#after all this time wasted I’m redoing my entire life and who I am at 23

[marchy-emmet]

Pokémon White - The Battle Subway's Void

MARCHY... WRITING?!?!! Pppffff, aside from that... I wanted to write a little one-shot thingie in creepypasta format to explain in a lil' more detail what glitchy Submas are about. No gore or anything, only madness!! Without further ado, let us dive into this shitstorm...

And as a note: The player's opinion of Submas does not reflect my own, lol.

----

So… here’s the deal. I’m going to jump right into it – no sugarcoating whatsoever.

I’ve been an avid Pokemon fan for my entire life – way down from childhood and up till now, even as a broke unemployed college student. Generation 5 had always been my favorite, and though the attractions in Nimbasa City aren’t particularly pleasing to me, there was one place that had caught my attention – Nimbasa Gear Station.

Now, I am no rookie player… I’ve been through this subway time after time again – my favorite being the singles lines due to how quickly you can farm BP. And the doubles line was slower but gave you the same amount of BP, so what was the point? My copy of White was maxed out in money and time. No need to add more grueling tasks.

… Well, enough yapping for now – I don’t have much time, anyway. Let’s, once again, jump right into it.

Just a few nights ago, I had made my rounds with the battle subway again – but this time, I decided on choosing the multi lines. I’ve got barely any friends who play, so I ended up playing this with the NPC Hilda in the comfort of my own dorm room… If only I could play with sentient beings, I thought sarcastically to myself – no one being around and all…

It was unsurprisingly a typical, boring and usual sweep of the battle subway. A timid Hydreigon with max EVs in special attack and speed with dark pulse, flamethrower, surf and dragon pulse had done the trick. Way too easy!! We had a bit of trouble with a few NPCs here and there, but it was nothing terribly difficult.

Then came, of course, Ingo and Emmet with their usual cone stance. I never understood the hype around these two random NPCs… Sure, strange design and all – but what’s the deal?

With me already having dull feelings about the subway masters and their undeserved hype, the experience I was about to have this very night would ruin their image forever.

Aaaand the game crashes. What the fuck??!?! All of that hard work of grinding in the battle subway while mashing A had gone to waste. I am gonna fucking lose it… I thought. The only logical thing to do was to man up and suck it up and redo the entire thing over. So I rebooted the game, muttering profanities under my breath and waiting impatiently for the title screen to appear.

And it didn’t. At this moment, I thought, okay, obviously the game is fake. What is this shit? Perhaps I was a bit too irritable for no one’s good, because as soon as I had restarted it again, the title screen actually showed up with a bit of lag. But still… Something was off. Lag is a telltale sign of a fake game, right?

This thing’s cartridge was used, after all. I had no idea what the previous player had done to the game… In the back of my mind, I had hoped all my save data hadn’t been deleted. Fuck.

I eagerly waited for the game to boot fully and take me back to Gear Station as I hit the save file, but the performance of the virtual world only got lower and lower, steadily dragging itself back to where my character was standing. As per usual when you “quit” a subway battle, the employee was facing me in preparation to scold me.

… But he didn’t. He just stood there. And at this point I thought the game had frozen.

My heart kept beating fast as I frantically thought up plans of what to do with my save file. Transferring all of my work to another file was an option – but I didn’t have another DS or any friends who did. Again, fuck. At this point there’s no use in searching for resources online to find out if it was fake – it definitely was.

I took a deep breath and looked away from the screen for a moment as I hoped and prayed that the game would cooperate with me. The Gear Station theme was still playing, after all…

A few minutes later, and I simply gave up, rebooting the game yet again. And again, I experienced the laggy bootup screen and the strange pause at the employee. I dropped my DS, putting my hands in my face and releasing the most frustrated sigh to grace the earth.

This is when I suddenly heard an 8 bit screeching sound that had scared me shitless. I jumped up, removing my hands from my face and widening my eyes at the screen. Nothing was out of the ordinary, but the grating sound… ugh.

I reached for the DS’s power button and tried to turn it off – but to no avail. Okay, then let’s try holding it down for 10 seconds… Nope. Pressing all the buttons? Futile. Button combinations? Nada. And so I turn to Google – my attention now directed at my laptop screen – a terrible mistake, really.

After a few unhelpful searches, I turn back to my DS screen and jolt.

It was back where I was with Ingo and Emmet, but the background had gone completely black. How…? How was this even possible? At this point, I even considered that I had picked up a rom hack!

So, with all of the textures lost, I had of course entertained the idea that I was in generation 5’s “void” – similar to gen 4’s “void glitch” where you could catch Shaymin and Darkrai via the exploit. But I knew the walls of the battle subway were probably still around, and the only way of getting out would’ve been through the subway doors.

After a few moments of cautious reconsideration, I moved my fingers to the DS button’s arrows and pressed to go left. To my surprise, my character was actually able to roam around the void around Hilda, Ingo and Emmet!

Curiously, I approached Ingo and mashed the A button, attempting to speak to him. For a moment, this seemed to have frozen my game, until a text box popped up…

“What can I see after winning, winning, and winning? … Nothing – not without this fellow standing beside me.”

Huh. I had vaguely remembered the first half of this line from Ingo, but not the second half. At this point I was definitely convinced I had received some sort of fucked up rom hack in the real White’s disguise.

I spoke to Emmet, and his text box lagged similarly before he stated, “I am Emmet. I am a subway boss. And I am verrry angry. Too angry.”

When I spoke to Hilda, her text box was blank. No ellipsis or anything.

I… didn’t particularly enjoy the expressions the subway masters’ pixelated little faces were making. Dead, cold and glaring. But I had figured that’s how they always looked. Something was definitely going astray with their colors, because the more I stared, the bluer Emmet got, and the redder Ingo got. Their sprites were progressively getting freakier and freakier. What kind of fucked individual sat down and made this hack?

This is the part where a battle suddenly started without my knowledge or consent, despite my character standing far from their usual battle position. Uh… Okay then.

Subway masters Ingo and Emmet got into their usual battle position, backs turned before pointing… straight at me, as the player. This wasn’t quite right, I thought to myself, as I had remembered them pointing in opposite directions prior to this weird interaction. I did get a closer look at them, and their appearance was ever-changing.

They left the screen, and as per usual, Haxorus and Archeops were sent out first… Nothing was at all wrong with the sprites – except their eyes were missing? That and the fact that the battle’s background was white. A few blocky particles of what I call “glitch” were floating around the screen erratically. I also couldn’t help but to notice the Pokemon’s sprites weren’t animated.

I had a horrible pit in my stomach as my intuition was begging me to listen… But I persisted in thinking this was merely a twisted rom hack. The Pokemon still weren’t moving, and the screen was still struggling to load in the background with chunks of “glitch”. Colored particles were everywhere.

More possibilities floated through my mind… Was my DS broken? Was the cartridge dropped in water? Whatever the case might’a been, this was the most terrifying experience I ever had in a Pokemon game.

Unable to send my Pokemon out, I set the DS down and clutched my stomach a little, beginning to feel nauseous. My fingers tightened, rendering them paralyzed. I felt my whole body vibrate as I became deathly ill… Wasn’t quite sure why. There’s no way I was panicking so much over a video game.

As I stood up, I felt the room spin, so I sat back down. A distorted groan rang from the DS as Ingo’s sprite appeared back on screen, in the same pointing position.

His text box read, “The system cannot be shut off at this time. However, you could always offer reconciliation.”

Reconciliation? What the fuck was he on?

As Ingo’s distorted sprite faded out, Emmet’s appeared next – but he had black splotchy markings all over his body and face. I felt my heart beat faster again, and my breathing hastened as his text box popped up. It remained blank for a few seconds as Emmet’s round, soul-piercing eye revealed itself through his face’s shadow.

At this point I tried to shut the game off again by holding down the power button, but it was no use. Not even removing the cartridge stopped it.

“Do not try to turn the game off. Do not try to save the game. You cannot.”

How… How did he just break reality? I knew the funny business was over. This is real.

Ingo appeared again next to his Haxorus, who was melting into a glitchy mass. He began to speak again, his sprite’s eyes appearing in his face’s shadow. “I knew my partners wouldn’t make it through this – but I must protect what’s left. Why wouldn’t you play the multi lines for such a staggering duration of time, player?”

“I just did!!” I yelled back out loud, absolutely bewildered and jittery. I wasn’t even sure if responding to him would warrant a response, but…

Emmet’s Archeops began melting into a glitchy mass next as his sprite approached closer. Any light that was left in his eyes had died when he noticed his Pokemon partner was succumbing to the supposed reality break I was witnessing. His smile dropped for the first time. I’m pretty sure I had never seen that twin frown up until then.

“I am Emmet. This world is too limited. And I will break free. What you did was verrrry rude, player.”

“What did I do?!” I shouted back, feeling tears well up in my eyes. Not tears of regret or guilt, no – tears of confusion. Panic. My head was spinning at this point, and I had wondered if I was experiencing psychotic derealization. Something like this is much too bizarre to be real.

Another text box appeared as Ingo gestured to Emmet, Archeops and Haxorus. “Intentional separation is a sin that cannot be forgiven. Excuse me for repeating myself – but it would be kind of you to ask for reconciliation. I’m not sure how Emmet feels.”

I stared at my screen, my voice hoarse as I responded, “I… I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

I felt ridiculous responding to a video game character, but in my derealized mind this was logical at the time.

“Do not lie,” Emmet began, his sprite becoming increasingly glitchy, “I do not like liars. I do not entertain liars.”

I refused to press A past this point, instead reflecting on what could be happening. Are they feeling something? Is that why Haxorus and Archeops had died – due to a fatal game error?

“I’m sorry,” I say without really thinking, my thoughts racing with contemplating fear.

And Emmet responded again without me hitting A. “You said you are not the one. I do not like liars.” His sprite became bitter again, vibrating against the glitchy masses that were surrounding the twins and broken Pokemon.

I once again took a deep breath in complete disbelief, shutting the DS and dropping it harshly. I sobbed into my hands, unable to make out what I thought of this. Do I need psychiatric help? Was it real?

I felt as if something horrible was going to happen – as if these characters wanted revenge on me. And the game was still playing despite the fact that I had closed it.

Five minutes past as I rocked myself and wept, occasionally glancing over at the DS and putting destruction of the system into consideration. But before I could even formulate the plan, I noticed the DS was… vibrating. This just sent me back into the spiral of sobbing into my hands, but I kept my eyes locked steadily onto the DS. I knew a DS was not supposed to vibrate.

And then came what I can only refer to as a hallucination…

Something was pushing the DS’s screen back up – a finger covered by a black glove. The surrounding area erupted into glitchy fragments, and the gaming system was practically breaking itself and making crackling sounds as the plastic warped. Welp, guess my plan to destroy it was no longer needed.

Without a second thought I let out the loudest shriek I could ever release – and I had sworn the entire complex had heard it. Stood up and ran without hesitation. Not even going to stay to observe the scenery.

I made my way out of the dorms, speeding down the halls and immediately causing a scene. Everyone I passed just stood there, bewildered by my behavior. I was too scared out of my wits to even warn anyone.

I made my way out of the building and down the street, panting heavily and feeling my whole body cake in sweat. Pure fight or flight instinct. I knew then that someone wanted my head on a silver platter – video game character or not.

Eventually I was at my friend’s house, frantically knocking on their door… It isn’t my intent to bring danger towards them or their family, but it’s my only option at the moment. No way I’m staying back at that cursed dorm.

Explaining such a situation to my friend was uncomfortable, but they were concerned for my mental health and well being. And of course, they didn’t seem to believe my story, either… No one did. Everyone I texted, voice chatted with, and told in person always asked if I was joking, or if I needed some sort of help.

It’s been a couple of days since the incident, and I’ve missed plenty of classes – but they’re my last concern. Whether or not I come to find out if that thing was real, I need to hide for my own sake.

And I hope someone runs across this as a tale of caution (unironically, the reason I’m writing it). If you’re sold a game that’s advertised as real, and something strange begins to happen… don’t delve in further.

… Or you may end up like me – alone, just as the subway masters were. And possibly still being tracked down as I write.

#submas #subway bosses #ingo and emmet #pokemon #pkmn #glitchy submas

[calipsu]

X

#I just need an early morning rant #I have no idea why I keep letting SHITTY people who don’t treat me right into my life #I give every single part of my soul to everyone #I’m either cold or ride or die #can I find a middle please I’m tired of getting crushed #after all this time wasted I’m redoing my entire life and who I am at 23 #it’s so frustrating #I worked so hard and put in so much time #for nothing #feeling like the road ahead emotionally will be long lol #ugh #personal #thoughts #I’m hella frustrated this morning for some reason #probably dreamed about something

[thetypedwriter]

Cold Iron Heart Book Review

Cold Iron Heart by Melissa Marr Book Review 

I don’t think many people are aware or have read the Wicked Lovely series by Melissa Marr, but that’s alright. I originally started this book blog as I had so many thoughts and feelings about the books I was reading and yet no one to share them with. 

So I might be talking to me, myself and I in this book review, but at the end of the day, it’s still a way for me to express how I feel about the literature I’m consuming even if no one else is reading this. 

Wicked Lovely is one of my favorite series from when I was young. I still remember very clearly how my love story with these books started as it was odd and coincidental. I was at the grocery store with my mom and a promised “quick” trip quickly turned into an hour-long shopping spree as my mother was prone to do. 

Back then I was in middle school, had no cell phone, and was bored out of my mind. So what is any pre-teen to do? I went over to the small, sad book selection in the grocery story and picked up the novel with the most interesting cover. 

This book was Wicked Lovely by Melissa Marr. 

I read it the rest of the day and finished it that night, consuming page after page. I was completely transfixed. It was dark, gritty, violent, sexy-all things that my twelve-year old self found entirely fascinating. 

It was a fantasy book about fairies, but these fairies were deadly, life-sized, cruel, violent, beautiful and loving. 

I’ve been enamored with fairies and fairy lore ever since. All because of this book and the series that followed. It hooked me in ways that I still don’t fully comprehend, but I understood then that I hadn’t read anything like it before and I was drawn into Melissa Marr’s world and never quite left it, even all these years later. I’ve gone back and re-read Wicked Lovely multiple times and each time I still found it enjoyable and alluring. 

Cold Iron Heart is a different beast. 

A few days ago, my best friend (who is a journalist) sent me an email saying that local Arizona author, Melissa Marr, was releasing a new book and that she might have the opportunity to interview her. 

I was ecstatic, of course, and not so subtly tried to persuade my friend to let me silently snoop in on the interview (I didn’t, by the way). 

It was then that I realized I hadn’t checked in on Melissa Marr for some time-what had she been writing? Imagine my surprise that one of my favorite series of all time not only had a new book-a prequel no less, but also several new short stories. 

I was flabbergasted. And beyond excited. 

So I ordered the book immediately and read it the moment it arrived on my doorstep to eventually find myself with...mixed feelings with a negative tinge. Okay, more than a tinge, more like a cascading waterfall of negative feelings. 

First off, the book is a prequel. 

Now. Melissa Marr could have done so many cool things with this. There are so many interesting characters that I would have loved to see more in depth or delve into their histories. 

Like Miach and Beira, for example. I’ve heard about the late Summer King since book 1, but never got to read about him as he was dead before the series began. However, his legendary love with Beira, the Winter Queen, would have been so incredibly bewitching to read about it, especially if it involved the birth of Keenan. 

This would have been an awesome choice. 

Irial and Niall would have been another incredible one, probably the best one. We’ve been told over and over again throughout the series that these two hot-heads with a past used to run the Dark Court together, wreaking havoc, taking lovers, seeking new heights, etc. 

But do we get to see this transfixing time? Nope. 

I would even have settled for a story about the Hunt, Sorcha and Bannanach, literally any character done in the right way. 

But...no. Melissa Marr decides to write a prequel that is literally a carbon copy of the first book Wicked Lovely, but innumerably worse. 

Everything in the prequel is exactly the same as the original novels. Miach is dead, Keenan is looking for his Summer Queen, the Winter Girl is pissed off for not being the chosen love of Keenan’s, Irial is temptation in the flesh, Niall and Irial are at odds, Bananach is causing discord, Sorcha is isolated and frigid, the list goes on and on. 

Nothing of consequence, novelty, or importance happens in this book. 

Frankly, it just felt like a terrible redo of the first novel, just set 100 years back. 

I didn’t give a single flying crap about Thelma or Tam or whatever her name was. She was a worse version of Leslie, of Aislinn, of every other cool female character we eventually get to read about in the main series. 

Thelma was contradictory in the worst of ways. She said one thing, like she would rely on no man and never have children and then turned around and did every single one of them like some sort of hypocrite galore. 

She was so irritating and boring to read about that I tended to skim her parts because it was just paragraph after paragraph of bitching and moaning about the same goddamn things over and over again: stay away from fairies, oh god this fairy likes me, no sex, no children, no love and then bam! She just throws it all away. 

Urgh. 

The worst part too is that this isn’t a well written book. It’s repetitive, quite boring at times, and caters way too much to the reader. 

Something I loved about the first Wicked Lovely is that Melissa Marr kinda just tosses you into her world and calls it a day. She doesn’t hold your hand or over explain. She just describes and lets you glean for yourself. 

I loved this aspect of the original series. I liked learning about her world and the characters this way. 

Cold Iron Heart spits on the idea of this concept. Marr repeats herself so much about the same things, who Irial is, what fairies are, why this is happening, that I grew increasingly irritated as the book went on. 

Who on earth is she explaining this for? New readers? Why in the world would any new reader start with this book? The newest one that comes after six others???? It makes no goddamn sense. 

So not only did I feel patronized and aggravated, but the love story between Thelma and Irial grated on me as there was no basis for their love. 

It was ridiculous with no shred of authenticity and I hated it, especially knowing that he already loves Niall and Leslie only to come back and say, “wait a moment! I had another true love that I’ve never mentioned before. Yeah. Her name was Thelma. Or Tam. Or whatever, I don’t know. I knew her for three days, most of which was just sex, and then I lost her after she had my baby but I conveniently forgot about it because of nonsensical plot! Hahahah, good right?”

No. Not good. Horrible. 

Overall, this book is a waste of time and trees. 

I don’t know why Melissa Marr even wrote and published this. I can see her writing this for herself because why not, but as a fan and a reader this was beyond disappointing. 

It’s like how all Harry Potter fans felt when J.K. Rowling wrote The Cursed Child and we got movies about Newt Scamander when we literally wanted anything else-Marauder series anyone??

It’s a particular kind of egregious offense when a favorite series or author of yours ends up ruining the canon you’re in love with. For that reason alone, I am stripping Cold Iron Heart from my heart and mind, like it never existed. 

Just like I did with Cursed Child, or the fact that you-know-who dies in Death Note (if you know, you know). I just...don’t believe it. It ruined all the lovely things Marr had previously written and the stories that defined so much of my love for YA, for fantasy, and for my own writing as a whole. 

I know for a lot of you this was a bumbling mess of a review with little to no clarity of the plot or who these characters are. Frankly, I’d be surprised if you are still reading if you didn’t know the book or the series in the first place, but that’s alright. 

Like I said at the beginning, this is a way to get my intense feelings and thoughts down onto paper and now that I have I feel marginally better, although still pissed off that this book exists and that I currently own it. 

Sigh. 

Well if you stuck around for the ride, I appreciate it. If you skipped this particular book review, I understand that too. 

Recommendation: Burn this book. However, if you want a gritty, tantalizing fantasy story, pick up the original Wicked Lovely and be whisked away into a world that has stuck with me since the first moment I read it on the fateful day at the grocery store. 

Score: 3/10

#cold iron heart #melissa marr #wicked lovely #book blog #books #book review #Book Recommendations #YA Book Review #ya book rec #booklover #3/10

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 1-3: 命运的拐点 Destiny’s Turning Point Translation [3rd Beta Test]

*Light and Night Master-list is under WIP *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Game is slated for release this summer! (Estimated to be 8/8/21) *Beta Test’s main story tag will be #Dreams of Light and Night

Police: Name?

Cindy: My name's Cindy. My earrings are gone! I've spent an entire week on them. Please, you must help me find them!

The girl who was desperate to the brink of tears was none other than Cindy, the oldest contestant amongst us all.

Half an hour ago, Cindy had suggested reporting this to the police seeing as how many of the designers had their accessories go missing. Now, she was the first one to undergo questioning by the police.

Police: Earrings, you say? Alright, I've noted it down. Has anyone else lost anything?

Designer A: Me. I lost an Emerald hairpin.

Designer B: My pearl necklace is gone too.

MC: I'm (Y/n), my brooch has also gone missing.

Police: I've gotten the gist of the situation here. All of your items were found lost after less than half an hour after having been left here.

Police: My colleague went to check the surveillance tapes. There was no one suspicious who entered and left the room during that time frame.

Cindy: How can that be...

Police: But there are blind spots where the surveillance cameras cannot reach. Plus, things don't simply disappear for no reason at all.

Police: So, I'm asking everyone to think carefully about it again. Did any of you see anyone who was acting suspicious?

MC: A suspicious looking person…

The image of the figure dressed in black and wearing a mask flashed into my mind along with his skull pendant and flickering silver chains.

MC: I saw someone that I didn't recognize walk out of the room, but I thought that he was a model…

MC: But now that I think about it, no model would come here.

Police: What did this person look like?

MC: He’s very tall and looks to be around 185cm. He wasn’t wearing a staff uniform. 

Police: Can you give me a detailed description of his appearance and how he was dressed?

I nodded, trying my hardest to remember what I’d seen in that split-second.

MC: I couldn’t make out his features since he wore a black mask, but I remember his clothes…!

MC: He wore a black leather jacket paired with light grey jeans and a pair of studded boots.

MC: He had a long silver necklace with a skull pendant hanging from it along with a few silver chains hanging from his waist.

MC: His countenance is hard to describe. He appears to give off a very mysterious vibe, but honestly, the design of the pants he wore needs to be optimized...

I continued prattling on, unaware of how the policeman who’d been recording my descriptions down stopped short.

Police: Optimized?

Suddenly realizing what I'd just said, my face flushed in embarrassment.

MC: Sorry, but that's pretty much all I saw…

Police: Alright. We'll look further into the matter with this information.

Police: However, considering the large number of people here, the vastness of the venue and the small number of missing items, it’ll be quite difficult to find them.

Police: You'd best be prepared.

Everyone lapsed into collective silence after the police left. The solemness of the atmosphere in here was tangible, like a heavy cloud that hung over all of our heads.

Cindy had already succumbed to despair. She silently squatted down; head buried into the crook of her arm.

★Night Choice: Settle your own problems (Didn't select)

☆Light Choice: Comfort Her

I walked up to her, gently patting her back.

MC: Don't worry, I'm sure the police will be able to help us all find our missing accessories.

Cindy: You guys are all young and talented… you'll have other ways to spring back if you fail here, so of course you wouldn't be too worried about it… but such a thing doesn't exist for me…

Her soft voice was distorted by her sniffling, so much that I could barely distinguish what she was trying to say between sobs.

I'd overheard the others talking about her before. Cindy was originally a white-collar worker who'd eventually resigned and got a loan to study design overseas. It was a do-or-die situation for her, in a way.

I didn't know what I should say to comfort her, for everything I say right now would only pale in comparison to what she was going through. All I could do was to gently pat her back.

Cindy: Why did this have to happen now…? It took me such painstaking efforts to get this far…

All the doom and gloom that she exuded was contagious, and I soon felt my heart drop along with her worsening mood.

???: What are you crying about?

No one actually expected Wu Yue, of all people, to be saying something this harsh. She strode out of the crowd under everyone's surprised gazes, walking in front of Cindy and pulling her back upright. Her expression was a tad savage.

Wu Yue: If you don't want to let all your previous effort go to waste, then you'd jolly well shut your trap and redo it. Do you really think it was all so easy for everyone to get this far!

Wu Yue: Those who whinge and always feel sorry for themselves but do nothing to fix it will never succeed.

This was the first time I've ever heard her speak off-stage.

I couldn't help but to be surprised at the look of dead seriousness on her face.

MC: There's still another 3 days before the competition, so let's hurry and start re-doing what we've lost.

Gao Cheng: I... I can help everyone fetch the materials they need. You can also ask me for help if any of you need an extra hand...

Designer A: I've already long since wanted to change my hairpin design! I'm sure the new one this time will turn out a hundred times better! You guys better watch out!

More contestants started inputting, and the gloomy atmosphere soon dissipated. Cindy had also stopped crying, vigorously rubbing at her eyes.

Cindy: You guys are right. I cannot give up here…

Despite all of us not knowing what results awaited us 3 days later, and despite all of us being fellow competitors, we were all teammates now, working hard with the same goal in mind.

After getting our moods in check, everyone returned to their own working space, making the best out of the remaining time left to continue with their respective creations.

