and now crunched under my heel.   Conner and I had been lying low, spending our nights at home with our new friend: HBO.  We get a call; it’s our friend’s last night in Utah before he makes the move to upstate New York.  He was going to start over, his aunt had a restaurant up there or something.    His name was Bo, and he as a wanderer.  Twilite Lounge was his favorite bar, with his favorite drinks priced cheap and favorite drug dealers.  I look deep for courage and manage to gather it, somewhere between applying my winged eyeliner and burgundy lipstick.  One thing was still certain, dark lipstick made me feel like a bad bitch and I was ready to face the world.  

I take the liquor slower this time.  It’s hard to say no when your friends throw salt-rimmed tequila shot in your face yelling “Shots!”  I indulge and take one, and shake my head at the combination of salt, tequila, and lime. I was feeling confident that night, and the tequila only fueled that.  I see our friend Bo, and we join him in a booth.  The sound of pool balls clacking together and drunken hollers blurred and I smiled on all of them.

I wanted to see Bowie that night.  I wanted to feel the exuberance of his single “Fashion” or the unforgettable joy of “Under Pressure” where Bowie and Freddy Mercury of Queen belt together.  I clicked through and through… I couldn’t find his greatest hits anywhere.  My eyes frantically searched and the only Bowie I found was stark black star against a white square.  My heart sunk at this album—it was his swan song of an album: Blackstar.

“They took it off! Conner, it’s gone!  They put ‘Blackstar’ instead.  Why the hell would you want to listen that here?  That’s not a good song for drinking.”  I pointed harder against the glass while I spoke, as if that would magically change what was behind there.

“It’s what’s ‘cool’ right now.  Or, it’s what they play when they want people to leave.”  Conner smiled, “You know, bum them out and kill their buzz.”

             Conner put his shoulder around me and assured me the album was still out there, we could even listen to it on the way home.  My mind was still stuck on “Blackstar” while he comforted me, because David Bowie knew he was dying.  He knew for a long time, it was a cancer.  It was the first album without himself on the cover, it felt like a goodbye.  His face missing on the cover felt clear to me, we better get used to not having him around.  The most striking track, to me, would be “Lazarus”.  I may not be religious but I can appreciate a good old fashioned biblical allegory. Lazarus rose four days after his death by the hand of Jesus.  David Bowie wrote this song for an Off-Broadway production with the same name.  It followed the character that David Bowie played in 1976, in “The Man Who Fell to Earth”, an alien who came to Earth in search of water to save his home planet.  Spoiler alert for a thirty-year-old movie—the alien is sensitive to light and blinded by a paparazzi camera.  He is unable to fix his ship and return home, now stranded on the planet Earth. The production follows the alien years later.

David Bowie was asked to write “Lazarus” for this fictional character’s second story.  Despite it being for a musical production, it does feel thinly veiled to be biographical. David Bowie did portray the man who fell to Earth, and he act the same alien persona in his music.  Was he not the Starman?  Had he not contemplated life on mars?  He was a space oddity and beautiful.  

I stood frozen, lost in thought, my finger on the button and my eyes unfocused on the album cover of Blackstar.  Conner came up to me, and I showed him the tragedy of Greatest Hits’ goodbye.

David Bowie died three days after the release of this single, music video, and the album.  I remember waiting after I heard, I waited for four days.  I watched the milky white record of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars spin round and round, while I refused to take the needle off the record.  It spun in silence, but I didn’t want it to end. After the four days, David Bowie proved he was no Lazarus and did not rise—I felt alone without him in this world.

I stayed and closed the bar that night.  I had a pocket full of quarters and was determined to get that sweet high score on the Indiana Jones pinball machine up front.  I didn’t want to leave Conner and his friends, but I couldn’t go and be with them either.  I arrived late that night, and by time I arrived most were well on their way to a hangover the next morning.  I didn’t want to play catch-up, so we were working on two completely different wavelengths.  I felt uptight and, honestly, lame.  I felt like a boring old woman, only able to watch my friends from across the bar.  I felt like I couldn’t connect with them.  I nursed a local pale ale on tap, and played pinball wizard against the machine.  My final pin ball for the game slid past the two clickers and into the machine.  Game over.