❖☆———————————★❖

The hands on the clock had already moved past the 8 PM mark by the time if gotten up for a good stretch.

MC: The gown's pretty much good to go, and I've also finished drawing out the new brooch design. Everything's turning out pretty well~

Gao Cheng: Your design's inspired by the starry skies, right? It's really pretty…

Gao Cheng's faze lingered on the draft of my design for a while before he seemingly snapped out of it. He raised his head, frantically waving his hands in front of him with a flustered look on his face.

Gao Cheng: S-Sorry, it wasn't my intention to peek at your design. I just happened to get attracted to it when I walked past…

MC: Don't worry about it, you came at a great time. Could you tell me what you think about it?

Gao Cheng: Is the brooch meant to represent the brightest star in the sky?

MC: Yup, it represents the north star.

Gao Cheng: But Polaris isn't actually all that bright. It shines at 2nd magnitude, so you can use a darker gemstone to represent it.

It was as if he were an entirely different person when it came to the topic of stars. He gushed enthusiastically about it with unrivalled passion and seriousness.

Gao Cheng: Ah, I just like astronomy, so I know about it a little more than others. Please don't get mad at me... 

MC: Why would I be mad? I'm actually extremely thankful for your input!

I'd previously searched up pictures of the starry sky up on the internet to use as reference pictures, but what Gao Cheng said reminded me once again that even though the pictures captured by a camera's lens turn out beautiful, it still isn't as real as the real thing.

Nothing beats seeing it with your own eyes and ascertaining it for yourself after all.

MC: Maybe I should go up to the rooftop and check the stars out.

❖☆———————————★❖

The cold air of the night greets me as I push open the doors to the rooftop. The vast night sky was spread out before my eyes, the many little red dots beneath it denoting lights of the thousands of households below.

I held onto the railing with both hands raising my head to inhale deeply.

It was then that my phone rang to life as messages from An'an came pouring in one line after another.

An'an (SMS): I've gotten my hands on the guest list!

An'an (SMS): You won't believe how elaborate this guest line-up is! Osborn's actually coming, you know!? His club's going to be collaborating with the Warson Group!

MC: ...Osborn?

An'an (SMS): Please tell me you still remember him. I've shown you a picture of him before! He's my favourite R1 racer who has won 4 consecutive championships!

I hadn't yet had the chance to truly think back on it when I suddenly heard a faint noise. It was the familiar sound of metallic chains clinking against each other.

There had been no one here when I came up to the rooftop.

My heart leapt to my throat as I unwittingly headed towards the direction of the sound.

There was someone hidden within the shadows, standing silently in one of the corners where the moonlight never reached.

Seemingly having noticed my gaze, the person moved forwards, stepping out of the shadows.

❖☆———————————★❖

I finally managed to vaguely make out his appearance. He was tall and intimidating even from a distance away. He wore a black jacket across his shoulders, the moonlight glinting off the skull necklace that rested upon his chest.

MC: That's the guy I saw back in the corridor!

I hadn't yet recovered from the initial surprise of seeing him here when I suddenly noticed that he was holding a red earring between his fingers.

Cindy's Earrings! So, he really WAS the thief!

The clouds blocked off the moonlight, darkening the skies as my heart raced, pounding loudly in my ears. Did I interrupt him in the middle of something? Am I going to be "silenced"?

All hesitation flew out the window the moment my thoughts stopped there. I immediately turned and made a dash for the exit.

However, just as I was about to pull the door open and make my escape, a well-defined hand pressed against the door, blocking off my escape.

??: And just where are you running off to now?

❖☆————— ⊹ Dreams of Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1-1) | Next Part: (Chapter 1-5)

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #萧逸 #Osborn #齐司礼 #Sariel #陆沉 #Evan #查理苏 #Charlie #夏鸣星 #Jesse #Dreams of Light and Night

[arethereanyoriginalusernames]

Favourite Zoophobia Ships???

Hey... guess who decided to do some Zoophobia related posts bc I haven’t done any... in months? Ah well, might as well. This is going to be mostly just a fun post, just talking about what ZP ships I enjoy most, in no particular order.

However !

After this, I’m considering redoing some of the top five lists I made 2 years ago. So, feel free to let me know which I should do!

List is under cut bc I type a bunch

1. Kayla x Zill

I tend to just follow along with ships that are canon. Unless it’s particularly unhealthy or poorly written, my brain just goes “oh, they dating? Ok cool.”

And you know what? These two are adorable. I will say that I enjoyed these two together in Bad Luck Jack better than in the comic. In the comic, we get thrown into their relationship drama way too fast. We aren’t even given a proper introduction to Kayla before chapter 2! I get that maybe the intent was to show how much Kayla and Zill care about each other, and showing them having relationship troubles could show them in a vulnerable, emotional state. We could get some good character stuff from that! But, it really doesn’t give your power couple a good look when they’re already having issues by chapter 2.

Bad Luck Jack did a much better job at not only portraying their relationship, but their dynamic was much more interesting. We actually got to see Kay’s more badass side, and we got more than just them doing boring kissy kissy, omg I love you sooo much, which was a lot of what we got in the comic. I’m actually excited to see more of these two in the future.

2. Addi x Gustav

I have to admit, I’m not as big of a fan of this ship as other people are. The main reason is Gustav. I’m sure the story will provide more depth for him in the future, and I’m sure we’ll get a bunch of adora-gay moments with him and Addi. But as it stands, I’m not quite ready to hop on board.

I also found the way they hooked up in the comic to be a little boring? To sum up their first interaction, it’s more or less “hey bby boi, u be looking real fine across the room, tell me bout that sexy art piece” “oh damn, u be looking like a tall glass of grape juice, cute mode activated- holy fuck Kenzie why????”

Basically, they both find each other good looking, and decide to go to lunch after they establish that Addi is the soft boi that need protecc and that Gustav attaccc. It’s a cute ship, yeah. Not my favourite, tho, and I’m going to need more on purple’s end before I cannonball in

3. Jack x Zill and Jack x Jill

These two I’m grouping together bc I feel the same way about both. Like with the previous, I like these ships, would definitely read fan fiction, but I’m not super on board with... well, with a lot of ships with Jack?

It’s not that I think he shouldn’t be in the relationship, but I find that a lot of ships have Jack being really dependent on whoever he’s with, and since his situation will inevitably cause a good amount of drama, a lot of the time the other person in the relationship kinda disappears.

This is entirely something that’s my preference in stuff like this, but I prefer ships where it doesn’t just become all about one character, and that everyone in the relationship is given a chance to be supportive and emotionally invest. And again, I feel like ships with Jack don’t usually give him the chance to emotionally invest to the same extent as the other people in the relationship.

That being said, I don’t dislike these ships, and they’re still cute as fuck.

4. Autumn x Rusty

Firstly, I love how this is a ship where almost everyone in the fandom can look at each other, nod, and say “oh we know it’s gonna happen”

I mean, let’s not kid ourselves, we all love an enemies to lovers story, and I’m sure quite a few of us can project ourselves onto someone like Rusty who “totally isn’t gay/bi/pan/you get what I mean!” I’m normally a little iffy about the idea of “oh he’s bullying you bc he likes you!”, but fortunately it seems like Rusty and Autumn don’t entirely fit that trope. There’s not much to say here, tbh. I will say that my favourite thing with this ship is when they’re drawn/written in a situation where one or more other characters are like “omg, just fuck already!”

5. Ink x Mistletoe

Congrats to anyone who knows these characters

This is absolutely a crack ship for me. I just like the idea of someone who lives a sad life like Ink having someone as silly and wonky as Mistletoe around. That’s basically it XD sue me!

6. Damian x Addi and Damian x Ink

Again, I feel the same about these two ships. They’re cute, and I would absolutely read the fan fiction. My main draw back, however, is that these two ships are ones I have to be in the mood for. These two ships, especially Damian x Ink , can quickly become depressing. And while sometimes I’m all for that, most of the time I rather read something a bit lighter

7. Elijah x Damian

...

I guess these two have accidentally became my favourite??? I certainly enjoy stuff with this ship the most, and even though we admittedly haven’t seen much of Eli yet, I’m already on board.

Firstly, I just like the premise of the fucking Antichrist hooking up with a pink hipster snake who’s a waiter at a 50s diner. The idea alone is just amusing to me, and it’s weird enough that I already like it.

I also like the overall chaotic, mutual dumbass energy these two give off together. They’re both comic loving, unserious goofballs and I can absolutely see them sharing a total of one brain cell. Even the image of the two of them side by side is just amusing to me, bc we have tall, pink and Christmasy coloured Eli next to the smoller, edgier Dame. Even looking at sketches of them interacting, they both look just plain silly

Finally, however, what I think really got me on board was the irony of the situation. Damian, as we know, crushes super hard on Kayla and some other characters, and will go to unnecessary lengths to impress them. Meanwhile, as he’s desperately trying to get others to like him, there’s Eli. Someone who’s already attracted to him, and is right there. And who already seems to have a lot in common with him, and given how he’s apparently shy around people he likes, it must be obvious to someone what’s going on.

It’s like “omg, why are all the hot people taken???” “I AM RIGHT HERE!” “ Did u say something?”

So... yeah.

And there you go. I’ll probably update later with more ships, but this post is already long

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and feel free to tell me what you think of these ships, and what your favourite ships are.

I apologize for wasting your time

- Spooky

#zoophobia

[jellydishes]

i was tagged by @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold with wip wednesday! tagging @the-temple-of-sacred-asses, @storybookhawke, and @robot-thighs

first up is a piece of Its Just A Jump And A Twist, an ongoing time travel story wherein a post inquisition leliana gets to go back and time to redo origins:

The first time this wheel had turned, a much younger Leliana had found herself weeping in a corner of their temporary camp barricaded behind bookcases. She'd had her hands over her mouth, trying to muffle herself so she wouldn't disturb her companions. It hadn't been the death alone that had twisted her belly up in knots until she had to cry or scream or else would burst with it, but the very act of being in the tower. Of wandering claustrophobic halls choked with blood and fear that had thrust her right back into a different place, a different torture room at the hands of someone who had sworn she would always be there to protect her. A fallen mage just within view through a gap in the barricade looked at her with Tug’s sightless eyes, and Leliana had retched behind her hands.

That was when cool hands had curved over her own, freezing Leliana's roiling thoughts long enough to lift her head and stare until the person crouched before her had resolved itself into Amleda Tabris. Amleda and her hesitant, crooked smile and the warmth of comforting words Leliana could no longer remember. She remember how warm they had felt, though, pushing the earlier chill in her chest back until she could breathe again. Amleda had always done that for her, whenever a chance-caught glimpse of red hair or some combination of words made the whole world shake loose beneath her feet, leaving nothing left but Leliana and old scars. And somehow, that space came to include Amleda, too.

And then it didn't.

Back then, Leliana had obeyed an impulse she couldn't have named at the time, one that moved her to brush her lips across Amleda’s in a soft, hesitant kiss. Had breathed out, once, then she realized. Remembered. And made to pull back and pull away because Amleda wasn't responding. Wasn't moving, wasn't speaking or laughing with her or doing anything but staring wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open. Leliana's hands had come up to wrap around her belly, and that must have been when some lever was finally pulled in Amleda’s brain, because she had lurched forward and brought their mouths crashing together again, and for the first time.

Their first kiss. A brief moment of beauty shared in a place of despair. And she was, the weight of decades pressing her into a floor that knew none of it as she stared at that spot. The ghost of flustered, shared laughter echoed in her ears. She could almost hear the quiet, nearly whispered, “I have enough space on my shoulders to carry one more worry, if you want to let go of it for a little while…”

A noise at her back, boots over loose stone and half-dried blood. Leliana didn't turn away. She should have, but at that moment she felt unbearably weary. Too much time had been lost that could never be regained, no matter what year she was in. Memories of dead women who still stood beside her, looking back and forth between the empty corner and Leliana’s dry eyes. Leliana opened her mouth, then let it fall shut. “Have I ever told you about that warden?” She croaked after several long moments.

“The one who died?” Amleda asked cautiously, and she had every right to, Leliana thought, not without irony.

“The very same. I saw-” Leliana's mouth twisted up at the corner in a poor imitation of a smile, or a laugh that never came. “Certain things remind me of her,” she said instead. “Sounds. Places. It is all too easy to…”

She'd almost said remember, but thankfully Amleda finished, “Imagine what happened? I know how that goes. Dangerous snare to go sticking your hand into, believe me. Start off trying to imagine what it had been like for them, if you could have stopped it somehow, and then it's fourteen years later and you've wasted more than half of your life trying to relive one day.”

Leliana’s throat tightened. Amleda was talking about her mother, Adaia Tabris. Adaia. Leliana was caught once again by another memory, this time of a red stripe etched across glittering eyes and down the angles of her cheeks, a hoarse, laughing voice promising to tell her children's children of what Leliana had done for her this night. A warm hand clasped around her wrist, in the way of warriors, and then she had been gone.

Leliana had never known if Adaia had kept that promise. Back when Amleda had been alive to ask, it had seemed too… self-serving to ask, as if she were trying to insert herself into a life that didn't need one more presumptive human, and then it had been too late.

Leliana closed her eyes, then opened them. “And, what do you do then?” She asked. Her voice wobbled traitorously, and she hated it in that moment. “When you've wasted your entire life looking backwards?”

Somehow, Amleda’s hand had found its way into Leliana’s gloved one, and there it stayed. Neither curling her closer or pulling away, and gradually Leliana relaxed. “You breathe,” was Amleda's quiet answer. “You get up and you breathe and you put one foot in front of the other until you can't do it anymore, and then you do it some more.”

“What if I can't? What if it stays with me all the days of my life?”

“Then you live for them, too. Get up and breathe and put one foot in front of the other, and if you can punch a pissant or four on your way down, then that's what has to happen. I certainly won't shed a tear.”

“How do you know?” Leliana was laughing all the same, and rugged free a questionable handkerchief to scrub at her eyes so she wouldn't have to look Amleda in the eyes.

“Because it's me,” Amleda said, and Leliana’s heart froze. “I carry my mother with me, the same way I carry Neleros and everyone who's come and gone from my life. Same way you do. We all carry our burdens. Mine just feel like an obligation. How about you?”

Leliana swallowed hard. In that moment, she wished for nothing more than a release from this conversation. “I hide,” she said in a voice that was so strained that it emerged as a rasp. “I seal the memories away in a box and bury it where no one, not even myself, will ever find it.”

A silence ensued. Amleda’s hand still curled loosely in her own, and Leliana couldn't bring herself to move for fear of Amleda pulling away, or turning into dust. Of none of this having been anything but the cruelest joke since the beginning. “I thought you said you were a storyteller.”

“I am.” Despite herself, Leliana turned a curious expression on Amleda, which was a mistake. Amleda was tired, streaked with soot and fluids best not thought on, but her eyes were fixed on Leliana, and she couldn't look away.

“Storytellers don't bury uncomfortable truths, do they? They remember the hard ones, too, the ones with barbs that rip and tear and hurt because sometimes hurt is what people need to realize they are still alive and able to fight and laugh and live. Battle cries from everyone who isn't alive to do it themselves. That's you. You wage war on their behalf, and you can't do that if you're too busy choking from swallowing your own secrets.”

Leliana stared at her until Amleda’s beautiful brown skin blurred in front of her. She let out a small, unwilling sound when Amleda wiped her tears away, and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of Leliana’s mouth. “Stick with me, we’ll get you remembering sunshine again,” Amleda promised. “That's what we do, right? We’re the heroes of this operation.”

second up is a bit of a thing for tma where gerry gets to meet his dad via even more time travel fuckery:

Gerry eased out a breath and drew in another that shook and rasped on the way down. "Look," he started to say, stopped, then tried again. "I'm not going to say that any of this bullshit equals out on some great cosmic abacus in the sky, but someone like you should have the chance to know that what you did mattered. And I don't know if I'm the one to do that. I never had the chance to know you."

Eric was quiet for several moments. "But you know yourself, right? You had the chance to learn who you are and who you wanted to be. That's what I want. Wanted, I guess."

"You're not listening." Something small and sharp and raw dug between his ribs and made his voice come out sounding odd to his own ears. He didn't know why he had this urge to make Eric understand, but he did. "I don't know if it was worth it. What's the point if small and petty people like her win and people like you lose?"

"You mean like us. But… you don't sound small and petty to me. You sound like someone who struggled and kept struggling but didn't stop trying, anyway. Hard to call a heart like that small." Eric fell silent again, his brow furrowing in thought. Then he added slowly, "I let her win, because I couldn't stop loving her. Seems like you beat me on both those counts."

#Dragon Age #The Magnus Archives #wip wednesday #sometimes i write

[i-want-anne-hathaway]

Analysis of “Flat 15B” from Halls

This is exactly what it sounds like. I took apart the lyrics of the song to try and figure out more about the characters. I only have the brief descriptions George and Jen gave and a six minute song, but I tried.

Jessie

Jessie (Grace Mouat) is the person who immediately tries making friends and initiates the Flat 15B group chat. She says things and criticizes herself for it afterwards like when she says “#15B? Oh my god, who even hashtags anymore” and “Oh god, not a wink face.” She questions very small things she does in regards to other people. This could be one of the things she works on throughout the show.

“I don’t know how I’ll cope with sharing a bathroom” demonstrates some of that privilege George and Jen mentioned. She probably doesn’t have any siblings because if she did, she would’ve shared a bathroom at least once. This privilege is different from the privilege they mentioned Will having. Will’s benefits are a lot clearer to see, but Jessie’s are very small things.

She mentions relationships twice with her lines, “Mom keeps on telling me that the best days of your life getting a first class degree, while finding Mr. Right” and “Did you know that 40% of people find their partners at uni” so I think she may have a romantic plot or subplot throughout the show.

She says “moving in gets nearer” as if it’s something she’s scared about. She’s obviously nervous about it, but in a very subtle way. It’s expected to be nervous and anxious, but Jessie treats her fear like something to be ashamed of. 

Zoe

Zoe (Olivia Moore) is our resident theater major. She comes off as friendly and open like Jessie, telling her “you’ve got yourself a wing-woman right here” in response to Jessie’s “Mr. Right” line. If I were to mark one definite friendship, it would be Zoe and Jessie.

The lines she has to herself are both about her clothes fitting in the car and how many shoes she’s taking. This doesn’t give much information, but people who overpack generally do it for the reassurance that everything they may need is with them.

Zoe is also nervous about this whole university experience, but she’s straightforward about it. She says “I’m feeling scared” and that fact she’s sacred doesn’t bother her like it bothers Jessie.

Natalie

Natalie (Millie O’Connell) has already made herself known as the party girl from the very first line she sings. She seems to be somebody who likes to joke around as shown in her line “Wink face? That’s a bit keen.” I’m not entirely sure that’s what she’s saying, but it’s definitely something making playful fun of what Jessie said.

She is already like, “I can’t wait for Freshers week,” which is a week long period before classes start to get Freshman settled. There are parties and drinking all the time, and Natalie wants in on that. “No one to check what time that I get home…” made me think she doesn’t want people concerning themselves with what she does. She’s kinda like “I’m just tryna have some fun, so don’t worry,” and yes, that was a SIX reference. I’m not ashamed of myself because it fit very well. 

Natalie has this one track mind of going to parties and drinking. Almost every line she says has something to do with partying or drinking, for example “I packed my tequila.” This whole party attitude reminded me of Farrah from We Are The Tigers, and if they are similar, Natalie has some issues she’s trying to run from.

Josh

Josh (Tarinn Callender) is the person you hate, but you love. He also seems like a bit of a party person, but not as much as Natalie. Almost all of his lines are about sex and appearances.

He’s cocky and confident, as seen in his line “Can’t see any girl saying no to me when I move in,” but if I’ve learned anything from school, the people who seem incredibly confident and cocky are faking it until they make it. 

Dan

Dan (Cameron Burt) starts his section off with “This has to be the thing for me” because he started university before but dropped out. He no doubt feels pressure to stick with whatever he’s doing because of the fact he’s already quit once. I can already assume he probably feels awkward being older than everybody else. 

He comes off as incredibly shy and reserved especially with Josh and Natalie coming right before him. In comparison to those two, he’s like a mouse. Dan looks very chill and relaxed to me. Everybody else texted something kind of bold, like Josh or interacted with the others, like Zoe, but Dan just said “Hey everyone. I’m Dan. Nice to meet you” and sort of left it at that. 

Sam

Sam (Sophie Isaacs) is our working class student who juggles multiple jobs throughout the show. She’s not exactly poor, but she’s having difficulties with student loans. She says she’s “packed all my life into a case,” which suggests she doesn’t have very many things to even take with her. 

She states “I can’t believe I’m going to get out of this place.” She either hasn’t been anywhere but the area she lived, or she didn’t think she’d manage to get into university anyway. There’s a chance her family didn’t go to university.

“I’m not coming back” is said with strength and confidence. She’s determined that she's getting out of that small town for good. There is no way she’s returning. 

“I’m not gonna slack, I’m gonna make my family proud,” follows that line. She certainly doesn’t slack off because it’s been confirmed that she’s always working in order to pay off her loans. She’s going to do whatever it takes to get herself through school and make her family proud. I’ve had her character for less than a day, and I would kill for her. 

Josh, Dan, and Sam all claim that they aren’t scared, which is different from the previous group, Jessie, Natalie, and Zoe. Natalie never outright says she’s scared, but I’m pretty sure she’s more nervous than she’s let on. 

Lewis

Lewis (Alex Thomas-Smith) is this confident gay character who helps the others on their road to find themselves. I’m not sure if that’s in a mom friend way of helping them, or a friend who roasts you every time you try to make bad decisions, but either way it’s great. 

He says “everything will start again when I walk through that door,” implying there’s something he wants to redo. He’s confident now, but he definitely wasn’t always like that. There’s something that happened he doesn’t want to think about.

“They’re gonna see me as who I am, not who I was before” gives off a similar idea as the previous line. These could be references to his sexuality, but it doesn’t feel that way. This makes me think he’s done/said some things he’s not proud of. Sexuality isn’t a “who I am now vs. who I was back then” type of situation because if you’re gay now, you were always gay. It’s not one of those things that starts after some event, it’s just a matter of realizing. He was somebody before that he doesn’t want to be associated with who he is now, and I doubt that the reason he’s so ashamed of this previous version of himself is because he wasn’t out of the closet.

“Cause I’ve already wasted time being scared and having to hide” does seem like a reference to Lewis’ sexuality, but I still don’t think that’s what the other two lines were about. His sexuality can be a reason he’s confident though. A lot of openly LGBTQ+ people are more confident because they’ve already accepted who they were. This is supported by the line “I won’t have to lie” because it implies he’d lied about who he was before.

Will

Will (Matteo Johnson) is also a law student and is supposed to be a parallel to Sam. They study the same thing, but because of finances, Will is much better off than Sam. Because he has rich parents, he doesn’t have to concern himself with working to afford school. 

He’s seen speaking to his mother before he starts singing, and it doesn’t appear like she’s able to support him at school. We don’t know what she’s saying, but Will responds “Yeah, no, I understand it’s your job.” Even as he’s doing what his parents want, they still aren’t able to be there for him. “I’ll see you at Christmas” implies that from when he starts school in August or September, he won’t see his parents the entire time. 

“My whole life has always gone perfectly to plan” perfectly shows that Will hasn’t been making his own choices. His major probably wasn't his choice nor was the school. “Never straying from the path that they laid out” conveys the same message. His parents planned out everything he did, and he never questioned it. “For the first time in my life, I suddenly feel unsure” shows that he’s doubting whether he wants to follow everything his parents tell him to do. He’s even doubting the fact that he’s doubting himself, “maybe I’m just scared.” After not questioning anything his whole life, now he doubts everything. A major point in Will’s story is going to be finding out what he wants and stepping away from the path his parents have for him

THAT WAS SO LONG! If anybody actually managed to read that entire thing, I must applaud you. 1511 words of character analysis based off of one song. I have way too much time on my hands, but I’m just so excited for this musical. 

#halls the musical #six the musical #six musical #grace mouat #millie o'connell #olivia moore #tarinn callender #cameron burt #sophie isaacs #alex thomas smith #matteo johnson #if you managed to read this whole thing #thank you #this is just speculation #but my english teacher says im good at analysis

[meandmypagancrew]

Maybe What You Think Of Me Won’t Change

Did you guys know that in addition to being a gifmaker and a dollmaker, I’m also a writer? I know! I am a woman of many talents most mediocre and useless. Anyway, I wrote this little fic about Clark and Farrah from We Are The Tigers, so if you’re into that kind of thing, give it a read under the cut!

It wasn’t super uncommon for Farrah to suddenly come to and not know where she was or how she got there. So when, in her drunken haze, she had a sudden moment of clarity and found herself outside by a dumpster, she groaned. In the dim light from a streetlight, she took stock as she pushed one of her braids over her shoulder. Clothes? Still on. Phone? Not dead. Purse? There. There wasn’t any vomit or blood or anything. All in all, not the worst night she had ever had.

As she got on shaky feet, she tried to remember what had happened. Marissa had picked her up, and they went to a house party at Rich’s. She had a few flashes of the party, a red solo cup in her hand, Liz doing a keg stand, Kayla and Jason trying to subtly sneak upstairs- but then nothing. Fuck. There was no one around, so how was she supposed to get home? She pulled out her phone again and clicked the home button, being greeted by a picture of Tom Holland as Spiderman- her favorite celebrity crush- and the time 3:42. It was a Thursday, but still summer, so thank God she didn’t have to worry about being up for school. 

She pushed that thought to the back of her mind. First she needed to get home. She unlocked her phone- her home screen was a picture of her and her mom when she was born, which caused her to squint, both because of the lighter color scheme being brighter and the memory of her mom- and clicked to her contacts. Family was strictly out of the question, Annleigh would kill her for waking her up, her stepmom hated her, and her dad wouldn’t be mad but he’d be so disappointed he would probably cry the entire way and making your dad cry is a soul crushing experience.

She sat back down as she scrolled through her contacts. Party friends. A guy who was her partner for a chem project last year. Former Captain Kimberly, future Captain Riley. A guy who was rumored to be a drug dealer, but was only her contact for buying alcohol. Her first try was Marissa- she got her into this, it seemed only natural she’d get her out, but it went straight to voice mail. She kept looking, her drunk mind trying to think. Her finger tapped on Bridget, a girl who had been a cheerleader at Giles Corey but transferred back to public school after her dad had been laid off. They weren’t close, but Bridget had shown her the ropes when she joined the team, and she was a night owl so she should still be awake.

Before the first ring even finished, her usual deadpan voice answered. 

“What.” She said, and Farrah struggled to not sound as drunk as she was as she responded.

“Bridged?” Despite her best efforts, her speech was a little slurred. “Canyou comeaaand git mee?”

“Farrah, it’s almost four AM.” Her voice still had no inflection. Even when sober, it was very difficult to discern where Bridget was standing, and if you were getting anywhere with her. Drunk? It was pretty much impossible.

“Yeeeeaaaaaaah… but Imm stuuuuuuck.” 

“No.” Was the response, unusually harsh for Bridget. 

“Whaa…?” She asked, though she was pretty sure she heard her correctly. It just didn’t seem right. Bridget wouldn’t just abandon her like this, right? As she had so astutely noted it was almost 4 AM- she was the only person who would be awake.

“No. I’m not your babysitter, Farrah. You got yourself into this mess, take some goddamn responsibility for your actions.”

“Buuu… butMarissa took meee dribking-“

“Did Marissa force the alcohol down your throat?” Bridget asked, a little too abruptly and Farrah didn’t respond. She knew she was right, and Bridget knew from her silence she had hit the nail on her head. “You made a choice. You deal with the consequences.”

The line went dead. Bridget’s words were true, but how the hell was Farrah supposed to get out of this? Buses weren’t running this time of night, she didn’t even know where she was, let alone how to get home- she needed help.

As she resumed scrolling through her contacts, a very depressing thought hit her. She didn’t have anyone to call. She was the girl you call for a party, not the girl you depend on when you need help. She didn’t have a single true friend she could depend on right now. There were no clutch friends. To put it quite frankly, she was completely fucked.

As she settled in against the dumpster to wait for daybreak, hoping the sun would bring with it some ideas, a memory she didn’t know she had came to the forefront of her mind. 

“I think she’s asleep.” A voice that must have been Annleigh’s said in her memory. 

She was lying down, but her eyes were closed. From the lights that occasionally shone through her eyelids, the soft rumbling, and the feeling of movement, she must have been in the backseat of the car.

“Okay.” Came another voice, male- Clark. “I’ll carry her in when we get there.”

“You don’t have to do that!” Annleigh immediately replied, and Farrah could picture the heart eyes she was almost undoubtedly making. “You’ve already done so much, helping me come get her.”

“Don’t mention it.” He replied. “I’m happy to help.”

“You must get tired of it.” Annleigh replied with a sigh. “I mean, she’s not even your family.”

“Well, first off, we are all sisters and brothers in the eyes of our Heavenly Father,” She could hear the smile in his voice, and a gentle sound of contact as if Annleigh had playfully hit his arm. When he spoke again, though, the smile was gone. “In all seriousness, though, your family is my family. I will always be there for Farrah, because I love her like a sister.”

The conversation turned to some boring bullshit about theology, so she had tuned it out. But her mind kept coming back to that promise. Did he mean it? Did he say it just because he thought it would win him brownie points? Either way, it was her last possible option, so she navigated to his contact and hit call.

After a few rings, his groggy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Clark?” She asked, and she could almost feel him snap awake.

“Farrah? What’s happening? Is Annleigh okay? Are you okay?”

“Iiii’m fiiiiine. I need a riiide.”

Clark exhaled, and she felt a little bad for waking him up. He was probably going to do thing Bridget had. This was a speculator waste of time for everyone.

“I’m…. I don’t knoooow…”

“Do you see any landmarks?” He asked, his voice patient even though she could hear him moving about, probably grabbing his keys and heading out.

“Let me… check…” She stumbled a little bit, struggling to hold the phone and climb to her feet. “Oof, okay…”

“Farrah, what’s going on?” He asked, and she waved it off before realizing he couldn’t see her as she meandered out of the alley to the street.

“Iiiit’s fiiine. You worry too much!” 

She put a hand on the wall to steady her as she took stock of her surroundings. Sure enough, she was at a bar, but she didn’t recognize the name and found it highly unlikely Clark would either. Most of the storefronts were dark, and even the ones that weren’t, she felt like the words were spinning in front of her. 

“What do you see?” He asked, and she scrunched up her face.

“Uhhh…” She stalled but then she saw it. She thought it was maybe the most beautiful building she had ever seen in her life, down at the end of the street. “There’s a castle…”

“A… castle?” He asked, confused.

“It’s all white. It’s so pretty. It has flowers.”

“An all white building?” He tried to clarify. “The hospital?”

“No… there’s a man on the building…” She had to squint, but sure enough.

“A man on a castle that’s white with flowers?” The skepticism in his voice was so evident that even in her state she could pick up on it and it annoyed her.

“He’s golden!” She insisted, just wanting him to believe her, that she wasn’t hallucinating.

“A golden man on- the Mormon temple?” He asked, which Farrah couldn’t say for sure, but it seemed like the best bet. “Farrah, are you at the Mormon temple?”

“Nooo… I’m in front of a bar down the street…”

“Okay. Okay. Hold on.” Clark said as Farrah leaned against the wall, already feeling a hangover starting to set in. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Can you hang on for five minutes?”

“Yeah…” She replied, closing her eyes against the light filtering through the bar’s windows.

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

Once he hung up, she pocketed her phone after making sure it was on vibration in case something happened. She had considered doing something on her phone while she waited, but even on the lowest setting, it seemed so bright it might burn her. Out of sheer boredom, she started to undo her braids. After all, even if she slept in them, she’d have to redo them tomorrow, because they’d be messy. 

Just as she was relocating her second hair tie to her wrist, and shaking out the braid, the door to the bar opened, and a man walked out. Farrah didn’t notice him at first, busy combing her hair out, but he sure noticed her.

“Oh, hey, pretty girl.” He said and she looked up into eyes that looked at her like she was less of a person and more of a meal. Ugh. She had met so many predatory men like this, and she really wasn’t up to it right now. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

“My ride is coming.” She said, both as an answer to the question and a way of informing him that there was someone who knew where she was supposed to be, so he better not try anything.

“I can take you wherever you need to go, baby.” He was almost purring, which was about as unsettling as being called baby by a stranger twice her age. “Especially if where you need to go is back to my place.”

That statement was punctuated with a wink, and she felt like she needed a shower.

“No, thank you.” She replied, trying to walk the line between being polite enough that he didn’t think she was a cunt and murdered her, but not so polite that he thought she was into him and when she rejected him, didn’t think she was a cunt and murdered her. 

“Aw, come on, I can make you feel reeeeal good.”

He started to advance towards her and Farrah took a step back before she realized that would just back her into an alleyway, which was a dead end. She had no option but to stand her ground.

“I said no!” She almost yelled, and he grabbed her arm.

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that.” She tried to struggle against his grip, but he tightened his grip, which only scared her more. He was so much more powerful than she was.

“Get off of me!” Now she was yelling, a hint of desperation in her voice and he grabbed her other arm as well, which she continued to try to resist, but he was too strong.

“I said don’t be-“

“Get away from her!” She heard a car door slamming and while she couldn’t see who it was, she recognized his voice. The dude’s attention was fractured by the interruption, and his grip loosened as he looked over his shoulder. Farrah took advantage of that to pry herself from his grasp, running straight at Clark, throwing her arms around him and clutching the back of his shirt as tightly as she could, squeezing her eyes shut as she buried her face in his chest. He immediately wrapped one arm around her, holding her close.

“What are you, her boyfriend?” He sneered, and the fear in Farrah’s heart didn’t subside much. What even could Clark do? This guy, he looked like he could be a stunt double for Thor. And Clark? Clark could be the stunt double for Captain America- pre-serum.

“I’m her BROTHER!” He said, his voice taking on a hint of fierceness that Farrah had never heard before, and somehow she knew that he was going to protect her, whatever it took. “And she clearly said no, not to mention the fact that she’s 15! Take one more step towards us and I’m calling the cops on you, you pervert!”

There was a very tense moment, a pregnant pause where Farrah could feel Clark’s heart pounding against her forehead. He talked a big game, but he was terrified. If he called their bluff? The two of them together couldn’t even come close to taking him on, especially in her state. But he must have moved away, because she felt Clark exhale.

“Whatever. She’s a fat bitch anyway.” His voice was moving away, but Clark continued to hold on for several moments. He put his other arm around her before pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Oh, Farrah…” 

She pulled away and looked up at him, furrowing her eyebrows at the soft murmur, confused about what he meant. Before she could ask, he pulled away even more to open the door of the car for her.

“Let’s get you home.”

She obediently climbed in, again running a hand through her hair as she checked in the mirror her reflection. Her makeup was a mess and she had definitely seen better days, but the wave in her hair was gorgeous. As Clark got into the car next to her and immediately locked the door, she expected him to say something, but he stayed silent. Even as he started the car and some sort of Christian rock- Switchfoot, maybe?- started filtering through his car speakers, a little distorted because the bass was ruined. If Farrah recalled correctly, that was because when Greatest Showman came out, Annleigh adored it so much that not only did she make Clark take her to go see it in the theatres at least six different times, it was the only thing she would listen to and she would play it whenever he drove her anywhere and was not afraid to blast it.

She expected a lecture, some kind of explosion, but instead he just stared straight ahead, clutching the wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His silence was agonizing, and when she finally recognized their surroundings as he turned into their neighborhood, she braved speaking.

“Are you mad?”

“No.” He answered quickly. It wasn’t snapping at her, just a decisive statement.

“Are you sad?”

“No.” It was said the same way and she exhaled in frustration, feeling like she had to get to the bottom of this before he dropped her off, which would be soon despite the meandering streets of the neighborhood that made little sense- Clark was an expert and could navigate it like nobody’s business.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Are you annoyed?”

“No.”

“Are you disgusted?”

“Farrah, I’m worried.” He said as he pulled in front of the Victorian manor replica that she called her home. 

She was surprised that he cared so much, and surprised at herself that she also felt defensive. As he unbuckled his seatbelt to turn and look at her, she crossed her arms.

“You’re only saying that because of Annleigh. You don’t care about me. Or at least you only care about me as Annleigh’s sister.”

“Farrah, look around.” He said, and she furrowed her eyebrows, turning to him. Look at what? The dark buses that lined the pathway up to the front door? The neighbors across the street who’s porch light was green instead of normal? The empty McDonalds bag at her feet? The little pop figures from whatever weeb shit he was into on the dashboard?

“Do you see Annleigh anywhere?” Her brows still furrowed, she shook her head. Of course Annleigh wasn’t here, she would be inside asleep, like the good little girl she was. “This isn’t an act for her. I’m not even planning on telling her this happened. I’m worried about you because I care about you. Not the Farrah who’s Annleigh’s sister, but the Farrah who’s an amazing flier, the Farrah who knows all the words to Princess Bride and watches it every year on her birthday, the Farrah who hasn’t taken ballet in four years but still sometimes twirls when she thinks no one is looking. I care about the Farrah who goes horseback riding and even if she’s in a skirt refuses to ride side-saddle. I care about the Farrah who hides books in her backpack because she loves to read but would hate for anyone to find out. I care about the Farrah who sits on her phone and pretends not to pay attention to whatever’s on TV but when her dad falls asleep during the middle of an episode and then when he wakes up and asks what he missed, always knows exactly what’s going on. I care about the Farrah who found an abandoned kitten in a rainstorm and took him home and took care of him until she could be rehomed despite the fact that she’s very allergic. I care about the Farrah that named that cat Aaron Purr. I care about that Farrah a whole lot more than I care about Annleigh’s sister.”

She didn’t have a response to that. Clark had only been actively in her life for about a year, since her dad got married, but in that time he had been paying attention. She had gone through the mortifying ordeal of being known by him and she didn’t even realize. But at the same time, even though those things were all true, they all seemed so far away. When was the last time she had danced? Finished a book? Gone horse riding at all? The person he described sounded like such a nice person, she wanted her back. When she realized that, she started to cry.

“Oh- oh, no, no, Farrah, please don’t cry-“ Clark started to panic, placing a hand on her back as she dropped her head into her hands as he continued to move around as if looking for something. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, I just think you’re an amazing young woman and if you keep getting into bad situations like you did tonight, I don’t know what’s going to happen-“

“Help me.” She managed to get out through her sobs, and he suddenly stilled.

“What?”

“Help me. Please.” Once she started, it seemed like she couldn’t stop, even though the plea had to be filtered through sobs and snot. “I know I’m in trouble, but I don’t know how to stop- I can’t stop. I know everyone hates me, even my friends, and I know that it’s gone too far, but I’m scared, Clark, I’m so scared-“

“Hey, hey, shhh…” His voice brought her to an immediate halt, bringing her back to earth. She looked up at him, and even with her smeared mascara, snotty nose, tear stained cheeks, and red, puffy eyes, he didn’t turn away. He didn’t recoil in disgust. He offered her some napkins from a fast food chain he must have found somewhere with an encouraging smile. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll talk to your parents with you about it. If you have to go to rehab, I’ll visit you there and write. A bunch of my friends have sisters about your age, I’ll introduce you to them and maybe you’ll really hit it off and find some better friends. It won’t be easy, but I promise you don’t have to do it alone. Just say when.”

She accepted his offering and transferred her makeup from her face to the little caricature of the Grecian from the Little Ceasers logo, thinking hard about it. Right now was not an option, even with the sun beginning to appear on the horizon, she didn’t want to wake anyone up. But she also knew if she waited too long, she would lose her nerve. She was already starting to waver as she pulled herself back together. Surely things weren’t that bad, right? She could handle it on her own. But Clark was still looking at her for an answer.

“The day after tomorrow.” She finally said, and he seemed a little confused about the random time, so she explained. “The cheer sleepover is tomorrow night. You’re picking Annleigh and I up in the morning. When you drop us off, my parents should be home.”

Understanding the timeline, he nodded. It would give him enough time to research how to be a support system for her, and it would give her enough time to figure out how to backtrack, and tell Clark she didn’t really mean it and she was actually fine. That decided, she sling her purse over her shoulder and opened the car door to get out.

“Farrah?” He asked as she put her foot on the sidewalk, and she turned a little to look at him.

“Hmm?”

The light in the interior turned on when she opened the door, so she could see him clearly for the first time all night. He looked tired, but still as charismatically cheerful as ever, the human equivalent of a golden retriever. 

“Chin up, buttercup.”

He gave her shoulder a playful punch and she couldn’t help but smile back before fully getting out of the car. As she walked up to her door, she thought that maybe it wouldn’t be too bad after all. Maybe he could help her find the girl he saw again, and she could be better. As she opened the door she looked back. He was still waiting and gave a small wave. She waved back before taking a deep breath and stepping inside, hearing his car start up again and drive off as the door closed behind her.

#we are the tigers #we are the tigers fanfiction #not a gifset #but still #look what i made #go easy on me please this is my first time posting fanfiction in like over a decade #but i sent it to a few people and they all seemed to like it and encouraged me to post it #so it has been posted

[madrabbitsociety]

Sometimes, and I do not mean for this to sound malicious, which it will, I feel the need to defend hairdressers. 

Hairdressers and hair stylists are skilled technicians who go through thousands of hours of training in order to hone their craft. Some of us were lucky enough to go to a technical school while in high school and are not in debt. I, however, paid almost $25,000 to go to school. I had to go for 1500 solid hours. In my state, that meant Mon-Thurs evenings for 5 hours a night. In my opinion, people don’t give stylists enough credit for what they need to know to get licensed in their state. Specifically, my license is for cosmetology. I had to know skin disorders, chemical reactions, actual strand structure - and we still don’t get told enough because we don’t get proper training on different types of hair, but that’s a whole different post that a lot of other people have done better than me. 

The predominant way we are paid in the industry is via commission. So if we have no one scheduled, we don’t get paid. If we have a client cancel, we don’t get paid. At my first salon I was expected to stay as early as I could to as late as I could, unpaid, just in case someone came in. Of course, corporate places are mildly better in that they offer a minimum wage, but that’s usually somewhere between $7-9 an hour. In order to earn commission in that type of situation you have to do more in services than what you would have been paid for the hour. Again, probably an entire post in itself. 

I tried a lot of places. I paid a lot of money for a license I was very proud to own. The final straw was a salon near my house. Personality-wise, I really felt like it would work out because I enjoyed the people I was around and I was disappointed when it didn’t work. When I first started, they insisted I do two unpaid apprenticeship days because I was (licensed for 6 months at that time) too new to work on their clients. They would provide models and charge the models a lower service fee than their usual service fee. I would then have two paid days at $10 an hour where I would basically follow the owner around, clean and do shampoos. On my days off, I was expected to want to come into the salon and continue to apprentice for free. There was a point in my apprenticeship phase where I was only being paid two days for 5-6 days worth of work. 

Again, this is not uncommon in the industry. Maybe not to this extreme, but certainly there’s a lot of free work being done. Does your stylist have someone help them blowdry? You might want to make sure that apprentice is being paid.

My skills did improve greatly during this period, but I maintain that was because I put a lot into it. The owner took all the credit- through his great teaching methods, I was becoming an ‘okay’ hairdresser. 

During the apprenticeship, unless you handed me a cash tip, he kept all of my credit card tips. So if you added a tip after service with your credit card, the salon kept them because they said I was using their electricity/taking up space in the salon and I needed to pay for that.

In addition to all of the time I listed above actually being in the salon, I was also expected to attend continuing education classes. In summary, and again this is not an uncommon culture in the industry, if you do not eat-sleep-breathe HAIR, you are told you’re not good and you won’t do well. The only exception seems to be if you have children, but if you’re single/without kids they will work you to the bone.

When I was finally promoted to a junior stylist, I stopped being paid hourly at all. I was told I would get 36% commission for services and I was specializing in color corrections/the blonding journey at the time, so I was doing $200-300 services quite often. Some of those services took 4-6 hours of my time, but if I had no one scheduled I was still expected to straighten up, do laundry, sweep the floors and help other stylists with color application and blowouts. Which is fine, kind of. The problem became that from the start of my journey at that specific salon, I would be expected to arrive when we opened at 10 AM and stay until the owner finished his clients- sometimes I didn’t leave until 11-12 PM, and was expected to come back the next day. 

So yes, one $300 color service could mean that I earned 14-16$ an hour, but… when you’re working 10-12 hour days that kind of knocks it down to minimum wage again.

Then there is the opinion that this is an easy job that so many people can do and you don’t need to be vaguely intelligent to do it. That the people who chose hair are stupid or unskilled. I was sitting on the steps of my school once, reading an Agatha Christie book and comparing certain passages to an ACD Sherlock Holmes story via text message with SpicyMags, when an older couple walked by. The man looked up at the school sign and scoffed, “These girls are getting suckered into a scam. This is nothing but a scam and they’re stupid enough to fall for it.” 

Well, in retrospect, he’s not wrong, but at the same time when you know the blood and sweat and tears- the thousands of hours and dollars that are poured into not only the initial licensing but the continued education classes- being a hairdresser is so much more than people give it credit for. It’s an abusive industry that exploits a lot of unpaid labor and even when you get to a point where you have skill, where you are an artist, you have people asking for a luxury service and then complaining when that unnecessary luxury costs them actual money. 

One last thing I’d love to point out- the 100% customer service guarantee. A lot of salons these days are trying to change, but a lot of them also still have a guarantee that if you don’t love your hair, you get a free redo or a refund. Do you know what that means? Your stylist doesn’t get paid.

So I can spend 6-8 hours on your hair after you tell me it’s been box dyed brown attempting to take you through the lightening journey to get it blond. I can tell you that because of the molecules and ingredients in the dye, the actual damaged structure of your hair, that it is not possible to do it all in one day but I can get you close. I can explain to you the entire process, waste all my time being completely honest with you about how golden it’s still going to look because it IS a journey/process, and at the end you can decide that because I didn’t get your hair to solid white in one go that you want a refund…

And I don’t get paid for the entire day that we spent together. 

That’s some fucking bullshit, but it’s - and this is a quote from several of the places I’ve worked- an “industry standard”. 

The cherry on this shituation cake is that we also don’t get any health benefits, life insurance, retirement- no freaking anything (corporate salons being a slight exception although having worked in the medical field I can tell you the benefits offered by corp. owned salons are not great.)

So please, next time you decide that it’s laughable that a salon quotes you $150 for a craft haircut that takes a certain level of knowledge and skill, remember that the salon gets most of that and if you don’t like it there’s a huge change your stylist isn’t getting paid.

Edit: Things that I did not mention but should have- the toll it takes on your body (repetitive motions and standing in heels on concrete floors cause back issues, neck and hip issues, knee issues, carpal tunnel and risk of cutting off your knuckle with your instruments). I had to sign a release that my school was not responsible for me cutting any part of my body with my shears (I’ve had bosses who lost toes and knuckles). You think that heels thing is a joke? I’ve worked in several salons where ‘female’ stylists were required to wear heels and at least three items of make-up because ‘this was the beauty industry and we had a standard to keep’. Say you gather a clientel and can rent your own chair or booth, you’re responsible for purchasing every single bit of supplies you might need to continue doing what you’re doing, so you’re still having business costs eat into your hourly wage. People need to give a fucking standing ovation to hairdressers, okay, because this industry is brutal.

I’m not saying I dislike doing hair, or that I’d never do hair again, but there are several reasons I’m not doing it right now. 

#madrabbitsociety #mad rabbit society personal stuff

[tigerlover16-uk-2]

Pokemon Secret Journeys Snippet: “I have a sister now?”

So, here’s something different. I mentioned a few times before I published a fanfiction recently, it’s on FF.net and AO3. And I thought just for fun, and hopefully to get a bit more traffic slowing, I might post a few scenes from it here on Tumblr for people to read.

Here’s the general summary of the story:

An interdimensional being called The Beyonder has taken over the World of Pokemon, altering it to suit his whims. So naturally, it's up to Ash Ketchum to do something about that. Sent back in time on a quest to redo his journey in this radically altered world, Ash and friends are in for their greatest, most dangerous adventure of all.

.

Below is the first scene of the first proper chapter after the prologue, Ash Ketchum’s first taste of the rebooted version of the Pokemon World he’s found himself in. Also featuring the character of Molly Hale, from Pokemon 3.

If anyone’s interested, feel free to give it a read.

*Ring! Ring! Ring!*

Smash!

"Gah!" Ash leapt up so suddenly he ended up falling out of bed, face-planting on the floor just a foot away from his oversized soft Snorlax plush. With a pained groan Ash pushed himself up, glancing in the direction of the shattered pokeball-clock.

Panic quickly overtook him.

"Ah crud, not again!" Ash yelled, hastily looking up at the wall clock above his TV "Wait… seven O'Clock?"

Ash blinked a few times before letting out a huge sigh of relief "Well, okay then" He laughed, scratching the back of his head impishly.

In the original timeline, Ash had somehow managed to sleep through his alarm, only finally waking up after smashing his alarm clock after subconsciously throwing it in his sleep. Ash arrived at Professor Oak's lab pretty late as a result, after all the other three new trainers leaving Pallet Town that day had already gotten their starter Pokemon and took off on their journeys. Well except Gary, he stuck around just long enough to be really smug to Ash about the whole thing and how he got the best Pokemon.