             I felt a tap on my shoulder.  It was Bo.  I said before, he was a wanderer.  I had only known him for a month or two, but he was my boyfriend’s best friend for the past six months when he wandered into Salt Lake City.  He had greasy fake-bleached hair and was covered in hand-poked tattoos.  His eyes were red that night and his jaw was working overtime.  I didn’t know how I felt about him as a whole.  He had once showed me his tattoo: the twin towers and a plane, reaching from above his hip bones to his nipple.  The ink was crudely tattooed into his side, resulting in what seemed like a toddler’s doodle, vibrated into his skin.  I didn’t know if it was in remembrance of 9/11, satire, or maybe an ode to the conspiracy theory he believed in.  He told me he was passed out on heroin at the time, and while he would never admit regret to anything you could see it in his eyes.

             He also showed me beauty in his poetry and his kindness.  His heart ached for those in pain, and I could see the art bursting out of him. He was grandiose in his stories, and while I suspected hyperbole I would never call him out.  There was something magical about this character, and I didn’t want to pop the surreal bubble he lives in.

             Without words, he wrapped me in a tight hug that pulled me off the ground.  He whispered to me, “I’m scared to go.  I’ll miss all this.  Don’t hurt him”.  Just as quickly as he had embraced me he was gone, sliding past bodies pulling a smoke out of his pocket to smoke on the patio.  I stood for a moment, dazed, and went to find Conner.  He and a handful of our friends were crowding a small booth in the back.  

             Conner and I were tired that night.  I still felt out of place and it showed—I was itching to get out of there.  I asked if we could just quickly slip away.  Conner looked me in the eyes, with a serious c’mon. We couldn’t leave without a real goodbye.  I knew, and I was avoiding it.  Bo was such a surreal character and he slipped into my life without precedent and it felt weird to have him leave.  Conner grabbed my hand and wove me through the bar.  We couldn’t find him anywhere.  I checked the girl’s bathroom stall and behind the bar, no Bo.  Conner checked the boy’s restroom and the patio, no go for Bo.  We saw a friend of his and asked him where Bo went; he said he saw him skate away about ten minutes ago.

             How fitting, for this character to leave with a cat’s goodbye.  He slunk out of our lives as easily as he slipped in.  Conner and I stared down the street in the direction his friend pointed, and I felt Conner accept his friend had moved on to his next misadventure.

             I drove us home that night.  My mind wandered while I drove us the brief distance to my house. I looked to my right and saw Conner’s face, the red of the stop light reflecting off his face .  I saw shimmer below his eye before he was able to wipe it away.  I looked back to the road and felt a guilt settle inside me.  I had judged Bo the first time I met him.  He was on a 24-hour cocaine binge and his mouth was running a hundred miles an hour while he talked to me about the magnificent craft of Charles Bukowski. I couldn’t help but think of course this guy likes Bukowski.  He was strange but left a mark.

             I parked the car and walked with Conner inside. He undressed and slid into bed in quick motions, and was out before I had taken my shoes off.  I could tell his heart was hurting; he was going to miss his friend.  I found him exhaling a slight snore, and it seemed I wasn’t the only one who heard him. Bowie-Cat came in, greeted me with a “mrow!” and silently jumped on the bed and laid on his pillow, next to Conner’s face.  I pet and kissed both of their heads and went to my living room.

             My mind was empty as I sat down to unlace my Doc Marten boots.  I was reflecting on the night, and to fill the void David Bowie’s Lazarus started to creep in.The kick drum and rhythmic picking of an electric guitar.  The saxophone chimes in melancholy.  Look up here, I’m in Heaven.  I’ve got scars that can’t be seen.  Bowie’s voice rang in.  I again thought of Bowie in Heaven, then I thought of Bo in Upstate New York.  I’d never been there, but maybe it could be his heaven.  I know Conner was going to miss him.  His sleeping mind was probably replaying tonight over and over.  