By some stroke of luck, Ash had managed to avoid a repeat of that embarrassing incident this time around.

And yet, his clock still wound up against the wall.

'I guess some things are just fate' Ash mused to himself, observing the broken scrap metal littering the other side of his room.

Wasting no time, Ash pushed himself up onto his feet, stumbling slightly as it suddenly occurred to him he was still very tired. He vaguely remembered the now shattered alarm clock reading 3.45am and realised he'd probably stayed up most of the night planning out his next few moves after he left for Oak's Lab.

What those plans were completely alluded Ash at the moment, but he figured they'd probably come back to him when he was a bit more awake.

After scooping up the scattered remains of the pokeball clock and dumping them into a nearby bin, Ash stumbled over to his wardrobe and pulled open the doors, being greeted by a mirror on the back of one of them. The dishevelled teenager narrowed his eyes at the short tuft of hair on his reflection's chin.

Glancing once more at the wall behind the desk with his TV, Ash double checked the date on the calendar. Still the same date on which he'd first set out on his Journey.

Ash sighed 'Guess there's no point hoping it was all just a weird dream, huh?' Ash stroked the hairs on his chin, frowning curiously 'Am I supposed to start shaving then, or are you supposed to wait until it gets longer and it starts growing under your nose too?'

A loud rumble suddenly filled his ears and made Ash clutch his stomach in discomfort. Shaking his head, Ash grabbed a pair of clothes-the same kind he'd worn for most of his travels in Kanto through Johto-and made his way out of the room and to the bathroom 'I'll worry about that later. Right now I'm staaaarviiiing'

After a quick shower and feeling more awake, Ash got dressed and made his way to the stairs.

"Mime-Mime" a familiar voice greeted.

"Oh, hey Mimey" Ash responded as he passed his mother's Mr Mime on the landing before making for the stairs. About halfway down he suddenly stopped, his face going blank as Ash stood silently for a moment. Then with a sharp "Gah!" Ash leapt up, losing his footing on the step as he landed and tumbling the rest of the way down the stairs, his head becoming acquainted with an umbrella stand as he landed.

"Oww" Ash groaned, rubbing the fresh bruise on his forehead.

"Mr Mime?"

Ash glanced up the stairs and saw Mr Mime looking down at him with concern. As Ash began to get up, Mimey rushed down the stairs and offered him a hand, which Ash graciously accepted.

"Thanks" Ash said, momentarily forgetting the reason why he'd just tumbled down the stairs. It quickly came back to him after standing up "Wait-Mr Mime?! What are you doing here?"

Ash's first thought was to wonder why Mimey would be at his house instead of the Cerise Laboratory where he'd been staying with Ash. Then he remembered that he was sent back in time, so why would Mimey be at the Lab now instead of at home with his mother. And then Ash realised-hey, wait. He and his mother hadn't met Mimey until after he'd won all 8 of his Kanto badges, so what was he doing here at all?

"Mr Mime?" Mimey looked equally as confused as Ash did right now. He placed a hand over the bruise on Ash's head, leaned in close and began examining Ash's face with some concern. Ash just stared back at him awkwardly before eventually swatting the hand away and leaning away from the Psychic-type.

"I'm fine, I'm fine" Ash chuckled nervously, which just made Mimey look at him oddly. Ash scratched his head "I just-um… I was a bit dizzy, that's all. I, uh… didn't get much sleep-but I'm fine! Everything's good, Mimey, thanks. Ha ha"

Mimey eyed Ash suspiciously for a long moment, which made the teen a bit nervous. But eventually the mime's face lit up with a satisfied smile.

"Mime-mime" Mimey said while giving Ash a thumbs up. Ash mentally sighed and waved at the Mr Mime as he began climbing back up the stairs, picking up a stack of freshly-folded towels when he got to the top.

'Okay, so mom and I already have Mimey in this timeline' Ash thought to himself, scratching his chin 'Well, I guess that's not the most surprising thing that could happen. But now I wonder if mom's a blonde or something now?"

A quick trip to the kitchen proved that wasn't the case. At most his mother's hair was just slightly longer than it had been the last he'd seen of her.

"Oh, hey honey, glad you got up on time. What was that big thump just now?" Delia asked while washing the dishes.

"Thump?" Ash frowned "… Oh. Um, I fell down the stairs"

Delia put down the plate she was washing and looked at Ash with some concern, noticing the bruise on his head.

"Oh my gosh, Ash! Are you alright?" Delia squealed, rushing over to her son who quickly threw up his hands in a 'Stop' motion.

"It's fine mom, I'm alright" Ash insisted "You know me, I've been hurt way worse than this"

Delia stared at Ash contemplatively for a long moment before her expression relaxed and she sighed.

"Yeah, that's true" She said with some amusement "Honestly, I'd hoped you'd be over that clumsy streak by the time you set off on a journey, but I guess that's just who you are. Oh, by the way, breakfast is on the table for you sweetie"

With a relieved sigh Ash took his seat at the table and examined the contents of the plate his mother had laid out. Toast, bacon, fried eggs, and a croquette sandwich. Simple breakfast, but Ash was happy to dig in.

As he made a start on the toast, Ash looked over at his mother, watching her finish washing the remaining dishes. After the shock of everything he'd been through the previous evening and being told the entire universe had been torn apart, it was a welcome relief to see his mother again, just carrying on with her life as normal.

'Now how the heck am I supposed to explain all of that to her?' Ash asked himself, scratching his head. He then noticed the black mark on the back of his hand that read "20" and Arceus's advice on how to "Remind" people repeated in his head.

Ash noticed his mother turn her head to look at him again, and he quickly hid his right hand under the table. He silently cursed himself for not putting on his old gloves with the rest of his clothes, he'd better make sure neither she or Mimey noticed the mark just yet.

"Those are some pretty big bags under your eyes. I did tell you you'd regret it if you didn't get enough sleep" Delia lectured. Ash scratched the bottom of his nose with his left index finger.

"Hehe. I tried, but you know, I just had so much on my mind I couldn't fall asleep no matter how hard I tried" Ash replied. It was the truth of course, but just not for the reasons Delia assumed.

"Oh, Ash… well, I guess I can't blame you. This IS a pretty exciting day for any young man. Just promise me you'll try and sleep better the next couple of days. You may be 16 now, but you're still a growing boy" Delia said, finishing up with the dishes and going to make herself a cup of tea.

"I'll… try. I promise" Ash replied. Delia shot him a warm smile at that, and Ash suddenly felt the most at ease he'd been since before the world ended. His mother could be strict, embarrassing and overbearing from time to time. But she was still a wonderful, loving person with a big heart, and she always knew how to cheer him up.

He was so grateful she wasn't lost forever.

As Ash finished his toast and started on the bacon and eggs, a loud yawn caught his attention. He turned to the door that led to the living room to see a little brown-haired girl in blue pyjamas and a bow in her hair wander into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and looking very sleepy. Ash could only blink at her, thinking she looked very familiar.

"Molly, dear, what's got you up so early" Asked Delia with mild concern.

Ash blinked harder. Molly? Taking a closer look at the girl as her eyes drifted open, it suddenly clicked why he recognised her. She was Molly Hale, the daughter of a family friend that he'd met in Johto once on his journeys.

"I wa-" Molly yawned again, shaking her head and suddenly looking a little more awake "I wanted to be awake to see Ash before he left"

"He doesn't have to be at Oak's lab until ten, sweetie. You didn't have to get up straight away" Delia said, setting aside her unfinished cup of tea and pulling out a chair for Molly to sit on. The little one smiled and bowed graciously to her before she sat.

'Ten?' Ash pondered. He could have sworn he had to be at Oak's lab a lot sooner than that originally? Or had he really overslept that badly? Why hadn't his mother woken him up, then?

"But I won't get to see Ash for a really, really long time after today. So I wanted to make sure" Molly insisted. Delia giggled and ruffled Molly's hair.

"Aww, sweetie" Delia cooed.

Ash was just really confused by all this.

Molly noticed Ash staring at her and flashed him a sweet smile "Good morning Ash. Ready to be a Pokemon Master?"

"I… sure, I always am" Ash replied, glancing sideways at his mother "What's Molly doing here?"

Ash mentally winced slightly at the look of shock and concern on Molly's face when he said that. Delia looked at her son like he'd asked why water was wet "She's been here a whole week! Her dad's on a research trip with Professor Rowan, remember?"

"Professor Row-" Ash began, but then suddenly it hit him how what he'd just said was probably pretty dumb from his mother's perspective and changed direction "Oh-oh, right, research trip. I um, forgot? Ha ha"

Now Delia and Molly were both looking at him with a bit of concern. Delia heaved a frustrated sigh.

"This is why I don't want you staying up all night, mister. Lack of sleep really messes with your head" Delia mused.

"Is Ash going to be alright?" Molly asked tenderly.

"Oh, don't worry, Mr sleepy head will be fine once he's woken up some more" Delia said with a laugh. Molly giggled, though still looking worried.

Ash continued staring at Molly for a moment. In the old timeline, Ash apparently knew Molly when she was a few years younger than when they'd met again in Johto, but could barely remember much about her or her family before they'd moved away.

Evidently they hadn't moved this time around, and Ash figured from the looks of things he and his mother were a lot closer to Molly because of it.

But there was another bit of information that really caught his interest. Apparently Molly's father was doing research with Professor Rowan? He was the Pokemon Professor in Sinnoh, who Ash had met a bunch of times. It was at his Summer Camp he'd first met Angie, in fact. And Ash also vaguely recalled an encounter with a certain type of Pokemon in Sinnoh on another occasion…

"Are they looking for the Unown?" Ash asked.

"I don't think Spencer's been researching anything else for the last 10 years" Delia chuckled. Ash suddenly felt a bit uneasy, remembering the circumstances in which he'd originally met with Molly in Johto. And then another thought suddenly popped into his mind.

"Is Molly's mom with them?"

Ash regretted the question as soon as he blurted it out, and the looks on Delia and Molly's faces when he said it only reinforced that. Delia gaped at him in disbelief, then swiftly turned to face Molly, who was suddenly staring silently at her feet.

Ash gulped.

"I'm… I'm sorry. I… don't know why I asked that" Was all Ash could say. Delia shot him another disapproving look before kneeling down and putting a hand on Molly's shoulder, whispering something soothing into her ear. Ash looked away in shame.

He suddenly remembered quite clearly that Molly's mother in the original timeline had disappeared quite some time before he got to Johto, apparently it had something to do with the Unown kidnapping her in a similar manner they later did Molly's father. Or, he assumed that's what happened, since apparently she'd been found shortly after Spencer Hale was returned after the whole Unown crisis at Greenfield was taken care of.

Losing her mother had filled Molly with a lot of grief and left her feeling very lonely in the old timeline. And clearly, the same held true for this one.

Not wanting to stick around in case he said anything else stupid, Ash hurriedly finished the rest of his bacon and eggs and scooped up the Croquette sandwich to take with him to his room.

"I, um... I think I need to take a quick nap. I'm not thinking straight" Ash said hastily "Could-could you wake me if I'm not up in time to get to the lab, mom?"

"Sure, honey. Sure" Delia said, still looking rather cross with him. Molly glanced up at Ash, but quickly looked away. Ash felt like his insides had briefly frozen seeing the hurt look on her face, and he wasted no time getting out of the kitchen, bumping into Mimey on his way out who had just entered the room and was watching everyone else with some confusion.

Ash rushed up the stairs, scarfing down his sandwich as he did so. Pushing open the door to his room, Ash shut the door behind him, made straight for his bed and plopped down on it, heaving an aggravated sigh.

"Well, that was awkward" Ash grumbled to himself. He flipped over onto his back and stared contemplatively at the ceiling. He knew he was going to have to apologize to Molly for that little slip-up, but he wasn't quite sure what to say.

'Sorry I brought up your missing mom when you're still torn up about it. Don't worry, she's just trapped in another dimension by floating alphabet soup, and she'll totally come back once you dream up an Entei to blast them back to their dimension and make the world stop turning into crystal'

...

'Yeah, no, definitely not' Ash slapped his forehead and closed his eyes, thinking carefully about how to sound comforting without giving too much away…

...

...

...

He and Molly were decorating a Christmas tree together. Ash was standing on a chair and holding Molly up, as the younger girl struggled to reach out and place a plastic Clefable on top of the tree. Molly and Ash both cheered when she finally got the Clefable to stick.

...

Ash's eyes shot open as he bolted upright. For a moment he had no reaction other than to stare blankly into the distance. Then his senses eventually returned to him and a bemused frown spread across his face.

"What the… what was-GAH!" Ash's eyes snapped shut again as his mind suddenly went fuzzy.

...

It was Molly's fourth birthday party. Ash, his mother, Professor Oak and both of Molly's parents were there. Molly was struggling to blow out the candles on a cake shaped like a Teddiursa's head, so when her eyes were shut during her 5th attempt Ash blew them out for her and pretended she had done it herself. Everyone cheered for Molly, who was laughing and looking very proud of herself.

Molly was four and a half. She and Ash were at the park. Molly had just fallen off the swings and scraped her knee. She cried for five minutes straight while Ash bandaged her leg and told her over and over in a gentle voice that everything would be okay, that she was a big girl and didn't need to cry. When he was done putting on the bandage Ash gave Molly a hug, which finally calmed her down enough to make the crying stop. Ash picked Molly up and took her to find her father. Molly thanked Ash. She said he was the bestest.

Molly was two years old. Mr Mime was making her laugh by floating spoons, forks and plates around and doing a weird tap dance. Ash thought it was kinda silly, but Molly was loving it. Ash then decided to impress her by juggling apples. He was doing pretty well with three, but when he tried juggling five he hit Mimey with one by mistake and made him drop the plates and cutlery he was floating. The plates smashed against the floor. Surprisingly, this made Molly laugh harder than anything else Ash or Mimey had done, but Ash wasn't sharing her amusement. He was panicking over how much his mother would yell at him over the smashed plates.

Molly was crying her eyes out. A few hours ago, Spencer had come home a nervous wreck and informed Delia and Ash that Molly's mother had gone missing. Molly was five years old. Ash was now cradling the distraught little girl in his arms, gently telling her everything would be okay and that they'd find her mom before long. He wasn't sure himself, he didn't understand what had happened very well either, but he had to try to ease her pain somehow. Molly hugged him tight, begging her momma to come back.

It was three weeks ago. Spencer was talking to Delia in her living room. Ash was looking at Molly, who was sulking in the corner of the room. Spencer was telling Delia about how he was going to be moving to Greenfield, his childhood home where his now deceased parents used to live. He and Molly would go there a few weeks after a trip to Sinnoh he had to go on with Professor Rowan to study some ruins in Solaceon Town. Ash noticed Molly was shaking, and suddenly she shot up and yelled at her father that she didn't want to leave and that she hated him for taking her away from home.

A few minutes later, Molly had locked herself in the wardrobe in Ash's room. Delia and Spencer were waiting outside of Ash's room as Ash tried to calm Molly down. It took half an hour, but Ash eventually managed to get her to come out. She cried when she saw her father and apologised for saying she hated him, saying she didn't mean it and she just wanted to stay home and be with everyone. Ash sighed as he watched Spencer hugging his daughter, apologising for needing to move and promising they'd come back eventually.

...

In the present, Ash gasped for breath. His eyes flickered open and he began looking around the room, getting a grip on his current surroundings. He leaned back against his pillow, his mind racing to process that sudden burst of information. Something Arceus had said the previous evening repeated clearly in his head.

"There's another thing you should know. The longer the two of you remain in this new timeline and your bodies and minds begin to acclimate to it, the more you should experience memories of the lives you should have lead in this new reality. Flashbacks, most likely, though a few of them might be subconscious recollections you won't even notice were not related to your past lives"

It all made sense now. Those were his new memories. He was recalling some of the times he and Molly had spent together in this new version of his life. How Ash had known her since she was a baby. How the Hale's were close family friends who hadn't yet moved away.

How Molly had been like a sister to Ash.

Ash rubbed his head, his eyes glazed over as he became lost in those thoughts. Consciously, he knew he had never really experienced any of those moments… and yet, for reasons he couldn't understand… he FELT like he'd lived them. Those memories FELT as real and personal to him as any from the life he actually had lived up to now.

Ash wasn't sure if he should be concerned about that or not. All he really knew right now was that he felt even more guilty for making Molly upset.

He glanced at the clock. 8.15am. What? How long had he been staring at the ceiling?

Slapping his head, Ash got up and opened the window, breathing in the breeze of fresh air and leaning against the windowsill. He looked out at the town of Pallet.

Everything seemed exactly the way he remembered it. Same buildings. Same sky. Same Professor Oak's ranch in the distance. He even noticed the Dodrio that usually woke everyone in the neighbourhood up waddling around. The place outside Ash's window seemed just like the same old world he'd grown up in.

But it wasn't. It was so very different.

'Boy, I'll be glad when this is all over and things go back to normal'

Taking another deep breath, Ash cast another glance out at Professor Oak's lab in the distance. Pikachu was in that building right now, waiting for Ash to pick him and start their journey together. Ash's lip quivered. He wanted to smile, but he was feeling uneasy at the prospect. So much else seemed different about this new world already: Would Pikachu even be the same Pokemon he remembered anymore?

That particular worry vanished when he glanced down at the mark on the back of his hand. He let out a quick sigh of relief. Maybe Pikachu would be a little different… but Ash could make it so he still remembered all the good times they'd had together in their old life.

They'd still be the best of friends. That much couldn't change.

Closing his window, Ash walked over to his wardrobe and pulled out the pair of gloves he'd forgotten to bring to the bathroom with him earlier. Checking his bag to make sure he really did have all the supplies he needed, he also pulled out the piece of paper with Angie's phone number and the jewel Arceus had given him.

Ash stared at the white gem. Supposedly it would glow when the time came for Arceus to contact him for an update on how he was getting along. Ash really wished it would glow now, he had so many questions he wanted to ask about this new life, and he was suddenly feeling a hundred times more resentful to the Beyonder than he already was for plunging him into this mess.

Shaking that thought from his head, Ash put the jewel and the paper with Angie's number back in his bag. He would have to call her once he got to Viridian. Hopefully she was adjusting to this whole situation better than he was so far.

Or rather, would be. With the time Zone she was probably asleep right now.

An hour passed as Ash sat on his bed, replaying the events that had happened in the Hall of Origins and everything that had been said in his head. When the clock reached 9.30, Ash got up, took a deep breath and clenched his fist with a fiery resolve. He picked up his backpack and flung it over his shoulders, then grabbed the cap sitting on the table next to his TV, putting it on as he left the room.

And then he saw that Molly was standing by the door, looking down at the ground and dressed in the same clothes Ash had seen her wear in their previous life. Ash blinked at the little girl as she looked up at him with an unreadable expression. A moment of silence passed before a sad frown suddenly spread across Molly's face as she turned away from Ash.

"Do you… would you be happier if I wasn't around, Ash?"

Ash's eyebrows rose. Where had that come from?

"What? Why would you think that, Molly?" Ash asked with genuine concern. Molly shuffled her feet, twirling a strand of her hair with her finger.

"Some… some girls in the park…" Molly's voice was shaky, and Ash thought she was trying not to cry "I mean… um… I was just wondering… you're going away for a really long time. On your journey. And… I was just wondering… I'll see you again, right?"

A sad smile appeared on Ash's face as he suddenly realised what Molly must be feeling. Her mother had disappeared just barely a year ago. She and her father were going to be moving away for a while… and Ash was setting out on a journey, so there was no guarantee he'd be here when or if she eventually moved back.

Acting on newfound instincts, Ash kneeled down and put a hand on Molly's shoulder, smiling softly at the girl as she turned to face him.

"I'm not going to disappear Molly. And I promise I'll keep in touch and come visit you when I can. You'll see me again" Ash said. Molly's eyes began to water. Ash ruffled her hair and smiled wider "After all… you're my little sister"

Inwardly Ash couldn't believe those words were leaving his lips. But what surprised him even more was how, deep down… he felt like he really meant it.

Molly let out a sob and turned away from Ash again. Ash gave her a moment to compose herself, and when she'd finally stopped sobbing he asked "Why would you think I wouldn't want you around?"

A moment of silence.

"The other day" Molly began, visibly nervous "I was playing in the park. Some older girls were talking with each other. The oldest one was complaining about her mom… said she was really bossy to her. I said… I said she shouldn't say mean things, and her mom was just trying to help her learn and be nicer to people. And then…"

Molly gripped the sides of her skirt, looking like she wanted to cry again. Ash put his hand back on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile, and after taking a deep breath Molly continued.

"She said… she said… she said the reason Momma went away… was because I-" Tears were most certainly welling up in Molly's eyes now, and Ash was bracing himself for what she was about to say "Because I was annoying and no one would want to have me as their daughter"

Ash's eyes widened as Molly let out an anguished wail and began crying for real this time. At first he felt too awkward to respond, but after getting a grip on himself he gave Molly a tender hug and let her cry into his shoulder.

Ash recalled his initial reaction to seeing Molly in the kitchen, and how hurt Molly had seemed when he asked why she was around. And it really hit him that she must have thought that maybe that cruel girl had been right. Maybe she was annoying. Maybe Ash didn't want her around, maybe he would be glad to be away from her. And then, what would that say about her mother and why she went away?

A fresh pan of guilt swept over Ash, and he hugged Molly harder.

What felt like a whole minute passed as Molly poured her heart out. When her sobs began to quiet down, Ash pulled Molly forward to look at her face to face again and gave her a firm look.

"Your mother loved you, Molly. I know that for sure, she didn't run away and leave you. I don't care what some jerk told you, you're not annoying. Don't ever let anyone make you think what happened was your fault, because it's not"

Molly sniffled "But-but then… why did she-"

"It isn't your fault! People just go missing sometimes, but we'll find her eventually. I guarantee you that" Ash said confidently. However different this timeline had to be, if the events behind Mrs Hale's disappearance were the same, then it was guaranteed she'd be found again just like last time. Right? "But more important than that, she loved you. And she would never choose to leave you. You're a good daughter, Molly"

More sniffles. Ash ruffled Molly hair again and gave her another smile.

"And just because I have to leave for a while, that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you forever either. Sometimes friends and family move away, or go different paths in life" Ash recalled the faces of many of his friends and Pokemon in quick succession as he said that "… But that doesn't mean we forget each other, or won't meet again. I promise you that"

More tears, and Molly wrapped Ash in another hug, though this time the tears faded pretty quickly.

"I'm sorry, Ash"

Ash looked down at Molly oddly "What for?" Molly pulled back a bit to talk to his face.

"For thinking you didn't care. I know you do. I just…" Molly hesitated "… I'm really going to miss seeing you all the time. I want everything to go back the way it was"

"I know the feeling" Ash said, thinking of the world the way it was before the Beyonder changed it. He frowned, knowing what he was about to say would probably be hypocritical coming from him, but Ash still felt it was what Molly needed to hear "… But that's just life. Change happens, and you just have to get used to it. Doesn't mean every change will be bad. You'll miss me for a while, but just try and think how happy you'll be when we see each other again. And how great you'll feel when your mom is found"

Molly looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled "That… that does sound nice"

"See, no need to be all doom and gloom" Ash chuckled. Molly wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and separated from Ash, looking a lot calmer now "So, feel better now?"

Molly nodded "Yeah… I'll be okay. You're a good brother, Ash"

Ash scratched his cheek, feeling pretty proud at that "Helps to have a great little sister"

Two hours ago, Ash barely knew Molly. She was just one of many friends that he only knew for a short time and then never saw again. But now, she felt like one of the most important people in his life. A part of Ash was really worried about that feeling. The world he was living in right now was a farce, something that had to be fixed and put back to the way it was. Surely it wasn't going to do him any good in the long run to start getting attached to this version of reality and the life he had here, right?

And yet… for the moment, seeing Molly's gracious smile and the sense of brotherly pride it inspired within him… Ash couldn't find it in him to worry too much about that just now.

"Ahem"

Ash and Molly turned to see Delia looking at them from the top of the stairs, a satisfied smile on her face.

"I really hate to interrupt this moment. But it's nine fourty five, Ash. You should probably be leaving soon if you want to get your first Pokemon" Said Delia. Ash suddenly turned frantic.

"I forgot!" Ash gasped. He turned to Molly quickly "Good talk, gotta go, I'll see you at the ranch later, bye!"

And with that Ash took off down the stairs, much to the bemusement of Delia.

"It only takes ten-" Delia was cut off by a loud thump. She sighed "Also, don't run down the stairs. Keep hitting your head like that, and you won't be in any condition to travel for another week"

"Right… sorry" Ash said, getting up and rubbing the fresh bruise on his forehead. His head was probably going to be purple all day if he kept falling like that.