I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen.  Everybody knows me now.

I judged Bo for the things he did.  For the binge-drinking and drug use, for his strange tattoos.

Look up here, man, I'm in danger.  I've got nothing left to lose.

I'm so high, it makes my brain whirl.

             As I kicked off my boots it began to sunk in. Bo was gone, David Bowie too.  It was like all the empathy I should have been feeling while I knew Bo himself flooded in.  I felt a shame boil in my belly.  It was like Bo fell to earth in Salt Lake City.  I started to understand, then.  These blue and pink faces weren’t necessarily free of loneliness or pain. In fact, it probably was felt inside them under the belly of cheap liquor like mine was.  We were all the same, just trying to be less alone. Things like drinking made it easier, it created a common denominator for people.  It became easier to talk, mouths became looser and social anxieties relaxed. Everyone was just trying to feel a little more connected, a little freer.  That’s what I felt those summers ago.  I felt liberated in the orange-pink light and fuzz of sangria.  Parties and bars and drinking, they were all methods to arrive at that feeling.  It may not have been a healthy reliance, but it felt good to exercise that right.  I deserved to feel connected, everyone does. Every pink and blue face I met deserved it.  We may have all fallen to Earth, blinded by its beauty, with nowhere to go.  We’re here on Earth until we’re not—until we return to heaven, mars, nowhere, or everywhere.  It’s easy to feel alien in these bodies, but we can find each other in the dark here, with the assistance of neon lights and long nights.  

Oh, I'll be free

Just like that bluebird

Oh, I'll be free

Ain't that just like me?

   The end.

   Tracks (In text)

This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody) Talking Heads

Golden Years David Bowie

Drew Barrymore SZA

Lazarus David Bowie

 Tracks (bonus)

Kiss Prince

Head over Heels Tears for Fears

I Can’t Go for That Hall & Oates

Hung Up Madonna

Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider of Montreal

Heroes David Bowie

( We thought we were running away from the grown-ups, and now we are the grown-ups. )

Name: Kwon Haesol Age: 22 Occupation: Intern at sleep clinic/Karaoke bar staff

Content Warning: Abuse

I. You left me with such a silent world.

Anecdotes, passed on from generations of self-proclaimed wisdom flourished fossils tend to claim that if you build your walls high enough, it is presumed that only the deserving will brave the journey.

There are four gates that embrace the valley of Seoul, a protective barrier that once restricted the foreign from being allowed into the walls of a fortress that formerly held an entire kingdom behind its stone. Of the four, Haesol was born behind the East gate, Heunginjimun which left the lips with literal benevolence. But he knew this gate he called home, as Dongdaemun.

Home was the stray cracks in the cement he strategically hopped over – one hundred fifty-two of them to be exact, but who’s counting? – every day on his way to and from school.

Home was the pair of convenient store chocolate ice cream cones his father hid in a black plastic bag to share – since his mother complained about cavities – after a long week.

Home was the frozen persimmons and scented erasers that the older lady who ran the stationary store loved to bundle up in cheese cloth and send him home with, even when he didn’t buy anything.

Home was Happy, the neighborhood stray, that he snuck his unfinished dinner to while he talked about his day before he would kiss his mom goodbye and be forced to bed.

Home was the jazz records he listened to in the summer afternoons when the temperature was just a little too hot to go outside and play.

Home was the rare nights where his soft breaths were diminished by his mom’s hands stroking his hair back until he was lulled to sleep.

Home is a cozy two bedroom two bath, coddled between narrow roads and brick walls. Home is his father, a simple paper pusher at a small advertisement and marketing firm. Home is his mother, the owner of an expanded food stall that served an eclectic variety of cheap alcohol married with seasonal dishes. Home was behind the East gate of benevolence. But home also tended to only consist of Haesol himself.