A moment to let his senses come back later, Ash took off out the door, waving goodbye to Delia, Molly and Mimey who now stood in the frame to see him off as he ran down the path that would lead him to Oak's Laboratory.

"Is Ash going to be okay, miss Ketchum?" Asked Molly. Delia giggled and patted the girl on the head.

"Oh, don't worry. Our Ash can seem like a goof at times, but he's brave and resourceful and determined. He'll be fine"

"Mime, mime" Mimey chimed in agreement. Delia smiled, looking out at her son's shrinking figure in the distance. Her expression softened a little.

She had long prepared herself for this day, but she had to admit to herself she still was a bit worried for Ash's wellbeing. It was a big world out there, one that could be dangerous for inexperienced trainers. She was sure he could handle it, she'd raised him the best she could to be prepared for setting out on his own, but… well, she was a mother. Who could expect her to not have reservations?

Didn't help that she was also going to miss having him around the house almost as much as Molly would. She sighed "Although, I guess I should check to make sure he packed clean underwear before he leaves the ranch"

#fanfiction #pokemon secret journeys #pokeani #Molly Hale #Ash Ketchum #anipoke fanfic #pokemon

[itsthrowawayyyyyblog]

I never thought I would be back here a few years after I deleted my old blog/s, but here I am.

Why am I back, you ask?

2020 has been a rough year for a lot of people, including myself. It started off well for me! I spent a week in Toronto for training at my old job and got to meet some wonderful people. I travelled for myself for the first time and I found it freeing. Imagine taking a trip to a place you’ve wanted to visit for a while, without having to answer to anyone. It was great! I stayed at a condo and it was right next to the Rogers Centre and CN Tower and the balcony view was FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC. Imagine “going home” there after a long day at work, opening the door, looking to your right and seeing the CN Tower lit up. I saw that for 5 straight nights and I got to say, it was an experience. I also saw the Raptors play! It was on my bucket list, and I never thought I was going to be able to see them play, until 2020. I had the time of my life in Toronto, went back home and I was generally happier with my life and my expectations for the rest of the year were high. I mean, surely, the year is just getting started and good things are happening - it can only be better, right?

Right?

Then COVID happened. California and Australia were on fire, a black man was killed through police brutality, sparking riots all over the world. Governments failed to respond adequately to the COVID crisis, leading to lots of deaths and lockdowns to mitigate the spread of the virus. Injustice and incompetence was seen left, right, and centre.

It took a toll on me.

I was lucky to be able to keep my job during the beginning of the pandemic. I stayed at home, because I really had nowhere to go. The gyms were closed, so were the malls, karaoke bars and restaurants. I wasn’t able to socialize as I expected but that was okay (for the time being); Warzone came out and I played a ton of it with my friends. That’s how my friends and I socialized during the pandemic. We would send messages on the group chat saying, “Hopping on for Warzone at 9, see you there” and it was a routine we got into until summertime.

Lockdowns were eased, cases were going down, the snow was melting and it seemed to be the beginning of brighter and better days. I saw my friends again and I felt happy. I had my job, had an excellent tax return, and I was making money. I felt blessed, lucky, and the days were brighter and longer and I felt hopeful. However, there was something that started to nag me.

Work took a turn for the worse. I started getting lots of projects and was also asked to take over a few of them. Cool, I thought initially. My bosses were starting to think I was getting more responsible. I didn’t find out they laid off a few employees until weeks later. Them giving me more projects was just because they needed to offload the projects.

I started paying more attention to what’s going on around the world, When you can’t go out or see your friends, you turn to the internet and, as I mentioned before, injustice and incompetence were everywhere, you start to ask yourself: “What’s going on? Why does the world seem this bad?” It makes you think. Then you start to get curious. You start researching. You learn and realize that black people go through this everyday. You learn that a lot of the elected leaders in the government were merely puppets for the big corporations, as they were able to get a bailout relatively quickly. We’re in 2021 now and the people in the US government are still arguing whether they should send a $2000 stimulus to its citizens who have been struggling mentally and financially during the pandemic. You start to realize that profits and money mattered more to the people in charge rather than doing the right thing.

Then you start to realize that this was also the only thing that mattered to some of the people closest to you as well. You shake your head in disbelief, ask them how they can justify that. How can you think the system works when your neighbour is struggling to pay their bills, not because they are living beyond their means, but because everything is so profit-driven? Your neighbour has to work two jobs just to provide for their kids, just so they have a roof over their heads...

Maybe I should have gone out for walks more, but I could not ignore the injustices in the world any longer, as it was all over social media, group chats, the news, at work, everywhere. Maybe I should have disconnected more. It was taking a toll on me, but I could not look away. I started to question myself. I started to question my friends. I started to question my employers, who were getting more antsy as they were having to struggle between with keeping the company profitable and keeping clients happy. Additionally a lot of them were not able to take their usual vacations, so this made them sad and frustrated, and they kind of took it out on their employees. Including myself.

My employer at the time asked a coworker to basically ignore some codes and standards to get a project out the door. That can’t be right, I thought. On top of that, my employer has not been kind to my coworker as well. These circumstances caused my coworker to quit. She got a job immediately so I was happy for her. She was able to leave a toxic place and found something better. I understood why she would quit, looking back now, as I was asked to do this once as well just so the company can satisfy their clients. I did not heed that advice and spent a lot of hours in the office trying to make sure the project met codes and standards to the best of my abilities. 

We had a project in the pipeline that required her expertise. Unfortunately, since she left the company, we had no one in the office or in the company that knew how to do this project. I’m not sure what my previous employer’s line of thinking was, but he thought we could do it. By we I mean he thought I, someone whose career just started, could do it. I told him, sure, I mean, with the right guidance and knowledge being passed along, I could do it, but I had no idea where to start. Who was I going to ask questions about this? 

My employer said, ‘I asked someone who knows more about this and they haven’t gotten back to me. Anyway, no one’s going to notice if we’re off by a few inches here and there. I think you’re capable enough to do this in one week.’

‘A week?’

‘Yeah. By the way, I’m going on vacation next week, so I expect this to be done by the time I get back.’

‘I’m not exactly sure how I can get it done in a week when the no one in the office knows how to do this, But..’

Here’s where I should have said no.

‘..but I’ll see what I can do.’

I spent an entire week researching about how to do this project and I did have something penciled in. But the more I researched, the less confident I felt about it going right. I did not have the experience for this, I thought. This is a bit more complex than my boss thinks it is.. maybe I should sit him down when he gets back. I don’t want to finalize this only for us having to redo it because we missed something.

My boss gets back after his vacation. He then asks me on Teams where I was with the project, and whether we could have something to hand in to the client in an hour or so.

I said, ‘no, we’re not done. I did some more research to make sure we did not miss anything, and I think we need to look into this or that. I did not want to finalize this then have it come back for us to redo. I thought it was a waste of time and negligent if I tried to finalize something that the company does not know how to do.’

The next words were the words that caused me to quit my job.

‘That’s not acceptable. What am I supposed to tell my clients?”

I got frustrated once I heard that. So frustrated that I ignored him and took the afternoon and the rest of the week off.

I spent an entire week researching and asking questions on the internet how to do a project, learning that I did not know enough to proceed.. while my boss takes a vacation at his cabin. I started thinking about our previous interactions, his interactions with my coworkers, and at that point, it added up. He really was one of those people who prioritized profits over doing the right thing. The things that my coworkers have been saying about him were true. 

I handed in my notice the week I came back. Two weeks after, I started grieving. I grieved because I felt like a failure. I felt like I handled the situation well, but it felt like a failure on my part. I grieved because people were losing their lives to incompetence by our leaders and through injustice. I grieved because I felt inadequate. I cut contact from my guy friends at the time, who didn’t seem to care and were indifferent about these things, so I turned to my girl friends for support. Am I ever thankful for them.

I grieved for a month. Then, I started taking out my frustrations at video games. I got frustrated at our government for not doing the right thing. COVID cases were on the rise and yet everything was still open like there was no pandemic. People were ignoring COVID, like everything was still fine. I felt so fucking hopeless, I felt like nothing I did mattered. I started getting angry at people for being so fucking selfish, and for not being able to look beyond their noses. I felt angry, hopeless. A big contrast to how I felt at the beginning of the year. I talked about this to my girl friends. They understood how I felt, and were very supportive about it.

Without their support I don’t think I would have mentally recovered. They didn’t judge me or make me feel hopeless. They were amazing through it all. I guess, in a way, to make it up for them, I educated myself about feminism. If most women in your life are so fucking supportive, I feel that you should return the favour and learn about their struggles. I watched a Netflix documentary about it and it really opened my eyes. To summarize how I felt: “I already thought it was bad but holy crap I did not think it was going to be as bad as it is..” at that point, I knew I was going to be an ally for everyone, and told myself that I need to educate myself more about it.

Christmas came and I was just thankful to reach it alive and without COVID. My family and friends are healthy, as well as myself, and I was grateful. At that point we all just wanted to make it through the year for one more week, and start fresh in 2021.

So, that’s my 2020. I didn’t really answer why I’m back.. I didn’t realize I needed to UNLEASH my 2020 experience until I talked to another girl friend. She encouraged me to write as a way to help me improve myself. As a way to track my thoughts and feelings throughout the year. 

To summarize; 2020 started off good, ended bad, realized I deeply disliked the injustices around the world, realized that I needed to forgive myself for my mistakes and that I needed a better support group. Thank you to my girl friends, really, from the bottom of my fucking heart. I also realized that I didn’t like who I was becoming... I’m working on myself to change that.

For 2021, I would like to start writing more. Just start writing about how I felt throughout the day, and my thought processes. I’m also dropping all forms of expectations for 2021 and beyond. Another reason I felt depressed the last 3 months of 2020 is because I expected 2020 to be good to me. It has, in a way, from the lessons it taught me, but man it was NOT the way I expected it to be. 

No expectations, and write more. And also, go outside more. You really need it buddy. And apply to more jobs too. You watched a video about bionics and it moved you. You want the world to be a better place and you want things to be more accessible to everyone. You already learned about the injustices in this world, and you have an excellent educational background to make it better, why not use it?

I think that’s enough writing for today. It’s a fucking mess and I really should have kept writing back then.. oh well. Live and learn.

[capnjay21]

bring walls down, hear my sound 3/3

Ten happy years after the events of 'the boy that stood by the sea', and Henry Cassidy is no longer the little boy he used to be. Unused to the unpredictability of raising a teenager, his sudden wayward behaviour becomes a source of mystery to all the adults in his life. When things begin to spiral out of control, Killian and Emma must decide what sort of parents, and partners, they wish to be - of course, where Neal Cassidy is involved, nothing is ever simple.

link to the boy that stood by the sea || ao3 || part one || part two

Rating: T A/N: So it's actually been two years since I updated this story. I'm not sure if any of my readers will still be around, or interested, but nonetheless I am excited to finally put the conclusion out into the world!

As it's been a while, I will reiterate the content warning for the last chapter which still applies - there is a discussion regarding a miscarriage Emma underwent a few years prior, which is an important event for her and Killian and in this narrative. As ever, please take care of yourselves, but I hope you decide to continue!

Now without further ado, here is my 13.5k finisher! (PS, I know Coney Island doesn't open in the winter, but please dispel that tiny bit of realism for this chapter!) Enjoy! <3

-/-

Henry has been in New York for four days.

 Neal keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to decide to go home or for Killian to ring and demand that he be sent back to Boston — he’s more than aware he’s living on borrowed time. Truth be told, for the first time in a long while he really feels like he’s doing the parent thing, making sure the boy gets decent meals every day and leaving work early enough to come home and spend time with him.

 In fact, he’s beginning to wonder what made this so hard ten years ago.

 It was such a long time ago now, he remembers the sensations and emotions far more than how he actually behaved when Henry lived with him full time, before Emma had stolen his car and entered their lives. It had been such a colossal struggle, trying to balance his work life with Henry, all pushing boundaries and guilt, god, so much fucking guilt, until it had reached breaking point that night on a beach in Maine. No matter how hard he had tried, he just couldn’t reconcile the two things that he loved most, this little boy who had needed him there and this job, the only thing he had ever wanted before Henry was born. It had ended in him letting one of them go.

 He doesn’t regret sending Henry to live with Killian permanently. That had always been the right decision. What he does regret is missing out on time spent with him; the lazy mornings and sun-soaked afternoons, the science projects and parent-teacher conferences. Neal never had a reason to go to the library without Henry tucked into his side, but then, he had to remind himself, it wasn’t like he’d been around enough to take the boy there when they were together. Although he gave both Killian and Emma a hard time on the phone after the yacht incident, he knows Henry had a better life with them than he could’ve ever given him.

 He just can’t work out why. Now, it’s the easiest thing in the world. He can’t wait for the end of the day to come so he can be back at the flat playing video games, or taking him out to eat or touring him around the best attractions New York can offer. They’re making up for years of lost time, and he can’t bear to waste a single minute.

 His priorities have shifted; he realises that now. Better late than never.

 And god, it’s so much better.

 If he could redo that decision on a beach in Maine, hell, every decision he’d ever made before that, it would not be the job that he would keep. Nor the boy he would lose.

 That said, with this newfound clarity comes something else — maturity. At thirty-fucking-nine it’s about time. Henry is his son, sure, but four perfect days don’t make up for sixteen years of emotional and oftentimes physical unreliability. Killian is the one who had been there, Killian is the one who is probably sat at home in Boston worrying himself into the ground, thinking he isn’t worth it. Killian is the reason this boy is such a bright spark in Neal’s otherwise empty life.

 Well. It doesn’t have to be empty. He just has to go home.

 (And so does Henry.)

 As long as he knows that, as long as he’s aware of it, it feels okay. But he doesn’t want to let go of this yet, these longing, desperate days. He wants to know how it feels to have everything.

 “So, you got work today?” Henry says brightly around his cup of coffee, eyes wide and expectant.

 It’s Monday. Neal has a conference in the morning, two meetings and a sales briefing.

 “Nope,” he says, taking out his phone to text his assistant that he won’t be in. “Day off.”

 “Wow.” Henry’s eyebrows have shot to his hairline. “I didn’t realise you had those.”

 It’s not said bitterly, but it could well have been. It could have been and it would’ve been entirely fair. But Henry is sweet and good and always forgave him, even when he didn’t deserve it.

 “Very funny,” Neal sticks out his tongue, setting a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of the boy. He reaches into the microwave and emerges with the cheese he’d melted ready to drizzle on top.

 “Cheddar?” Henry queries.

 “Gouda.”

 The boy grins. “Good, I was just testing you.” He takes the bowl from him and begins to smother his eggs. Once he’s done, he uses a fork to begin mixing it all together. “So, what’s on the agenda for today then?”

 It’s so easy, being with Henry like this. It’s so fucking easy, which is what makes this so fucking hard.

 “Henry,” he starts, before hesitating. The tone of his voice probably alerts his son to the nature of what he wants to say, and he looks up from his breakfast. Neal merely meets his gaze sadly, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. “When are you going home, kiddo?”

 Henry’s face falls, and he looks younger than he has in four days. More like a little boy by the sea trying to make an impossible choice. “I thought we said no outsider —”

 Neal shakes his head. “Not gonna work this time.”

 They’ve spent days running in the opposite direction to their responsibilities, from the people who care about them — he supposes it’s a comfort, in a sense. In his quieter moments he’d always been afraid that when Henry became a man, he’d see nothing of himself in him; he just wishes he’d passed on a more redeeming quality than the tendency to ignore his problems with more conviction than he confronted them.

 Whatever happened back in Boston, he has to face it. Neal can’t be the place that Henry runs to, as much as he wants days like this to never be over.

 When Henry speaks, his voice is quiet, the furthest yet from the confident young man that turned up on his doorstep.

 “Can’t this be home?”

 A bachelor pad in the middle of New York City, the safe haven they’ve turned it into. Neal’s heart melts, if only under the weight of the knowledge that no, of course it can’t.

 He smiles sadly. “You know I’d love nothing more.”

­­

“Then let’s make it happen!” Henry urges.

 Before Neal can reply, his cell begins to buzz across the countertop. For a terrifying moment he thinks it might be Killian, finally coming to hold him accountable, but the pair of them look over to see Tink’s name flashing across the screen. Neal’s stomach clenches tighter. God, he wants to be the responsible adult they all deserve, but fuck if it doesn’t make him feel like shit.

 Wordlessly, he reaches over and turns off his phone. Henry watches the movement intently.

 “Why aren’t you answering her?”

 After all, they’ve already lifted their embargo on no-outsider-talk.

 Neal readies himself to tell his son everything, but the words that leave his tongue don’t resemble the confession he had meant to impart.

 “Do you remember that time I took you to Coney Island?”

 Old habits die slow and brutal deaths.

 Henry looks wary at the sudden switch of conversation, but he plays along. “I wasn’t big enough for most of the rides.”

 The boy had only been eight, and a short eight-year-old at that, and the day had been such a dramatic failure that he couldn’t hand Henry back to Killian fast enough to break from the shame. Of course, Henry had babbled on about how amazing the cotton candy and the spectacle of the entire day had been, thanking his father profusely and Killian had looked suitably impressed. Neal didn’t dare confess to the contrary. Undoubtedly, Henry’s optimism and his father’s realism remember that day excruciatingly differently.

 Neal shrugs. “You would be now, wouldn’t you?”

 It’s a dare. They’ll see how long they can push this.

 Henry grabs his coat, and they decide to keep running.

 -/-

 There was Emma, thinking her couch hopping days were finally behind her.

 Thankfully, David and Mary Margaret’s couch is infinitely superior to any she’s put up with before.

 Almost buried under an abundance of pillows and soft blankets as the white gold of morning begins to creep past the curtains, Emma is grateful she didn’t think to go anywhere else. Truthfully, the night prior is a blur. All she knows is it left a yawning hole in her chest, a dead weight that begged to be lifted but had settled rather firmly in the crevice where her heart usually lay. She’d gotten up to try and convince Killian to come back to bed, come back to her, and somehow it had ended with them spitting fire at each other about Henry, and then — well. Then it had been marriage and children and missed opportunities and apparently a colossally poor level of communication between them that she hadn’t even realised existed.

 It’s exhausting to even think about. She feels emotionally drained, devoid of energy, and wants nothing more than to sink into the Nolans’ sofa and never emerge.

 As a gentle knock sounds at the door, she senses this is not to be the case.

 “Emma?” Mary Margaret pokes her head around the door, a tentative look on her face. When Emma merely grunts in response she slips inside, closing the door behind her with a gentle click. “I bring gifts,” she says, waving a mug topped with whipped cream in front of her as she comes to rest on the arm.

With great difficulty, Emma drags herself into a sitting position. “Is that cocoa?”

 “With cinnamon,” Mary Margaret promises, and Emma eagerly reaches for the cup. “And cream. I thought I’d push the boat out for this one.”

 “Please, don’t mention boats,” Emma grimaces, but thanks her friend fondly as she hands her the mug. Any kind of nautical reference is far beyond what she can handle right now. She takes her first sip and it’s warm, and heavenly. Mary Margaret had introduced her to the wonder of adding cinnamon to hot chocolate, but she’s yet to brew one that tastes even half as good as her friend’s.

 Taking delicate sips from her own mug, Mary Margaret allows her this — a few peaceful minutes of silence, letting her make the first move. She’d never met anybody who treated her quite as tenderly as her, except perhaps Killian. With a jolt of nausea threatening to rise, she lowers her mug. Something was made tender by Killian last night, but it feels more like battle scars than hot cocoa.

 “Do you want to talk?”

 Emma sighs. It’s not as if she thought she could avoid this conversation (turning up with red-rimmed eyes on your best friend’s doorstep at nearly three in the morning did somewhat merit an explanation), but she was at least hoping to get in a few more hours of sleep.

 “Not… really.”

 Mary Margaret turns from where she is perched on the arm, angling her body towards her. “I take it you and Killian had a fight?”

 Putting it mildly.

 “It wasn’t just a fight,” Emma says tiredly, “it was the armageddon of fights. You could have measured it on the Richter scale, I mean it.”

 Her friend’s expression twists with sympathy and Emma looks away, picking violently at loose threads on the blanket she’d been given. Even now, with her roots down and her life as settled as it’s ever been (the previous night notwithstanding) she isn’t comfortable with anyone, no matter how well intentioned, pitying her. It takes her right back to life in the system and teachers who were happy to condescend to her, but not to do anything about it.

 Unaware of her ire, Mary Margaret continues. “What was it about?”

 “Henry, me and him, just…” Emma waves an absent hand. “Everything.”

 “Henry’s still in New York then?”

 Emma nods. “And ever since he left — hell, before he left, with all that stuff with the yacht, Killian’s been totally… I don’t know, out of it. Not himself.” It feels good to tell someone, to hopefully find at least some validation in the way she’s been feeling; to have someone else recognise that things haven’t been right, Killian hasn’t been right, and it’s not all within her imagination. “And I tried to call him out on it and suddenly we were arguing about what terrible parents we’d make and the fact that we never got married.”

 Mary Margaret’s eyebrows jump to her hairline. “Wow.”

 Wow didn’t quite cover it, in Emma’s opinion.

 “Bit of a one-eighty, right?”

 Her friend hesitates for a moment, taking a small sip of her cocoa as she does so. “I’m not so sure.” At Emma’s surprised look, Mary Margaret’s gaze slips to her mug, as if trying to work out how best to put her thoughts into words. “Listen, I don’t know your relationship even half as well as you do, but it seems to me like… this is the first time you guys have ever really experienced each other without Henry.” She shrugs, a pensive rise in her shoulders. “The first time there isn’t a third variable to consider; it’s just the two of you. Maybe it’s just about finding a new rhythm.”

 Emma turns over this new assessment in her mind. She’s spent weeks roiling in doubt, watching Killian slip further into himself, and last night had felt like the final challenge — she hadn’t been enough to bring him out of it, she’d just become collateral damage. Mary Margaret was right, throughout their entire relationship Henry had always been there. They’d fought before, sure, but they’d always had Henry to think of, and they’d never wanted to make the boy feel the way he had when she and Neal had been together. They kept everything as open and honest as they could, and she knew Killian always tried to explain things to him when they disagreed.

 Their entire life together had been coloured by Henry. Wasn’t he their rhythm?

 “After ten years of the old one?” Emma let out a long, uncertain breath. “I don’t know If we can, I feel like last night proved that.”

 I just added it to the long list of things I was giving up because I wanted to be with you!

 “We wouldn’t even be together if it weren’t for Henry, I know that much.”

 Without Henry, her marriage to Neal would have just disintegrated with nothing to show for it but wasted time. Without Henry, Killian might never have entered her life. Without Henry, she might not have fought for her own little piece of happiness, she might never have recognised what she deserved.

 Could she still do it without him?

 “But if your relationship is so dependent on Henry…” Mary Margaret bites her lip. “I don’t want to say it, Emma.”

 She doesn’t need to. “Maybe we shouldn’t be together at all.”

 The mere notion of it takes the fight right out of her and she sinks back into the cushions. Her mind is abuzz with doubts and truths she refuses to acknowledge, and wordlessly her friend lifts the blanket and snuggles in beside her. Even in the midst of her heartache, her entire body warms as Mary Margaret wraps an arm around her shoulders and allows Emma to rest her head in the crook of her neck. She’s always been jagged edges to Mary Margaret’s softness, but maybe if she stays here long enough she can absorb some of her strength.

 “I love both of you,” Mary Margaret says gently, “but your happiness is the most important thing. However you find it.”

 I’m pregnant, she wants to tell her.

 Instead she curls in closer, and begs the sun to stop rising.

 -/-

 “You look exhausted, mate.”

 Killian rubs his eyes tiredly. “I didn’t sleep.”

 Barely half an hour after Killian had informed the Rabbit Hole WhatsApp chat that he wouldn’t be coming in today without providing any further information, Robin had arrived on his doorstep armed with coffee and a full monty breakfast from the café down the street in his arms. Given the café down the street didn’t usually do breakfasts to go, Killian had regarded his friend with amusement and allowed him inside. It felt good to have somebody else in the apartment — it made the walls seem closer, the space not as empty as it had been throughout the night.

 Currently, he sits only prodding at the meal hurriedly dumped onto a plate as Robin fusses around in his kitchen, filling two glasses with water before bringing them over. He had correctly deduced that coffee probably wouldn’t be conducive to productive brain function, not with how wired Killian already felt. Every time he shut his eyes he could see Emma, coat thrown over her dressing gown, the door clicking shut behind her. Sleep had been entirely unobtainable.

 “Sounds like a hell of a bust up,” Robin says with sympathy, handing him the glass.

 Dutifully, Killian takes a few large gulps. The liquid only gathers in his gut, churning, lending discomfort to his already turbulent, weary state. “It’s like I was floating above my body, you know?” he brushes his hair from his eyes, the strands greasy from being ruffled all night. God, he needs a shower. “I was watching myself saying these things that I didn’t mean and flinging them at her like — like somebody that isn’t me.”

 Robin drops down into an armchair, watching him carefully. “Have you called her?”

 His heart clenches.

 “She asked me not to.”

 “Well, you know women.” His friend’s mouth quirks upwards. “Whenever Regina tells me not to call her it’s only because she wants me to. Secretly, mind.”

 Not Emma. Emma doesn’t play games. “Believe me; she doesn’t want me to call.”

 The open hurt, the wide eyed-astonishment. The staggered look she sent him when she realised just what it was he’d said — all of it replays and replays unpleasantly like the scratch of a broken vinyl. Miserably, he stabs a rasher of bacon and shovels it in his mouth, not wanting to see the sympathy in Robin’s eyes. He doesn’t deserve it.

 “Couples fight, Killian,” he offers gently, “it happens.”

 He shakes his head miserably. “Not like this.”

 Either Robin concedes or he just has no idea how to respond, the effect of which being they sit in silence for a few comfortable minutes. They both just watch Killian push the food around his plate with his fork, the only sound the scrape of the utensil against china. Fuck, he can’t do a single thing right. Henry, Emma — somehow he’s managed to drive them both away, and he has no clue how to fix it. At least he knows where Henry is, still safe in New York with Neal, but Emma? He could hazard a guess at her going to Mary Margaret’s, but she could just as easily have found herself in August’s apartment. A hot flush of jealousy unlike anything he’s felt in years surges up without his consent. August has never been a threat, Emma had assured him of as much the first and only time he’d ever gotten silly over it, but at that moment his every irrational thought is crawling for sunlight.

 Gods, what is he doing now? Doubting her? What the bloody hell is wrong with him?

 “Maybe it’s because of Henry.”

 Wrapped up in his own thoughts, for a moment Killian had forgotten Robin was even there. At his bemused look, the other man shrugs and carries on.

 “You know, him not being here. Perhaps your relationship has been about him for so long, it’s struggling now that he’s gone.”

 Killian frowns. There’s some sound logic behind it, but it doesn’t sound right. It’s enough of an oddity to give him pause. “I don’t… I’m not really sure about that.”

 “Makes sense, doesn’t it?” his friend continues, exuding a nonchalance that, if Killian is honest, slightly winds him up. “The only reason Marian and I stayed together so long was because of Roland. By the end, my feelings for her were built entirely around our son, it just took me a while to realise it.”

 “But that’s different,” Killian insists, before he has a chance to even think it through.

 Robin’s eyebrows raise as he lifts his glass to his lips. “How?”

 “Because —” he falters, but the power of the words in his rebuttal surge forward regardless. “I love Emma. I fell in love with her for her, not Henry. Hell, she was married to my best friend. If I wanted something easy, some scapegoat for love, I wouldn’t have picked this.”

 “But if it’s this hard,” Robin presses, shrugging lightly, “maybe it just isn’t meant to be.”

 “I don’t believe that,” he says fiercely, sitting up straighter in his seat as he angles more towards his friend, agitation spurring his movements. “We should be together, Emma and I. All this — all this crap doesn’t change anything about how I feel.” In his distraction, one of his hands finds its way into his hair and runs through it, tugging sharply at the ends. “I love her. Her strength, her vulnerability — and I love her walls. I love being the one to break them down. It doesn’t matter that our journey has been slower than most, or more complicated than most, because we are always moving forward. We’ve fought for our love and we’ve won, and I am not giving up just because it got hard.”

 If he had been paying attention to Robin, sitting on the opposite armchair, he might have noticed the way the other man’s grin widened, his eyebrows climbing closer to his hairline the more Killian rambles on. Once he’s done, Robin drains the rest of his glass and drops it down onto the table, spreading his hands.

 “And you’re telling me this, because...?”

 His friend’s mischievous expression is the only confirmation Killian needs that he’s been goaded into something. Still, he’s not sure he cares.

 Robin helps himself to the remainder of his breakfast, while Killian practically falls over himself in his haste to get dressed and out the apartment.

 -/-

 After some persuading, Mary Margaret finally convinces her to eat something and even ushers her into some fresh clothes as the morning wears on. The frilly collared cardigans of Mary Margaret’s wardrobe aren’t exactly her style, but at least they fit — she’d left her flat in only a coat and her dressing gown, and although that worked reasonably well for her escape at two in the morning, she can’t imagine going back dressed the same way.

 God, going back. Emma doesn’t even know how to consider it.

 Unfortunately, with it being a Monday morning, Mary Margaret has a class to teach at Hopper’s Elementary and only has time to ensure Emma manages to force down a bagel before she regrettably departs, but David has the morning off and she is assured she can stay as long as she wants. The man seems to sense she isn’t in a particularly talkative mood, and keeps her company in silence after trading a few polite enquiries about Henry’s wellbeing — he’d been one of the first people they’d called when they discovered him missing, so it’s only natural he should be anxious to know the boy is okay. Grateful for the company, she answers his questions as best as she can without letting her heart seize too much.

 After a few hours of warm distractions, watching re-runs of Friends on the Nolan’s ancient television set, the buzzer for the apartment goes.

 David sends her a reassuring smile as he stands, heading over to the intercom.

 “Who is it?”

 “David?” Killian’s voice stutters to life over the static, and Emma’s chest tightens uncomfortably. “It’s Killian, sorry to disturb you. I was hoping — is, erm, is Emma there?”

 David looks to her apprehensively, ready to take his cues from her. She doesn’t want to talk to Killian, not with her conversation with Mary Margaret so fresh and with so little time to prepare herself. Still, it would feel worse to lie. Emma merely shrugs, helplessly, and David scratches the back of his head

 “She — uh, she doesn’t really want to talk right now, Killian,” he settles on, biting his lip.

 “That’s — that’s okay,” Killian continues hesitantly. “I mean, it’s fine. Would it be alright if I just — talked?”

 David turns to her again, but she doesn’t know what to tell him. She’s more than acquainted with how determined Killian can be when he wants to, and if she’s honest there are very few things she can think of that he can say that would be worse than the night before. It seems only mildly ludicrous to have their first interaction after the argument be over the intercom at David and Mary Margaret’s apartment, but she can’t help it — she can’t face him, not yet. Not when she is still trying to decide how she feels.

 “I’ll just talk and she can listen, or — or she can not, if she doesn’t want to, but I’ll be here, outside, just… talking.” After a moment’s hesitation, David locks the switch that keeps the line open. Taking that as some kind of affirmation, Killian clears his throat. “So, uh, here I go.”

 David, ever the considerate one, gives some weak excuse for re-arranging the shelves in his bedroom, but Emma’s arm shoots out to stop him. She could do with the support; she doesn’t want to listen to this alone in case she isn’t ready for what he wants to say. Without a word, David drops down onto the sofa beside her.

 “I, erm, I didn’t sleep,” the voice crackles through the speaker. “Not a wink after you left, I couldn’t. That’s not relevant. Ugh, I, um.” He lets out a sharp, frustrated sound. “Listen, a friend helped me realise — or, he reminded me, I don’t know — that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. So maybe I deserve to lose you because I don’t know who I’ve been fighting for these last couple of weeks — because it hasn’t been you, and it hasn’t been Henry.”

 He pauses, and Emma listens intently. David links their fingers together.

 “I’ve been a damned fool, Emma, I’ve been a coward and I’ve let my demons get the better of me. It’s like you said — you said children need to make mistakes in order to find out what matters to them, but I’m prepared to argue that kind of self-education carries well into adult life. Because you matter to me, Emma. I love you. I have loved you since the first night you yelled at me and I love you all the more for continuing to do so when I’m being a prat. These past ten years have been the best of my life, and there isn’t a thing I would change.”

 Emma shakes her head fiercely, reaching her hand up to cover her eyes as she knows they must be watering. He did want things to be different, that’s what he said. Apparently, he’d spent ten years giving things up for her, compromising for her, and the idea that she’d been holding him back from some great happiness is perhaps what had shaken her the most. They were in this together, that’s what she’d thought. Killian doesn’t stop, however, uncertainly continuing to speak over the intercom, the tendrils of his voice clutching tight around her heart.

 “I know that, given my behaviour last night, you may believe me to be speaking in untruths, but I swear I’m not. Every single decision, every single moment has led us to where we are now and that place means everything to me. I’m not unhappy. I’m not unsatisfied, quite the opposite. And I’m sorry if I ever made you think otherwise.”

 The speaker crackles, a little bit of distortion as he collects himself.

 “I’ll never stop fighting for us. Never again. I — I hope you know that.”

 Silence, and David pulls Emma close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

 “So anyway, I guess, uh, feelings shared. You can go back to... Friends, I suppose, given it’s a Monday morning. Or maybe David and Mary Margaret don’t like Friends. I never asked. Bloody hell. I’m - I’ll go now. Just,” he sighs again into the speaker, “come home soon, my love.”

 She slowly disentangles herself from David, and reaches for her coat.

 -/-

 After lyrically vomiting into the intercom system, Killian doesn’t really know what to expect.

 He’d hoped, of course, for some kind of reaction or response, but he’s never been one to push for it where Emma is concerned. When it became evident that no answer would be forthcoming from the speaker, he had reluctantly stepped away; only becoming more embarrassed once he realised a man poking through his mailbox for a suspiciously long time had, in all likelihood, listened to the entire spiel. Face entirely aflame, Killian had departed the building out into the early Boston morning.

 It had rained the night before, the entire street awash with muddied concrete and the stench of wet asphalt, but Killian isn’t ready to go home yet. Point of fact, he’s just declared he won’t be giving up on he and Emma without a fight, so returning to his apartment would appear to nullify the entire notion. He thinks about stopping somewhere for a coffee, but after patting his jacket down he belatedly realises he didn’t bring his wallet out with him. After Robin’s needling he had been so fired up that he hadn’t exactly considered that Emma might not be ready yet for what he had to say. He only knew he was desperate to say it.

 For lack of a better idea, he sits down on the kerb.

 Considering his options, he waits, staring out into the city traffic and remembering the first time they met, the distrust to the chorus of car horns and loud, angry pedestrians in front of Henry’s old school. It’s only a few blocks from here, where Mary Margaret works. He muses on walking there and back just to clear his head a little, to observe how much of it might have changed in the last ten years, but just as he’s convinced himself it would be a good way to procrastinate, the door to the building opens behind him.

 His eyes lock with Emma’s, sparkling jade and bright with unshed tears, red-rimmed, and he immediately jumps to his feet. Uncertain of what to expect, he just waits for her to speak. When she does, it’s with a gentle tremble in her bottom lip, after she takes a shuddering breath.

 “I don’t want to stop fighting for us either.”

 When Killian steps forward to fold her tightly into his arms, she returns the embrace with equal vigour.

 -/-

 Luna Park boasted only a smattering of attendees, January not exactly a conducive time for regular theme-park goers, but the crowds were substantial enough to hide Neal and Henry from each other. They had spent over an hour amongst the rides, swapping only idle chatter and suggestions for what they should do next, a dead weight hanging over them like a cloud from the overcast day descending into the city. Neal knows what he has to say, Henry is waiting for him to say it. Their conversation at breakfast hovers between them, unresolved and deadly.

 It's a stark contrast to how the last few days have been — at least he thinks it is. Maybe all along they were aware there was an expiration date on easy.

 As the clock edges nearer to midday, Henry is leading his father through the crowd in the direction of the Ferris Wheel, boasting about how cool it would be to be sat on the top on exactly the stroke of twelve, but Neal catches hold of his hand and slows him to a stop. He suggests taking a break by the beach instead, and Henry reluctantly agrees; they both know what happens when they talk.

 It isn’t the same as that beach in Storybrooke.

 The breeze from the ocean stings with the sharp bite of winter, and the sand underfoot is far thinner and grainier than Maine had offered. Although almost deserted, the distant sounds of the park quietening behind them, a few gulls flock towards the edge of the coast, rising and falling with a flutter as the tide washes in, and out. It’s enough to bring back the memory of watching his boy ask for something he couldn’t provide, and it’s enough to spur him into action.

 Henry stares out into the ocean, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

 After a few moments they sit, uncaring for the way they disturb the sand.

 “I am glad you came to me when you needed somewhere to go,” Neal starts, and it’s as safe a place as any. “That after all this time you can still trust me.” Even if he doesn’t deserve it. “But I do want to know why — and I need to know why because I trust Killian and Emma to be your home, to take care of you, and if they aren’t doing that then I can change it. Just say the word Henry and I will change it.”

 Killian and Emma are twice the parents he will ever be, but if Henry breathes a word about not wanting to be with them — he would raise hell on earth to make it happen.

 “They’re fine,” Henry says quietly, to Neal’s surprise. The boy picks up a stick from the sand and begins to push patterns into it. “They’re great, they always have been.”

 Neal shakes his head, not understanding. “Then why did you come?”

 Henry mimics his uncertainty. “I wanted — I wanted to get to know you. You as a person, as Neal. Not this… this thing that towered over me for years.” Neal swallows, and Henry finally turns to look at him. His chestnut eyes are round and as open as they have ever been. “You terrify me, do you know that?”

 Whatever he had imagined Henry might say, it certainly wasn’t that.

 The beach, in Maine. The rush and fall of the waves. He can hear himself responding to that very fear as if it were yesterday, and not ten years prior.

 I’m sorry. Henry I’m sorry, I don’t want you to be scared. I’m an… I’m a massive idiot.

 “You had so much power over me for so long,” Henry continues, and Neal realises how much easier it is to stare out into the sea than to truly acknowledge what his boy is saying. “I would have done anything to impress you, I agreed with anything you said. I wanted you to like me. I wanted you to want to keep me.”

 Neal hangs his head.

 “I love Killian and Emma so much, but you? God, I can’t even explain it.”

 “I get it,” his father says quietly.

 Henry finally turns to look at him, his mouth curved in a doubtful line. “Do you?”

 “Henry, you could be describing verbatim how I talk about my old man.”

 That family fucking resemblance he’d always been hoping for; there it was.

 Neal knows how it feels to fight and fight when the other person isn’t fighting back. The realisation that he wasn’t, that he couldn’t, is what made him let Henry go in the first place.

 “Tink is pregnant.”

 Henry tenses up at his side. Neal’s gaze drops down to the sand, not realising he’d been curling her name into the earth with his finger. Fuck, he loves her. Like he’s never loved anyone. And this is how he’s treating her?

 “She hasn’t told me yet, not officially. But I found her test. It’s why I’m out here,” signing up for every conference and meeting on the other side of the country that he could, “I’m scared shitless, buddy.”

 Henry opens his mouth. “Dad—”

 “I fucked up so badly before — you know that, right?” He’s almost afraid to hear the answer. “That was all on me. I couldn’t be there for you growing up because I wasn’t ready, I made shitty choices. I was selfish. And do you know what the worst part is?” Mutely, Henry shakes his head. “I gave up on us.”

 The moment he’d realised just how tricky this balance was going to be, he’d given up. Maybe Henry had a better life because of it — he liked to think that. Of course, he’d never really know. Still, when he looks across at Henry now, a healthy boy with a heart the size of the entire state, it’s impossible not to recognise that something incredible has taken place.

 He feels the humiliating sting of something behind his nose, so he turns his gaze back to the skyline and the gulls that sweep across the tide.

 “And I missed the whole goddamn show. You’re perfect, Henry. You’ve never needed to impress me.” Neal tries valiantly to keep the tremor from his voice, but isn’t entirely certain he succeeds. “The fact that you’re sitting here, a whole person who can love and forgive as easily as you do blows my fucking mind, and it all happened without me.”

 Henry shifts from where he sits, sending a scatter of sand up into the air.

 “It wasn’t —” he starts.

 “Not again,” Neal continues firmly. Determinedly. “Never again. I’m going to be there for this kid and for Tink, every fucking step of the way. I’m ready now and I — I think I needed you to help me realise I could do it. Thank you, Henry.”

 When the silence stretches for a few, painful beats too long, he considers how he might have better phrased that particular confession. Once he looks over at Henry, the boy barely meets his eyes for a second before turning away, shaking his head as he roughly stumbles to his feet.

 “I have to go.”

 Neal blinks in surprise. “Henry?” He’s already halfway up the beach before he can stand. “Henry, wait!” Although he jogs back up to the entrance of the park, Henry’s signature scarf has already disappeared into the crowd.

 Shit.

 -/-

 "When was the first time I yelled at you?"

 Emma speaks quietly into his chest, although he can feel her smile in the curve of her mouth pressed against him. Killian edges the sheet further down the bed, baring Emma’s back so he can continue to trace absent star patterns into the slope of her spine. They speak only in low tones, neither wanting to disturb this bubble of peace they have finally won; warm, sated, and basking in the late morning sun.

 He smiles at her question, pausing before answering just long enough to press a kiss to the top of her head.

 “I’m surprised you don’t remember,” he says amusedly. “Let’s see. I came by to Neal’s apartment with Henry, we’d known each other for — oh, I don’t know. A few months, maybe more? I wanted to see if you could babysit because I’d been lumbered with an extra shift at work.”  

 “Oh god, right,” Emma shifts as she remembers, pressing her lips briefly to his bare shoulder. “It was the day Neal and I moved into our new place, and I was locked out.” She gives him an apologetic look. “I was such a monster to you, I’m sorry.”

 Killian chuckles gently. “You weren’t a monster.” Emma merely raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps a little monstrous. But I got a free cake out of it, so you won’t hear me complaining.”

 “A vanilla apology cake.”

 “My favourite kind.” Killian tugs her closer and she obliges, curling her leg over his beneath the sheet. “You looked so beautiful that night. Sitting in the Rabbit Hole with Henry asleep on your lap. You were just — I realised you were everything I hadn’t known I wanted. Until you drove away to the home of my best friend.”

 Instead of replying, Emma straightens up. Killian lets her go, hand drifting down her back to rest near her hip, and she bites her lip. Something she usually does when she’s uncertain. When her eyes flicker to his, he knows.

 “Killian.”

 Abruptly Killian stands, reaching for their discarded clothes.

 “That’s a tone that suggests I’ll need pants for this conversation.”

 She takes the shirt he holds out to her and slips it over her head. “I think if last night taught us anything… we’ve been misunderstanding each other for a while. So let’s just — talk. Communicate.” Killian re-joins her on the bed, pausing slightly to brush some of her loose hair behind her ear. It shines in the dusty sunlight. “That’s what healthy couples do, right?”

 “Definitely needed pants.”

 Emma laughs despite herself, but shoots him a look warning him to take this seriously. So he takes a deep breath, and after a few moments he decides to go first.

 “I… love the life that we’ve built together. What I said today — I meant it. But if it’s possible to have it all with you, I do want it.” Emma nods, urging him to continue as she brushes a hand down his arm. “I want to move out of the city. Get a house somewhere. A white picket fence, a stunning view of the sea — I want that. I want to marry you, have a kid of our own, maybe two if it's not too late. I love you, Emma,” he assures her, “but I want to share more than just this place and a bank account.”

 When he finally turns his gaze back to her, he can see the sad crease in her brow.

 “And you assumed I wouldn’t want those things too.”

 He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”

 “You hurt me yesterday.”

 “I know,” he says quietly, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his mouth to kiss. “I’m so sorry. I was a fool, and I never should have kept these things to myself, let alone exploded at you. It was bad form.”

 Emma watches him before nodding, firmly. “Okay.” He turns her hand over to kiss her palm. “I forgive you.” It lands with gravity, and a tension he didn’t even know he had been harbouring releases itself. “My turn.”

 Killian moves to let go of her hand, but Emma holds on tightly.

 “Six years ago, I was pregnant.”

 Killian’s heart stops. “Love, you don’t have to —”

 “I was pregnant and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how you were going to react, I was trying to find the right moment…” Emma winces, shaking her head. “And I left it too late.”

 He wants to say something, anything, to find the right words to reassure her — but none will come. Instead he feels suspended, his pulse racing. They’ve never spoken about it out loud, not a single word. In moments he is back in the waiting room at the ER, confused and distressed and waiting for her to return, to tell him what happened, instead of letting him make inferences.

 Don’t make me go through this again.

 “We lost a child, Killian.”

 She grips his hand tighter, and he watches as a single tear curves its way down her cheek.

 "Our child."

 It isn't like he hadn't known. From the moment he lifted her from the bathroom floor he had known, somewhere in his restless heart, the truth she refused to confirm.  Knowing it, though, and feeling it; they had always been entirely separate entities.

 Henry had been ten. As emotionally mature as he had always been, it had still taken him a while to come to the same realisation that Killian had the moment he left the hospital; that Emma wasn't quite okay. When he'd started to pry, Killian had packed him off on a three week holiday to California with Neal, at little protest from both parties. By the time he'd gotten home he had forgotten the whole thing, and Emma was almost back to her old self.

 Killian hadn't allowed himself to consider, truly consider, just what had happened that day; in the months that followed Emma's accident he had forced himself to focus on her, on Henry, on his every effort to get their lives back to normal. Henry made it to school on time, Emma found herself spoiled by date nights, surprise gestures, anything to divert attention from the way she had withdrawn into herself. His iron focus had allowed him to leave his own grief behind and blame it on Emma's reluctance to talk.

 That had been a coward's way out, and on some level he had always known that.

 In his dreams, he did things differently. In his quieter moments, he had found himself down the dizzying path of considering the way things might have happened, if fate had been a little kinder.

 (In his heart, a little girl turned six last June.

 She had golden hair and eyes like forget-me-nots.)

 Emma's nails dig into his palm and he is wrenched back to the present.

 "I want you to understand something," she is saying, and he pulls himself back to focus on her words, "you can't predict these things. It was nothing you did, it was nothing I did. It wouldn't have helped if you'd known."

 Killian feels a gasp of air dart for escape through his throat; he thinks he might have been holding onto that breath for six years.

 Emma wipes her eyes with the sleeve of his borrowed shirt. "I'm sorry I never told you that.”

 Killian nods silently. When he doesn't speak, she slides across the bed to him, and his arm instinctively reaches around her shoulders. "Okay?" she presses.

 "Okay."

 "But most of all I — I am so sorry for never letting you grieve. For closing myself off, for letting it go unsaid." He would catch her staring out of windows, not responding until the third time he called her name. More often than not he found her curled up with a blanket on the sofa rather than in bed beside him, the distance between them substantially more than a couple of rooms apart. “We should have done this together.”

 “Aye,” he murmurs, and he kisses a tear from the corner of her mouth, “we should have.”

 They talk for a long time after that. For how long exactly, Killian couldn't say, he only watches as the sun slowly sinks to kiss the top of the Boston skyline, casting longer shadows across the bed. Their bed, their life. The life that had taken a decade to build, with a foundation far stronger than the demolition attempted the night before.

 “We’ve been doing this all wrong,” he whispers into her shoulder, as the afternoon fades into beams of orange light.

 Emma turns to him curiously. “What do you mean?”

 It’s with determination that he faces her now, with the fight that had left him the moment he awoke to find Henry’s untouched bed.

 “Let’s go get our son.”

 -/-

 It’s just gone 8pm by the time Emma’s beaten up bug has gotten them to New York, and Neal had been frantic as he opened the door to them.

 “He’s gone,” he had said, “he won’t answer his phone. I’ve already called the police.”

 Although her stomach had plummeted, her steadfast grasp on Killian had been all she needed to keep a level-head. If she paused for one second to consider the multitude of disastrous scenarios that could have happened to Henry after he left Neal on the beach she’s certain the sheer power of that tide would overwhelm her — perhaps the same could be said for Killian. Perhaps it was a testament to how far they had come over the last twenty-four hours that he immediately took charge, barking orders for Neal to check the public library one more time while he and Emma combed four blocks in every direction from his apartment.

 For all his absence over the last few weeks, his confidence is like a sedative to the swell of panic within her.

 She can’t stop thinking about the time the boy had vanished as they watched the Christmas lights turn on. Only that time Emma had miraculously found him happily perched on a hotdog stand, waving about his new light up sword and pretending to be King Arthur to the amusement of the vendor.

 (Enquiries were made at various stands she came across. None had seen a lanky brunette in his teens skulking about.)

 Her phone buzzes, and Emma reaches out a hand to give Killian pause as she checks, hoping it will be from Henry but certain it’s from Neal.

 Nothing at library. No1 seen a kid. Whats the plan??

 “He’s not there,” she winces. If possible, Killian’s expression turns even grimmer. “Now what? We’ve already checked all his old haunts.” Henry hadn’t lived in New York for many years, not since Neal had moved to California, so their best idea had been his favourite places to go when he was much younger.

 Killian rubs his face with one hand, and it’s that moment Emma realises how unbelievably tired he must be. His eyes are tinted red and rimmed with dark circles, and exhaustion has aged him beyond his years. Even his skin appears sallower than normal. Guilt claws at her when she considers he was probably up half the night much like she was, and she can’t help but feel responsible.