And when his parents make the decision to move to Mapogu, he really isn’t sure where home is anymore. Or if he had ever had one to begin with.

II. Where evenings are calm, but I am restless.

Haesol is ten when he first decides that he is perfectly capable of living on his own. Equipped with a backpack filled with three days’ worth of canned stews and vegetables along with a roll of toilet paper and change of socks, he peered out the window with one eye closed from the back of the bus while his index and thumb squished his usual stop between his pale fingers.

There was only one place that he wanted to run away to, and that was home.

When he reached his familiar stop in Dongdaemun, he was more than eager to get off and indulge in chocolate ice cream cones, frozen persimmons, and scented erasers. Most of all, he wanted to see his friend, Happy. But it doesn’t take more than hour for him to realize that the neighborhood he had been pacing up and down – with no familiar faces in sight – was not his home.

It’s almost midnight when a police officer finds the sloppy mess of tears and boogers painted across the child’s face; feeble body hunched near a brick wall from exasperated exhaustion, the officer called the station to confirm that this was the child that skipped school and had a pair of frantic parents on the other line.

And Haesol spends the night at the officer’s home before he is returned to his parents who promise that they can all visit their old home again some time; which never comes into fruition, but as he got older, he forgave his parents because he knew they wanted to fulfill that promise, at least.

But he never does find Happy.

III. My breath has become as thin as the wind.

“What’s got you always smiling, kid?”

When you have less than a word to utter and a thousand, million different thoughts cluttering your skull, wouldn’t you rather shut the hell up for a second and just listen to what has your brain rattling?

Haesol was a daydreamer, nothing else to it really, just always occupied in his own head. A vivid imagination that contained a fervent collection of fiction and non-fiction that plagued his thoughts. Not that he had mind it as much as his peers and the adult figures in his life had, though.

At first, all his teachers had assumed he was simply shy. Quiet and seemingly meek, he always had the crumbs of a smile left on his lips that curved the end of his mouth. But it lacked presence. The smile itself, was genuine. Always. But no one ever knew why he would be smiling. And he always managed to cause an uproar when he did actually open his mouth, asking his obviously female teacher if she had a male’s sexual reproductive organ or revealing that he had seen the principal take off his toupee to the entire student body during the talent show.

But in exchange, he had always been a good listener. Always.

Never one to neglect the honest plea for a simple penny exchange, he had always found himself in the situation of a sacred practitioner preparing to bless and relieve sin from the damned that has professed a confession. But just as so, he was never graced with more than that.

IV. You enjoy coffee and Debussy.

The fundamental nature of humans included very few motives which comprised, but were not limited to: eating, sleeping, and reproducing. Amongst these categories stemmed a variety of arbitrary, however somewhat entertaining and pleasurable inclusions. One of the few optional choices was romance, up to the discretion of the participant, of course. But Haesol was a desolate onlooker when it came to romance, not one to humor the idea nor let it humor him. By all means, he never saw anything wrong with a pair, falling in love – and he still doesn’t. His parents had succumbed to the customary tradition themselves but in retrospect, he knew it was not for him.

But she talks like a breeze during an August afternoon and kisses him like the rain in June.

Bruised plums stain his skin when her lips leave the hollow of his neck, whispering strange strings of words that perplexingly tangle before they even reach him. With her, he wants to be absolutely everything she wants him to be.

Enkindled with a convex reflection of a slow burning flame behind a pair of glossy irises as dark as a bittersweet malt roasted warm and sticky, he found himself lodged somewhere between empathetic and in love. And he isn’t sure if it’s because when he holds up a mirror he can see those same eyes hiding behind his lashes or that she is everything he isn’t.

But there was one thing that he was absolutely certain of, she was his home.

V. And nothing takes your place, your emptiness too great to fill.

Staring down towards the pearl hued item between his fingers, he turned it over a few times in hesitation. Three hours into his sixteenth birthday and somehow, between the alcohol and cocktail of unknown drugs that were swimming through his blood – not to mention the “trip” to the grocery store that he could barely recall – he had become convinced that egging some stranger’s house may have been even a minuscule of fun.