 Emma reaches for his hand, squeezes tight. “Maybe we should head back to Neal’s apartment. He’s bound to head back there eventually — and if his phone is dead then it’s better we’re there.”

 “If something unspeakable hasn’t happened to him already.”

 Unspeakable is certainly the word for it.

 “This is my fault,” Killian laments, “if I hadn’t been so bloody stubborn he could have been home days ago. I’m a sodding idiot.”

 “If you are then we all are,” Emma insists. “Henry is our responsibility.” Not just Killian’s, not just Neal’s. Theirs. “And we’d be better off just working as the team we should’ve always been instead of wasting time blaming ourselves and each other.”

 Somewhere along the way they had splintered, and the fractures had found their way to Henry — the very storm they had believed they were protecting him from had found its epicentre in their insecurities and their inability to communicate. The only thing left to do was make a course correction and continue to try their best. Realise their mistakes, move forward.

 Pray they aren’t too late.

 “I just wish we’d come here sooner. I wish I hadn’t driven him away to start with.” He sighs heavily, turns back the way they’ve come. “But you know what they say, if wishes were horses—”

 “Beggars wouldn’t bother making wishes?”

 Even as she says it, the lightning bolt of realisation crashes into her with a force that has her tugging back on Killian’s hand to stop him in his tracks.

 She knows exactly where Henry is.

 -/-

 Even at night, the plaza is packed with people. Tourists huddle together and alternate between staring up at the entrance to the library, lit with large floodlights that winked in and out for a display, and watching the fountain spurt behind them. Many stand at its edge, offering pennies into its depths for the opportunity to ask for something in return.

It’s no wonder Neal would have missed him as he charged into the building — he’d never really known Henry to be more interested in what the waters might offer than the curling pages of a beloved tome, but Emma remembered. At a time in the boy’s life when she hadn’t really known how much she could lay a claim to, this spot had been theirs. Fleeting, gentle, but full of hope.

 The three of them scan the crowd frantically — and it feels as if they all lay eyes on him at the exact same moment. Henry is perched on the edge of the fountain, hands gripping the stone on either side of him, body angled towards the water. An immense wave of relief rushes through Emma once she recognises him, and she considers how achingly long it feels since she saw him last. So much felt like it had changed even as she tried to claw her way into keeping it the same.

 Killian takes her hand; she knows he must sense it too.

 His lips part as they approach, a deep breath being drawn in. Yet it’s only a soft word that comes out. “Henry —”

 “What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?!” Neal brushes past them furiously, and Henry visibly starts at the sudden intrusion on wherever his mind had been wandering. It’s a staccato movement that pulls him right back in front of them. “I have been worried out of my mind for you! You could have been kidnapped, you could have died, anything could have—!"

 Neal cuts himself off for the sheer horror of it, and Henry takes the pause as an opportunity to bite.

 “You’d have noticed, then?”

 It’s light, but it’s a thinly veiled accusation. For a moment Emma considers that there is more to the past few days than Neal has told them.

 Neal, for his part, appears to stifle a retort. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.

 He settles for a warning. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

 Henry lets out a puff of air, a frustrated noise, his body angling away from his father in a visible snub. As his eyes start to sweep the crowd Emma can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention, as the boy’s gaze lands on she and Killian. If he is surprised he does a good job of hiding it. It lasts scarcely a second, his eyes flickering first from her to Killian, before turning determinedly back into the fountain.

 Killian, after squeezing her hand once, lets go.

 He closes the distance and sits beside the boy.

 Henry flinches away, shuffling an inch in the other direction.

 “Please, just leave me alone.”

 “I want to talk.” Killian’s response is quiet, but firm.

 “I don’t.”

 “Henry…” Neal admonishes from his position at the side, and Emma finds herself frowning at the tone — since when did Neal become that parent? The one advocating respect and chastising for the contrary?

 It doesn’t feel — earnt.

 Maybe she is being unfair.

 Henry looks up at him sharply, eyes narrowed. “You don’t get a say in what I do.”

 Neal gapes for a few moments, before his expression sinks into something apologetic he directs at Killian — Killian acknowledges the attempt with a barely perceptible nod, but his attention is entirely on Henry.

 “I’m sorry.” In the piercing January air, his words turn to ghosts. “For the things I said before. They were spoken in anger and not a day will go by I won’t regret them.” For all his sincerity, Henry continues to stare forcefully into the water. Emma had always found Killian impossible to ignore, not when he was light and soft and steady, but the boy doesn’t appear to have much trouble doing just that.

 “Will you look at me, please? Henry?”

 She watches Henry not even react, lashes low and downcast; watches the concerned edge begin to furrow Killian’s brow, his confidence rapidly deteriorating, and she’s about to step in when suddenly all she can think about are the gimmicks they would use when Henry was a kid. How one time he refused to listen to any instruction from either parental figure unless it was spoken like Yoda, how they’d adopted it into their every conversation until Henry frustratingly couldn’t get any help with his homework without talking in circles and he’d begged them to stop. How they had begun starting every sentence with ‘please’ and ending them with ‘thank you’ to freak Neal out by pretending new Massachusetts state grammar laws demanded it.

 Emma considers these, and reaches into her jacket for her cell phone.  

 Moments later, Henry’s pocket begins to vibrate. Once he pulls out his cell and frowns at the screen, his shoulders twitch, as if he were resisting the urge to turn and face her. After a few pensive seconds he slides his thumb across the screen and lifts it to his ear.

 “It’s the glass, isn’t it?” she says immediately.

 Henry’s pause is dubious. “Excuse me?”

 “The partition,” she continues, “the reason you’re not hearing us. We have to use the phones or we can’t talk through the glass.”

 The boy’s shoulders drop and she hears a long exhale through the speaker, like a breath of laughter. He understands.

 “I’m not in prison, Emma.”

 “You got arrested, didn’t you?”

 “And you think I’d waste my phone call on you?”

 Emma smiles although she knows he’s not looking. “Wentworth Miller was busy.” She doesn’t want to lose this brief bite of connection, so she hurries to continue. “I used to bring you out here when we were in NYC together, remember? I’d tell you to wish your problems away.”

 Finally, Henry turns. His gaze lifts and his eyes lock on her. He’s hurting. She can see it. Can feel it in her bones.

 “Yeah.”

 “Did it work?”

 Henry lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t have a penny.”

 Without a word, Killian rummages in his pocket and finds one, holding it out to him. After a moment, and watching only his outstretched hand, Henry takes it.

 “Talk to us,” Emma pleads.

 The seconds extend like an unfurling bloom; slow, and heavy with anticipation.

 Then, by some miracle, he begins to talk.

 “It was so easy before. Making wishes, I mean. I know you probably thought I was wishing for a new bike or a trip to Disneyland or… I don’t know. Stuff kids want.” Like raindrops, what begins as a few drops slowly develops into a downpour, as he turns the penny over and over in his hand and keeps his gaze firmly fixed upon the water. “And don’t get me wrong, I wanted those things. But I didn’t wish for them.”

 Emma doesn’t want to interject, but she had never felt as if he were wishing for something as trivial as a bike. Not when he had held those pennies in his tiny hands like they were precious stones, as if he carried more value in his palm than a thousand gold bars. Henry had always been wishing for something more profound — she had known it like she knew the curve of his smile.

 “Wishes were too — too important for those things. So I did what I’ve always done,” Henry scratched the back of his neck as he paused. “I listened to you. All of you. None of you ever stood by the fountain like I did, and it didn’t seem fair, so I listened to your wishes so that I could make them for you.”

 He hadn’t understood half of them at the time, he says, but he lists a few — for Neal to close an important deal, for Killian to find the perfect birthday present for Liam, for Emma to catch the ‘bad guy’ she was looking for. Emma watches, stunned, as he lists the exact conditions of a case she had decided to gently let Henry in on that she had forgotten completely about; it was near on seven years ago that she had sought out the bail jumper Ryan Marlow, but here Henry was pitching her the particulars in perfect detail. Henry, who had been wishing ardently for her success at age nine, with a penny she had picked out of her purse.

 “Happy endings,” he says quietly, “over, and over, and over. I was obsessed with them.”

 A beloved tome, the curling pages of Once Upon a Time clutched tightly to his chest for years.

 He doesn’t have to remind them.

 “But to me, a real happy ending needed certain… well, conventions, I suppose. A wedding, a kid, a perfect home in a castle in the country.”

 Killian’s words ring in her mind, and as if he knows the direction of her thoughts the man’s eyes rise to meet hers, and she notes the usual brilliant blue has been usurped by a duller, ashen colour. She feels the same tight clutch inside she knows he must, a softer yearning, the paralysis of something sweet and sad all at once.

 A white picket fence, a stunning view of the sea.

 How alike the pair of them are, even now.

 Henry’s brows have knitted together. “I’m not a kid anymore, I know — better than anyone — that the world doesn’t work that way. But in a way, none of you got any that. Hell, you and Killian have been together for a decade and you still live in Killian’s bachelor pad. And then I realised the common denominator.” His shoulders appear to quiver, and Emma notices a muscle in Killian’s right wrist twitch, as if it had wanted to reach out to him. She herself wants nothing more than to rush forward, wipe the concerns away from him as if he were six again and had merely scraped his knee. “You’ve spent so much of your lives putting me first that the most you hoped to wish for was less traffic at the intersection on 23rd Street. And that just — it just —”

 He is mute for a moment, words slipping out and away before he can form them, and Emma realises with a jolt that what she had mistaken for a kind of melancholy was in fact fury. Henry trembled with minute rage; at the penny in his hand, the fountain in front, at the stars concealed by the dark curtain of night above them.

 “God, it was so frustrating to realise. Mortifying, even. And every good thing you did just made it worse. Every kind word, every thoughtful gesture.” He lets out a heavy breath. “It was like drowning in lukewarm water.”

 So he stayed out late with some friends. He walked the length of the wharf, twice, before picking the prettiest, sturdiest yacht he could find and barking instructions for how to get it out of the harbour for those who dared to follow. For the wild, outrageous, cleverness of it. For the joy and the heartache of nostalgia and the wind in his hair and the way Violet Mogan’s cheeks had flushed when she laughed.

 For the way that Killian had arrived at the precinct, powerful yet immensely disappointed.

 Got everything? He had asked, quietly. Let’s go.

 “I just thought if I could get you to stop looking at me like I hang the sun, then it might not be too late for you to build something together. Not a castle, maybe, but something just as strong. And I have Dad,” he flickered his gaze at the other man, before dropping it back bitterly to the penny in his palm. “Or I thought I had Dad. Turns out my wish for him was the only one that came true.”

 It’s a quill, Daddy says it’s magic. It’s for telling stories. He says I have to write him a happy ending.

 “Just a little too late for me.”

 There is the chime of nail on copper, and in the space of two heartbeats the penny arcs into the fountain with a gentle plop.

 No one seems to know what to say.

 Henry drops the phone from his ear and jabs at it with his thumb, cutting off the call with Emma. She had forgotten they were still connected that way at all, how rapt her attention had been on him.

 And all she can think is — what an idiot.

 She realises she must have said it aloud as all three of the men before her startle; Henry from his perch on the fountain, Killian from beside him and Neal standing a few feet from them.

 Hastening to clarify before more hurt feelings are thrown around, she doubles down.

 “I just mean — Henry, your logic is way off. We’re your parents.” All three, no matter how distant. “We are always going to look at you like you put the sun there, even when you’re at your most bratty. That’s love, kid. We love you.” It was easy to say, now, easier to admit than it had been for most of her life. But then, this was the boy who had taught her how to do it. “Nothing you can do will change that, not boat stealing or,” she scrambles for something else, “or even hanging out with that little shit Malcolm.”

 “Language,” Henry responds instinctively. At Emma’s exasperated stare a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. They thought they had been losing Henry — in that instance she realises he had been there all along. “He is a bit of an asshole.”

 Emma crosses the distance between them, kneeling down in front of the boy and taking his hand firmly. Perhaps on another day he would’ve been embarrassed, a sixteen-year-old holding hands with an adult like that, but in the force of the last few days he just clutches her back tightly.

 “But you’re right,” Emma continues seriously. She won’t do him the disingenuity of trying to claim a falsehood now. “There are steps Killian and I haven’t taken. Important ones. As it happens, we’ve been misunderstanding each other for a long time now.” With her free hand, she reaches for Killian, finding his fingertips already reaching back for her. “But that’s nothing to do with you. Do you get that?”

 Henry nods, but the movement is hesitant.

 “I mean it, kid. Look at me. Do you understand?”

 He does. A visible weight seems to lift. Maybe he just needed someone to say it out loud.

 To her surprise, Neal settles down on his haunches beside her, gentle in a way she is unaccustomed to seeing from him. Like he can sense the gravity of a moment and he doesn’t wish to disturb it — like a beach in Maine, and a little boy who had asked so quietly for what he wanted that his father had given it without reproach.

 Turns out my wish for him was the only one that came true.

 “Henry,” he picks up where Emma has left off, “I’m — you clearly needed someone this week, and all you got was this giant… playmate.” He considers himself with an air of obvious frustration. “And then I made it worse. You’ve never needed to try hard for me, you know that, right? You’re number one.” He lifts a single finger to illustrate it. “You’re number one. And about earlier…”

 Emma does not know what happened earlier, Neal had been light with the details; just that they had been at Luna Park and Henry had run off. Whatever it was, the weight is palpable as Henry stiffens a little before her.

 “You left before I could finish. Yeah, I’m going to be a dad again, but you know what that means? You’re going to be a brother.”

 Henry blinks; like he hadn’t even considered it.

 “And that was something I was really hoping you’d want to be.”

 Neal bites his lip, waiting for his son’s reaction.

 He needn’t have worried. Henry was warmth, and love, and he always would be.

 “I do,” he said, then softer, “I’m sorry.”

 “Me too,” Neal smiled ruefully. “I always am with you.”

 The air bristles with something unsaid, and Emma stands. Maybe Neal also senses it because he too moves away, and as casually as she can she looks to Killian now for his thoughts. Silent as he had been throughout the exchange, his mood is difficult to read; Emma can identify some of the reactions she had seen, remorse, sadness, pride, and she leans on the turmoil she knew had been churning inside him since the first moment they had found Henry gone. But he has fortified, this she knows. He just wants to put them all back together.

 Henry, perhaps in contrition, almost refuses to look at him.

 If Killian takes offence he doesn’t show it. Instead he smiles, a watery, delicate thing.

 “You’re my best friend in the whole world, bug,” he says. “I’m half a man without you.”

 Henry’s eyes shut tight and for the first time, Emma can see a bead of emotion roll down his cheek.

 “Please come home.”

 It happened so quickly that she almost didn’t see it; but the next moment Henry was in Killian’s arms, shaking and murmuring apologies into his shoulder. The older man was shushing him as if we were a child again, assuring him all was forgotten, and his relief was palpable in the manner with which his fists clenched into Henry’s coat and the tightness of his eyes pressed closed, supressing a stronger tide.

 Emma looks down, the moment almost feeling too private to intrude upon, and Neal does the same. Unconsciously her hand lifts to her stomach, to the barely perceptible swell that has begun there; she has to tell him, but not now. She wanted to let him have this first. He deserved it

 “What I said,” Henry croaks, and from the corner of her eye she can see he has pulled back, has his hands resting on Killian’s shoulders and is looking at him directly. “What I said before I left —”

 You are not my dad!

 “You are,” he nods determinedly, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “In every way that matters. You are. I’m sorry.”

 Killian simply pulls him back in, closer, and the night feels just a little bit brighter.

 -/-

 A rerun of Jurassic Park is the only thing on the TV by the time they make it back to Neal’s apartment, most of the selection near midnight having dried up considerably as most prepare for bed before work the following day. Arrangements are made, and rather than attempt the near four hour drive back to Boston tonight Killian and Emma had volunteered to take the sofa while Henry spends a final night in his old room. However, the unspoken word among them is that none are quite ready for sleep yet, and had switched on the television for wont of something easier to focus on — something light, something arbitrary — something with a few more scales than the monsters they had been battling away today.

 Killian sits with his arm around Emma, Henry on her other side leaning against her and slumped across the remainder of the sofa with his gangly legs stretching for the arm of Neal’s chair, where his father has been poking at the holes in socks much to the boy’s exasperation.

 “Honestly. You know you don’t have to wait for Killian to buy you socks anymore, right? If you go to a store they’ll actually give you some in exchange for those green wrinkly notes.”

 Henry snorts. “I don’t have any ‘green wrinkly notes’. When did you think I’d have time to get myself a job in between all my community service?”

 “Nice try,” Emma says, “it was only twenty-five hours, and the last I checked you were nearly done.”

 “Only twenty-five hours? Did you pay off the judge or was this just a really shitty yacht?”

 “Can we not debate the particulars, please?” Killian admonishes. “I’m trying to watch the folly of man and a twenty-foot lizard tear devour a bloke on a bog.”

 A brief pause where, suitably chastened, they realise it’s probably not appropriate to be making so light of the whole thing.

 “And it was a Pershing 80 he stole, anyway. Even a used one would go for over two million dollars.”

 At the indignant looks and protests from the others, Killian merely grins and shrugs, holding up a hand to shield his face as Henry flings a cushion over his shoulder in his direction. Emma declares that she’s going to the kitchen for more popcorn, and just as Neal asks her to get him a portion his phone rings. Killian catches a glimpse of the screen before he picks it up.

 ‘Tink calling…’

 He offers an apologetic smile to the pair of them as he heads out into the hallway, his voice briefly floating back towards them even as they try and pretend their ears aren’t pointed towards the sound.

 “Hey, baby. Yeah, I’ll be home soon — tomorrow, even. First flight I can get. It’s been a bit of a crazy week. For you too? That’s great. I can’t wait to…”

 It trails off into a low murmur as he shuts the door behind him.

 Killian watches Henry carefully for his reaction. The news that Tink was pregnant had come as a shock to all of them, not least to Killian, but it had clearly had a profound impact on Henry as it had only contributed further to his spiral. He seemed calmer now. A small smile had pulled at the corner of his mouth as he watched his father retreat into the other room, something proud and full of warmth. Maybe Killian can relate to some of what he must be feeling.

 They had all waited a long time for Neal Cassidy to grow up, Henry most of all; maybe they were finally seeing it happen.

 Henry turned back to the film, and Killian tossed the cushion back onto the boy’s stomach to get his attention.

 “So,” he starts brightly, to the backdrop of little Tim’s daring rescue from the jeep trapped in the tree. “What’s her name?”

 Henry pretends not to understand, but Killian knows he does. It’s something of a relief. He can still read this boy like the book of fairy-tales he used to tote around in his oversized backpack.

 “Who’s name?”

 Killian raises his eyebrows suggestively.

 “Well if it’s dating tips you need, lad, I know my way around women.”

 “Oh god.”

 “Not so long ago I was just like you, young, spritely, ready for my first brush with a lady’s—”

 “Stop, do not finish that sentence.”

 “Charms,” Killian concludes, feigning an aghast look at what Henry might have presumed. This earns him another cushion to the face.

 It’s such a relief, to be able to needle Henry in such a way, back to the easy companionship he had enjoyed for most of the boy’s life — but it feels different, too. Not exactly negative, he decides, but a change has certainly come about. Perhaps they could never make it through something like this entirely unscathed, but he realises as the moment passes by that there will be some things Henry will choose not to confide in him. An odd notion. There had never been anything Henry couldn’t tell him before.

 But to his surprise, he felt that that would be okay. He was growing up, and it was about time Killian realised it. He couldn’t cart him around on the back of his bike to a museum anymore, but they could find their peace in other ways; like he and Emma, their rhythm would change but it could grow and blossom into something even better if he just let it. For the first time he is almost looking forward to what the next stage of Henry’s life might bring them, instead of longing for the treasures the past had held.

 “Violet.”

 Killian glances over in surprise, observes that Henry’s ears are scarlet as he keeps his gaze fixed on the television screen.

 “Her name, I mean. Violet.”

 Killian smiles, although Henry can’t see it.

 Maybe he’ll get to keep the little boy by the sea just a short while longer.

 Deciding not to put Henry through any further embarrassment, Killian stands. “That’s a lovely name,” he tells him, and leaves the door open for him to talk about it any time he wishes. “And I’m sure she thought your Grand Theft Marina was very impressive, if nothing else. I’m going to go see about that popcorn.”

 He leaves Henry in the sitting room, passing Neal quietly in the hall before crossing into the kitchen. Emma is there, watching the microwave humming as whatever is inside rotates slowly. She turns to watch him as he enters. Dropping a quick kiss to her temple, he reaches past her for a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine from the cabinet. Neal’s taste for wine had grown over the last ten years, but he had still never quite acquired a taste for Sauvignon Blanc the way that Emma had — those he kept around for her, for special occasions, and Killian quite felt this merited a glass or two.

 Pouring three glasses, two for himself and Neal, and just as he was about to pour the third Emma blurts out to stop him —

 “I’m pregnant.”

 Killian freezes. The microwave pings its conclusion loudly into the kitchen.

 “So, uh, no wine, I mean. None for me. I’ll just, um, I’ll have juice. Or whatever Henry’s having. Do you think Neal has coke? I’ll just go ask—”

 “Wait just a —” Killian blinks, “you’re —?”

 She nods, biting her lip.

 “I figured I’d be better off not waiting for the perfect moment anymore and just… picked the next one.”

 Killian can’t wrap his mind around it. She’s pregnant. The thought spins back and forth around his head, ricocheting heavily and sending him spinning. For a moment he almost imagines the room swimming out of focus, Emma standing uncertainly by the microwave looking to him for his response — for his approval or, if the way doubt flickers across her expression, possibly his rejection. Through every dizzying sensation its that which pierces through, and before he can even consider his own feelings properly he is in front of her, dazed, kneeling and pressing a kiss to her stomach.

 Elated, he decides.

 Elated is how he feels.

 It’s almost impossible to comprehend. Unbridled joy bursts forth inside him and he is invincible — Henry in the next room, howling with laughter at something Neal had said, Neal, growth and hope, and Emma. The only woman he would ever wish to bear his child, forgiving him, cherishing him, giving him the only life he had ever wanted, and more life beyond.

 Emma’s fingers tangle in his hair as he kneels before her and he thinks he is trembling, breathing deeply as a few tears roll down his cheek. He doesn’t even think to be embarrassed, it’s been such a long, long road to get here. Her fingers squeeze and he looks up, as always awed by her and her strength. Through everything that had happened over the last few days, she had been carrying this knowledge with her with a steadfastness and fidelity to her own spirit — even when he was at his worst, she had not let him deter her when she had far greater things to be frightened of.

 She’s crying too, he can see that. And as if she can read his thoughts, she murmurs, “I’m scared.”

 Killian shakes his head. “I’m not.”

 He stands, brings her hands to his mouth and kisses each one delicately.

 This, he has to make sure she knows.

 “I know we face an uncertain future, but there is one thing I want you to be certain of.” A press of his lips to hers and he is unconquerable. “I will always be by your side.”

 She breathes out, deeply. “So — you’re happy?”

 “Irreparably.”

 At this she laughs, and his heart still melts at the sound. He tugs her in for a strong hug, lifting her off the ground and her joy is as palpable as his own. She peppers kisses across his jaw and he whispers that he loves her, and his reward is a smile the breadth of the sun. They hear Henry from the next room calling them in for his favourite part, the ascent over the electric fence, and he sets her back down. After reaching past him for the rapidly cooling popcorn, Emma gives him a final wink over her shoulder and departs back to the sitting room.

 Pregnant.

 He wants to dance on the countertop and yell until his throat is hoarse and run a thousand miles just for the thrill of it.

 As he follows, the scene in the sitting room makes his bubble of happiness only swell; Henry catching popcorn in his mouth with the same enthusiasm as cherries thrown across the bar in the Rabbit Hole, Neal acting as pitcher with the bowl of popcorn and Emma choosing opportunities to intercept. There is something decidedly special about it.

 There needn’t be castles, or weddings, or meadows upon meadows of wildflowers. Nor swords, magic, dwarves or palaces made of glass. No, Killian decides, none of those ornaments or flourishes are needed — happy endings are far from how they appeared in Henry’s storybooks. He has his own suspicions now about how they present themselves.

 In unremarkable, fugacious moments. In the gentle shapes of people who love, are loved, and continue to be brave.

 Happy endings, the real ones, look a lot more like that.

#jay writes #cs ff #cs au #captain swan #captain cobra ff #swan believer ff #captain cobra swan #cs fanfic #cs modern au #the boy that stood by the sea #bring walls down #ouat #I have no idea if anyone is still interested in this #but I thought I'd put it into the world anyway! #happy endings all round #not tagging anyone who had been interested bc it it has been #oops #two years #yikes #anyways #enjoy!!