But now, he wasn’t quite so sure.  

And when they wake up at the police department, covered in the dried starch of egg whites and yolk, he knew he was busted. The scrutinizing eyes of passing officers riddled every inch of the perimeter as the individuals would pass by the two, their parents being phoned on the other line with hushed tones. And all that seems to be processing is that as soon as he sees his parents, he knows he is getting a new asshole, courtesy of his dad’s hands ripping him a fresh one. But her hand is in his, and the way her fingers squeeze his flesh is as if to whisper in that very moment that nothing else mattered.

And he truly believed that.

With all the ephemeral, fleeting moments that he had not captured during their intrepid wanders through the city past midnight, he realized that he needed to preserve the instances. Leaning against a desk, he stole away a small pad of sticky notes before scribing onto the pale yellow, a stream of consciousness that he observed before him. And this grows into a habit, bound between series of black leather.

The complication that he had created between his parents seemed exponential compared to his companion’s. Not that his parents had ever been around enough to rear him into an upstanding adult within society – but who could blame them? They were simply working under the conditions that they had always been, and that was to provide for their only son.

But she received a slap on the wrist before being told that Korea University is her only option. Provided that she repents through getting accepted into the university. But with her grades – not to mention, government connections – this was redundant and perhaps rhetoric, in nature.

And when Haesol hears that from her mouth, although he isn’t great with school, he starts studying his ass off. Textbooks begin to fill his room, each page smeared with old copper from consecutive nosebleeds that seem to grow more concerning with each sheet.

When the acceptance letter reaches his parent’s hands they are unable to form a response, impressed – and shocked, to say the least – when he manages to not only get accepted to one of the top universities in the nation but also, into the scholarship pool. But it isn’t enough. It forces his parents to pick up extra hours to help him pay for the forty-five minute commute to a school he is less than eager to attend.

Through a few connections, he manages to land himself a job at a local karaoke bar. The place smells like a wild concoction of buffalo wings, vomit, and beer and while the pay isn’t great the tips fill his pockets so thick that he doesn’t have a moment to complain. Not when he needs to pay for tuition.

And Haesol isn’t really made for institutionalized study, he never has been, but she’s there. And that’s all that matters, that’s all that has mattered.

VI. But what does it take to believe in all the thing you believe?

And Haesol is nineteen when the keys to their apartment finally reach his palm. The moment is sweet and warm like honey on his tongue, and he never forgets it. However, it muddles amongst the screaming matches and broken plates that are aimed at him. But perhaps he had expected a honeymoon in Fiji and that was his fault.

Psychology is the only choice that makes sense to him. And he muses to himself that just maybe, he can fix her. The unstable fits of toxic arguments were like a cold lug of metal aimed at his throat, constantly ticking until the bullet was to soar through him the moment she set it off. It starts off as peeling him apart with little insults like cigarette burns under his wrists but they turn into the vases he brings home on Valentine’s Day, after they have kissed the wall and spilled on the ground like a kaleidoscope amongst withered petals of she-loves-me-nots.  

But he applies what he learns earnestly, just not one to translate his work ethic into exam material. But one professor in particular sees a bit of themselves in him, so they offer the daydreaming C student a chance to intern at their sleep clinic to study the dream patterns – from verbal recitation of patients to the machine’s interpretations –, the brain waves, and tossing and turning physical habits of those in the clinic. He learns to love it there because he was never really a classic student to begin with.

Some nights, he would spend his time simply watching those who slept, wondering if they shared the same dreams as himself.

VII. And we fall apart without intention.

The abrasion is shaped like a cloud along his forearm, but it feels more like a mile wide and ten miles deep and he imagines if he were ever to try and jump it, he wouldn’t make it. But who would?

The swelling beneath his eye has finally gone down, and the bruise has faded into mustard remnants mixed amongst black cherry juice. And he likes neither.