[atlfics]

Eighteen- All Time Low Fanfiction

A/N: This is set in their senior of high school.

“I don’t know how we haven’t talked about this yet, but your birthday is two weeks from today, dude! The big eighteen!” Alex exclaimed to Jack, his bet friend, as he started to drive them out of the school parking lot.

“Oh yeah, it is,” Jack replied in a very unenthused voice. He turned his head and started to stare out the window.

“You don’t sound very excited, man, are you not looking forward to it?” Alex asked, genuinely confused.

“No, I am, really. Let’s talk about this later, like at your house or something,” Jack requested, still looking out the window.

“Oh, um, okay, we can do that. Let’s listen to some Blink for the rest of the drive,” Alex suggested. He hit the skip button on his stereo until he finally found Jack’s favorite song on the CD that was playing. The rest of the drive was filled with silence aside from the music, Alex focused on driving, and Jack still staring out the window. Once they finally got to Alex’s house, Alex led Jack inside, and up to his room.

“Man, I’m so glad it’s Friday, I had two tests this week, and in my least favorite classes! I’m glad we planned for you to sleep over,” Alex said as he put down his backpack. After not hearing a response from Jack, Alex turned around and saw Jack sitting on his bed with a blank expression on his face. This concerned Alex, he really had no idea what could be bothering Jack so much. Alex walked over to his bed and sat down next to his best friend.

“Jack, you’re not acting like yourself, what’s up?” Alex asked, sounding as concerned as he felt.

“What? No, I’m fine,” Jack tried, a very unconvincing smile forming on his face.

“Dude, we’ve been friends for, like, five years now, I know you well enough to know that’s bullshit. Seriously man, what’s up? You’ve not been yourself ever since I brought up your birthday in the car, did that trigger something in you?” Alex continued. Jack took a deep breath before talking.

“Yes, it did, Alex,” Jack admitted.

“Really? You normally love your birthday, you always insist on having big, extravagant celebrations. Well, as big and extravagant as we can afford with our shitty, minimum wage jobs,” Alex joked.

“I know, and I still want to do that, but I’m a little nervous,” Jack admitted.

“For what? You’re officially going to be an adult!” Alex exclaimed.

“I know, I’ll be an adult in two weeks, we graduate high school in two months. Man, where the fuck did the time go?” Jack asked.

“I’m surprised to hear this from you, you’ve been ready to be out of high school since the first day of our freshman year. What’s going on in your mind, Jack?” Alex asked, hoping that Jack would just say what was bothering him so much.

“I don’t feel like I’ve lived my life to the fullest since we’ve been in high school,” Jack confessed.

“Really? We did a lot of the same things, and I certainly don’t feel that way,” Alex said back.

“Alex, our experiences weren’t as similar as you think they were. Sure, they were alike when we were together, but not so much outside of that,” Jack explained.

“That’s where I’m drawing a blank. We’re best friends, we basically do everything together,” Alex stated.

“Kind of. You’ve always had more friends than me, so you’ve always done more because of that,” Jack said back.

“What? You have plenty of friends! Everyone I’m friends with likes you!” Alex stated.

“No, they all put up with me. All of your friends are nice guys, but there’s absolutely no way they’d want to hang out with me if you weren’t there. Alex, I never really had a lot of friends, especially my own friends, like outside of you and your group. I feel like I missed out on a lot because of that,” Jack stated, looking down in embarrassment.

“I don’t think that at all! You and I have hung out so much, and have done so many fun things together, and I wouldn’t have wanted it to be any different. Is this the only thing bothering you?” Alex asked.

“Well, no. I also haven’t ever had a real girlfriend. I know you’re single now, but you dated that one girl for two whole years, and I’ve never had anything like that,” Jack explained.

“Dude, that girl ended up being batshit crazy in the last months of our relationship, I know you remember that. Whenever she’d do or say something hurtful, I always went to you. Then, you ended up helping me through our breakup. Being in a high school relationship really doesn’t live up to all of the hype that surrounds it. If I could go back and just be single all throughout high school like you were, I would. Everything would’ve been so much easier,” Alex explained.

“I understand all of that, but you still had the experience of having a girlfriend, meanwhile, I’ve never even come close to having anything like that. Even if I had a shitshow relationship, it still would’ve been an experience that I could laugh about now, like you do about your ex. Also, when we went to prom last month, you were like the center of attention on the dancefloor, and I sat at a table alone by the punch bowl,” Jack pointed out.

“Well, I certainly didn’t expect that to happen, my date apparently really liked to dance. I expected to just take pictures with her, then to spend the evening with you, doing our own thing,” Alex stated.

“I know, but that’s not what happened. Everyone seemed to have so much fun that night, and I was all alone in the corner. I’ve never told you this, but I cried when I was by myself. Being alone reminded me of how alone I’ve felt all throughout high school, aside from being with you, and really solidified that in my mind,” Jack said, his voice getting smaller.

“Jack, I had no idea, I wish I’d known that. I never knew that you felt like this, or that you cried on prom night. How come you’ve never told me about any of this?” Alex asked, growing more concerned for his friend.

“I don’t know, I guess these feelings come in waves, like only if I think about it, or if something reminds me of it. I just feel like I wasted my teenage years doing nothing. I didn’t live them to the fullest; I didn’t party very much, I didn’t even try to form other close friendships aside from you, I never fell in love. I went to prom, but I didn’t go to the after party with you and your other friends, I spent the evening alone at home. I just feel like I missed out on the key parts of being a teenager in high school. Turning eighteen scares the shit out of me, like, I’m still technically going to be a teenager, but it’s different. Just knowing that I can’t go back and have fun makes me sad, and I just regret how I spent high school. I feel like I fucked up and lived my teen years incorrectly,” Jack explained. Some tears started to form in his eyes out of frustration, and Jack did his best to quickly blink them away, feeling even more embarrassed now.

“Jack, there’s not a ‘right’ way to be a teenager, more specifically, a high schooler. I know all of the movies and TV shows seem to have it down to a formula, but that’s not real. It can be hard to see all of that and tell yourself that it’s just a show or movie, but that’s what it is. Those things expect you to feel inferior to them, they set a standard that might not be realistic for everyone, which is kind of fucked up. I’ve not done everything that’s in those movies. I think I went to one football and one basketball game over the entire time we’ve gone to school here. That’s a big deal in all of those movies and shows, but I don’t feel like I missed out by not going to them. Being at those things never felt fun to me, and I realized that they’re just not for me. I felt like I should do things like that for the same reason you’re feeling so down, and it made me upset with myself, like I was throwing away a fun opportunity. Last year, I realized that not going is what I preferred, and that’s perfectly okay. Jack, you don’t have to have a picture-perfect high school career for it to be considered right or correct,” Alex explained, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“I appreciate you saying all of that, I really do, I just wish that I tried to build more real connections with people. I know you remember I had some toxic friends our first year, and that sort of stopped me from wanting to find other friends. Like, it made trusting that other people wouldn’t do all of the same things really hard, so I never really tried to find new friends in the fear that I’d get hurt again,” Jack explained.

“I understand your frustrations about that, but it’s okay to not have a lot of close friends. I can definitely understand the loneliness that comes with it, but it’s really okay. The people here weren’t who clicked with you, that’s perfectly okay, man. We go to college in, like, five months. We’re going to the same school, and we’re going to be roommates, and we’re going to meet all new people, and we’ll make new, real, genuine friendships. It’s okay that you didn’t have a lot of close friends, we’re going to go to this new place, and you can do everything you mentioned earlier, but there!” Alex exclaimed.

“Well, I can’t really redo prom,” Jack mumbled.

“Oh, but you can. College has formal, which is basically college prom! I know turning eighteen makes all of this feel more real and scary, but it’s all totally okay. I’ve got your back, I’ll do everything I can to help college be more fun for you than high school was,” Alex promised.

“While that sounds great, I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me or watch out for me constantly. I don’t want to be a burden to you in college, like I already feel I was in high school,” Jack said, a guilty look on his face.

“Jack, you’ve never been a burden. You’re my best friend, you know I’ll do whatever I can to help you feel happy, and that’s not going to change when we get to college. I’m always going to be here for you, helping and supporting you in every way I can. You’ve always been a great friend to me, and I want to be the same for you,” Alex said, making Jack smile.

“Thank you, Alex, that all means a lot to me. I still feel like I could’ve lived a little more in high school, and I wish I hadn’t isolated myself as much, but thank you for this. I’ve always compared my experiences to movies and shows, and it’s made me feel less than. I’m glad we’ve been friends for all of these years, and that we’ll be in college together,” Jack said, making Alex smile now, too.

“You’re so welcome. Fuck those movies and shows, dude, you did things your way, and that’s what matters. I’ll do my best to help you feel less isolated when we get to college. We’re going to make the next four years our definition of perfect. Fuck what the movies about college say is right, we’re going to do it our way,” Alex stated.

“You’re the best,” Jack said as they quickly hugged each other. While Jack was still a bit nervous to officially become an adult, he was glad to have Alex by his side, and that he was willing do what he could to help Jack through anything and everything.

A/N: Hey guys, I impulsively decided to write this last night! I've felt similarly to Jack in this, but I actually wrote it for a friend who's feeling this way right now. Obviously, I altered reality some to make it work, but I like how it turned out, and hope you guys do, too. To the person I wrote this for, I hope you liked it, and that it was helpful! Thank you all for reading, please send in requests if you have them! Lots of love, Liv.

#Alex Gaskarth #Jack Barakat #Rian Dawson #Zack Merrick #all time low #ATL

[bending-sickle]

motherfuckers be like “oh just enjoy doing the craft it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t come out perfect” and i’m like “karen, it’s clothes i want to wear. in public. and feel good in. i have Standards.”

so do y’all want to hear about Ye Saga of how i have failed to make a dress? that i started in may of last year? and have put in i think over 50 hours? unless it’s 80. (i had to redo another dress last year because again, fuckery, and my sewing log gets confusing.)

so literally every step of this has been discouraging and has had to be done at least twice and every time the potential end result just keeps getting worse and worse.

we start off with the cloth. it’s polyester and therefore shit. double-shit because it’s for a summer dress and i might as well wrap myself in seran wrap. The pattern is floral but not quite enchanting but i buy it anyway because it’s a shitload of cloth and only 3 euros because it’s from the scrap heap.

and then i try to make a pattern for it, frankensteining two or three different historical options for which i only have the vaguest of “this is kinda what the pieces looked like. good luck scaling it up to anything usuable.” so there was a lot of drafting, redrafting, measuring, re-redrafting.

then there were the mock-ups to test out the pattern. so many mock ups. so many oh god. pins everywhere. all the contortionism to try and pin the cloth and not myself. more sewing. trying to scavange cloth bits to try and make yet another tester. it was hell.

then i went on to the lining, because even though the cloth was literally plastic, it was slightly see-through and idk, fancy clothes have lining, right? so i piece together the lining from my mom’s old pants’ lining. i sew it up all nice with great seams. let’s leave that tragedy waiting because then

then i started on the bodice of the dress. and i really wanted to put piping in between the seams so you could actually see all the nice piecing - especially in the back - that i had worked so hard on. i was super excited because i had ribbon just the perfect shade and it would be so, so very pretty. i sew up so much piping. (this is cord wrapped in rippon, like you can find on pillow edgins and stuff.) i sew the dress top, putting in the piping. the piping decides to be the boss and fuck up every curve. there is no using the piping and still having a dress that won’t stand up by itself and prance around like madonna’s bullet bra. the piping has to go. this makes the dress not as cool as i’d been hoping. in fact, the main point of all the effort in the pattern design has just gone out the window because you can’t see the nice shapes i’ve made with each piece. but whatever. it fits. so i resew the bodice.

bodice is looking good. i attach the lining, which, i mean “attach” is such a short word for all the sewing, pinning, more sewing, cutting, and fussing that happened. but i get it done. half of the dress is now done.

but no. remember the tragedy we left hanging with no period after the senence up there, a couple paragraphs back? yeah.

you can see the lining seams through the dress. which. not good. so i redo the lining. and i mean i just could have redone the gone that went down the center front, now that i think of it, and just accepted the blazing white lines of seams under the dress in the other parts, but no, i wanted things done right.

but i couldn’t do things right because i’d done them perfect before. meaning opening up the seams meant i now had much less seam space to work with, meaning OH HAI THE LINING CLOTH IS JUST GOING TO RIP APART BECAUSE YOU HAVE SO LITTLE TO WORK WITH OH MY BAD. so i do a shitty job of the lining.

whatever. the skirt

i gather up the skirt so it has nice little scrunchy bits at the waist. i redo this long, ong process at least three times.

i put the skirt together with the bodice. i also do this attempt so many times. eight months later, i’ll realize i did it wrong and could have avoided so many hours of work and headache but no. no, i put it on the way i did, because fuck my life right now.

but we’re not done with the lining.

i try and put it in with the skirt. won’t work won’t fit. redo it a few times. the cloth starts screaming and dissolving. i try and save the edges even though theyre now hideous. i end up just sewing little anchor lines to the lining, making it officially the most ugly lining in the history of any atempts.

this next step is what made me give up for half a year, because there’s the hem. and remember how i fucked up putting in the skirt? yeah. so the waist of the dress isn’t a straight line, making the hem...not a straight line, if i just take a ruler from the bottom and say “yeah let’s lop off some 50 cms and it’ll be level and good” then the bottom of the skirt is going to be a droopy, wavy mess, waving in shame at all other dresses.

so i fold, pin, hand-sew, re-fold, re-pin, re-resew the goddamned hem again, so many times, trying to just get the damned bottomg of the skirt level, at whatever length. i sort of managed.

then i gave up for half a year, meaning that summer dress was not seeing  peek of that year’s summer.

so i took my gonads in both hands this week and tried again with the skirt and that’s when i realized how difficult i’d made everything for myself because there was all that folding, pinning, sewing fun factory again, in triplicate. but i managed to get the hem to the length i wanted and i tried it on.

and the lining tore. just shredded itself to little pieces like the little fucker it was.

which means that after sewing that thing up twice, sewing it down twice - or was it thrice - i had to take the scissors to it and chop it off. chop, i say, because i was not going to unsew all the bodice bits. there were SLEEVES involved.

speaking of sleeves while i was cutting off the lining with all the care in the world i ended up cutting a little hole in one of the sleeves. because fuck everything. and since this is polyester shit, i couldn’t sew the hle up because the edges kept fraying like they were trying to become one with the dust bunnies. so i tried sewing it up like it was a buttng hole or something only apparently my fingers and eyes and skills and everything were in another room because wow it ugly.

so that was a great achievement in the unfucking of this dress fiasco.

so now i had a dress with no lining except the little shreds of shame along the edge of the bodice and a wonky hem.and the bodice was all floaty in the wrong places because it didn’t have the support of the lining helping it out and it’s, again, poly-fucking-ester.

today i did yet more of the same shit i’d done yesterday and got the hem as leastwonky as possible. i then asked my mom to help un-wonkify the hem. as i stood in front of the mirror with the bodice flopping everywhere, the lines of the pices i cut out lost in the sauce of the pattern, the scrunched up waist of the skirt not really giving nice folds but only one big belly balloon, and overall the general image of the dress being “...goddamn fuck no shit god i feel so ugly all that work and it makes me feel ugly” i thought...well, all that, and also how many hours i’d invested into this and how i might just not even wear it after all.

and then i was ironing it and thinking “maybe if i cannibalise it and make it into a skirt only and redo the bodice using the cloth on top of another one like a new lining or just a white cotton, and make it an outfit...”

but that would mean redoing this dress a third time. which, no.

also? i bought two types of ribbon thiking i could still do the piping effect on the seams, make the dress have a little oomf, but it’s just so much work already for such an ugly thing that will make me sweat like a beached whale in summer and be worn like, twice, that just... god, set the damned thing on fire maybe. what is the point.

also? since i’m the one making it, the labour is free, and idiots on the internet would be like “oh, so the cloth was 3 euros? so  it’s a 3 euro dress? cheap! noice! who cares if it isn’t perfect?” and i’ll be like... me and my 50 hours of manual labour say it isn’t 3 euros worth, karen.

so i am incredibly discouraged and disappointed and if this whole experience doesn’t sum up my entire life. like, put in the work. do it perfect. do it again. do everything right and then it’ll all amount to nothing. congratualtions, you’ve just wasted half of your life.

i mean...

dress ugly. me tired. fuck everything.

so yeah i’m going to sew the hem up one of these days and call it quits.

#sewing #randomness #i appear incapable of making a straighforward dress #without redoing it every step of the way #also fuck polyester #also also i typed this on my laptop #and i must be the flash because i'd be typing and the letters would...not show up #and i'd have to wait ages before the text deigned showing up on the screen #so simply trying to vent has been an exercise in frustration #which OH THE IRONY

[rts-ag]

Woohoo!!! Are you guys as excited as I am for all the final papers due and exams coming up? No? No? Yea, I get it. 

Being a full-time student who’s also job hunting and getting back into exercising is a lot. Now, add that to the fact that I’m trying to expand my mustard seed size social life while also maintaining a 3.5 GPA is challenging to say the least. 

I’ve had to request permission from a couple teachers to re-do assignments and for extra credit. On flat out refused, which was her prerogative and another allowed me to redo my assignment - which I promptly did and handed up. 

I have four final papers due (they’re all group projects) for four of my classes. All three which require an in-class presentation and a fourth whose presentation would be at a televised conference (no pressure). Then there’s my Spanish final exam which is a presentation on a Latin American country to be done entirely in Spanish. 

It wouldn’t be so tense or nerve wracking if I didn’t have exams immediately after or simultaneously. But that’s how it’s scheduled and I need to find a healthy way to deal and organize myself. 

Google Calendar 

Wow, how much I love Google calendar. As a person with an Android phone and Apple devices it’s a tad bit difficult to sync them both but I’ve managed to find a way to have important things one each device without the tedious process of entering the same information into multiple devices. 

On my phone, I use my Google Calendar to remind me of due dates, interviews, appointments, test dates and Voice to record lectures. The beauty about Google is that it syncs so what’s on my phone is also in my account and when I’m alerted on my phone, I get that alert on my computer. 

Apple Calendar 

This is what I use to track my Academic Weeks. When the semester begins and Course Outline has been disseminated I take all listed dates for tests, quizzes and presentations and insert them in my calendar. I also schedule my classes with class times,(this is mainly until I can find my classes without needing a reminder on where the classrooms are), lecturer name, information and office hours. 

Voice Recorder

Sometimes I get bored in class and don’t take much notes, sometimes it’s something technical that I need to pay active attention to so I can’t take notes. I record all classes but I don’t listen to all recordings. I make a brief summary on what was discusses, mark the time the recorder is at so I know exactly where I stopped taking notes and should listen or where I didn’t quite understand and can go back to listen. 

Study Groups

I’ve never been one for study groups. But having a study group for four of my six classes really helps. Some classmates overlap and they're the ones I started these groups with along with a couple other people. It’s small, 5 for two classes and I have intimate study sessions with two other people. It’s important to form a group with focused individuals. Sessions usually last 1-2 hours too. 

Personal Study

Some might believe that once you study with your group that’s it. You’re prepared. But are you really? Can you think about your subject, think about a topic and talk about it confidently? If you can in your head, try saying it out loud. Teaching is the best form of studying I believe and you don’t always need to be with someone. Pretend you’re talking to someone who asked a question about the topic OR choose a question from your review section of the chapter and answer it out loud. If you can’t confidently and sufficiently answer the question, you need more time on the matter. 

Time Management 

This is the holy grail of being on time and not falling behind tbh. It might seem like there’s so much to do you might never get anything done. Take it one step at a time. Use the Priority Matrix if you’re unsure of which “important” task to tackle first if you’re so sure they’re all important and urgent and need attention NOW. 

START EARLY

See, this will help you LOADS in the future. Is the assignment due in 2 weeks? Start now. Is the quiz four weeks from now? Review now. Is the test in 3 weeks? Make your outline now. Is that research paper not for another month? Call and make appointments for information (sometimes it takes weeks to get them), arrange interviews (these are busy people, they won’t be able to sit with you at the drop of a hat), to preliminary research (it might be harder than you think to make sense of it all). It might seem like a waste, or senseless, but having a paper or Microsoft document or OneNote page that’s all about your research paper and what you’re supposed to do will be a reminder that when the time comes closer you’re not on Stage 0 or 1. You’re on State 2,3,4. You’ve already BEGUN and you only need to CONTINUE. 

#that time of year #school #university #college #study #studyblr #Time Management #start early #personal study #study groups #voice recorder #apple calendar #Google calendar #post #my post #studying #getting things done #social life

[arethereanyoriginalusernames]

Redoing an old post: Writing Advice, Minority characters

Disclaimer: I've decided to redo an old post I made about a year ago. Keep in mind that I am no omniscient god, so not everything I say is something we must all agree with. If you disagree, agree, or just feel like adding to the conversation, feel free to leave a reply or reblog. All I ask is that you remain civil towards everyone, regardless of how you feel. Thank you.

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So, I was watching this old Lily Orchard video. Now, before you all go raising your pitch forks because omg, lily Orchard be a controversial figure, hear me out. For one thing, even though I disagree with her on a lot of things, I still am fine with hearing what someone with different opinions than me has to say on a certain subject. Another thing, don't mistake this as me loving or hating Lily. While I enjoy her videos at certain times, she's in the same boat as creators such as Dose of Buckley where I can only really enjoy their videos when I'm in a certain mood. Surprise, negativity and bitterness can make a viewer uninterested over time.

Anyway, I was watching her old video on how to write Minority characters, and lily seemed to be of the belief that if you couldn't add in Minority characters, you might have some biased feelings towards minorities.

Now, I disagree with this. And here's why; people and their knowledge of the world are shaped by what they experience and learn. When we aim to write realistic characters, we typically draw from our own lives. If you have not encountered someone from a specific subgroup of humanity, you probably wouldn't know how to write them.

Something that I mentioned in my old post was that the easiest thing to do is to just write these characters as people. This is a common piece of advice that is given, but there's a small problem here. How do you write someone as a person? After all, some groups have their own culture and lifestyle. They can encounter problems other groups may not have. Nowadays, there is a massive amount of importance put on representing minorities accurately. In other words, just "writing these characters as people " isn't enough if you're entire experience with people have not included these minority groups.

So, what do?

Well, let's ask the question "should we?"

Look, I am fully aware that people want more representation, but let me ask you a question. If we put representation in a piece of media that is unsatisfactory, should we still accept that representation as good because it's representation? Well, no.

Let's address the Broadway musical "RENT" briefly. It was a big deal at the time because the main cast included LGBT characters. However, these LGBT characters weren't... the most admirable people. For instance, we get the stereotype of the slutty and romantically unloyal bisexual, and two gay men who basically affect nothing in the plot, and one is killed off solely so a message about AIDs can be shoved in. Lindsey Ellis did a full video essay on this, and I'd advise you check it out.

Tldr, we shouldn't have to take bad representation just because it's representation. But should amateurs be discouraged from writing representation? Well, no. If they feel that they can write in a decent representation of a minority group, then all power to them if they're ready to try. But if an amateur does not feel ready or informed enough, then maybe we shouldn't encourage them to simply force in the diversity.

But how does one inform themselves about Minority groups? Well, a cheap and easy way to do this would be to step outside your house and talk to people. But that involves socializing, and let's be real, 80% of people on Tumblr have limited social skills. Ok, then what? Well, you could look up blogs or other material that is written by someone of the group you're researching that is specifically discussing their life. You could watch videos of people from specific communities. Stuff like that. Ultimately, it would be best to just strike up a conversation with someone who would have more knowledge on the subject than you do, though.

Something else I should mention is that the idea of accurately representing a group does not just apply to minorities. Representation can apply to any subgroup of society, and representation of those groups can also be fucked up. For instance, anyone with any knowledge of BDSM can tell you that Fifty Shades of Grey is a horrifyingly awful representation of the community. Any teenager can tell you that Stones for Abigail is an insult to teenagers. This mindset of accurately representing a group is not exclusive to minorities, and can actually be utilized in various situations.

Finally, and I touched on this in my OG post, but what about writing in discrimination? For some reason, I still see people act like a character who is, say, LGBTQ that doesn't face discrimination in any way is by default poor representation. Now, I understand the idea of having a character such as this experience things that people in that group experience is a good one, and I understand the importance of discussing this issue. BUT, my question to you is what if the writer is uncomfortable writing about such a topic? By uncomfortable, I mean maybe they don't feel ready to tackle an issue as great as discrimination, or maybe they have a difficult time writing it because it's a heavy topic for a lot of people to even think about. The decision to include discussion of discrimination I feel should be left up to the writer, and it shouldn't be a necessity.

That's my advice on writing Minority characters, and maybe some other time I might give advice on how to incorporate more of these characters into your story.

I apologize for wasting your time

- ATOUN