The splint that sits around his middle and fourth finger carry them tight between marshmallow gauze and a metal cast. But he still makes sure to wear their couple ring.

But he starts to wonder why he is still wearing it at all.

VIII. But I can’t deny that I didn’t think ahead.

And she finally catches a glimpse of what she looks like from the other side of the one-way mirror that was bound between the library of leather books. Though the words were strings of affection that lingered in his reminiscence, she is far from infatuated. The infuriation stems from the way she is captured, like a subject in a petri dish. And later he wonders if she was the delusional one, or perhaps, was he? Honestly, he isn’t so sure if he wrote about her because he was in love or curiosity watered an obscure obsession that grew into a habit.

Whether he was rational or not, she doesn’t tell him that she has found his secret.

IX. You’ve got control, but I don’t mind.

At first, it was a childish request to flip up the skirt of the short-haired classmate who rode the subway in the same car as them. And he did it, of course. Another time, he stole twenty cartons of Marlboro cigarettes from the corner store and smoked them all in one sitting.

But he barely had a chance to watch the escalation as he found himself getting undressed, staring into the eyes of a stranger that had no resemblance to his companion. And she was bare and pale like marble strewn across their maroon sheets. When he looks up, he sees the glossy irises as dark as a bittersweet malt, roasted warm and sticky like when he first met her.

And he fucks the stranger with a desolate gaze that isn’t quite towards her or the malt irises.

It isn’t anywhere.

And he knows she has become estranged, but perhaps he realizes their romance, or whatever the hell it was – the one he had never saw an ending to – was tumbling down a misshapen denouement. With every wish to reach into her flesh and light a lantern upon her spine to tell her all he saw in her was light, she gained another pair of lips to revel in.

And he probably knew that.

But he didn’t want to know.

When he sees her, body tangled with a stranger, he swears he must be a passerby. This couldn’t have been his home. These two? They must have both been unnameable faces. And he can’t remember what he said, or what he did.

But it smells like gasoline.

Trying to extinguish the pages of infatuation he had captured for several years – half because he wanted to salvage them and half because fires were obvious hazards – he found himself staring into the flame. As if the slow burning concave reflection behind her pair of glossy irises as dark as a bittersweet malt, roasted warm and sticky, were still staring back at him.

And he stops and he watches the flames lick at its luminescent body as if it were an unexplainable creature, tending to its wounds.

X. You never mean to, but you have got me tied so tightly to your wrist.

Haesol has only ever been in the hospital twice, neither visits for himself.

Which may be one reason why he cannot stop staring at the plastic nametag snapped onto his wrist or the pristine décor of the room that is painted a sickly white. According to the nurse that delivered his five star meal – which consisted of half toasted bread and unsalted butter with a side of soggy grapes – he had been smothered by smoke from a fire. Fortunately? Fortunately, a “friendly” – but Haesol knows he was probably just being nosy – neighbor wanted to check up on him. A bit of the reptilian brain’s intuition begged he break the door down and so he did.

After he is discharged, there is a black plastic bag with a pair of chocolate ice cream cones from the convenient store hanging from his wrist. Back against the brick wall of the home he once resided in, he eats them in silence, afraid any sign of an utterance would force a well of emotions to escape from him.

But he ends up breaking down anyways.

When he returns to the apartment, he notices there are gaps in the bookshelf.

Some towels are missing from the linen closet.

The shoes on the rack are a mess.

And the pages are still tarnished, burned to a crisp though salvageable. But he doesn’t salvage them.

XI. If you ever want some trouble but can’t afford the alcohol, I’ll be there.

He doesn’t sleep for a few days, not by choice.

And he stops eating for a week, because everything he consumes tastes like ash and coffee.

He drops out because he never wanted to be a student anyways.

But he lies to his internship, because it’s really all he has right now.

And he moves out, somewhere closer to Hajeong station.

But the one thing he must promise himself is to not allow home to be anything more than a place.