OTP
I saw a meme going around where people listed their OTPs, and it got me thinking about how I ship. I definitely love me some love--I love to watch characters be in love with each other and be stupid or snarky about it. And I usually OTP when I do ship; one particular pairing seems so true and right to me that the thought of any other pairing with those characters just boggles me. But when it comes right down to it, I've only got a handful of real OTPs to speak of: Willow/Tara, Grissom/Sara, CJ/Danny, Josh/Donna, Dr. Cox/Jordan, maybe a few more.
But there's one that came before all the others, the more I reflect. Not just chronologically--though there's that too--but conceptually. It's the stick against which I measure all OTPs, judging if they are worthy of my attention. It's my Platonic ideal of OTP-hood.
It's a story you all know, I think. It began totally by accident, orchestrated by forces that had no idea what they were unleashing. Neither of them knew then that meeting would change their lives forever. The memories of it are fleeting. A pair of wire-framed glasses on a baby face. A grown-out haircut aiming towards adulthood and failing. The crunch of dry leaves and pine needles underfoot. A nice trip to the forest.
It took a long time to grow from there. A friendship, first, tried-and-true. Starting as one among many, then it became just them, hiding out together because something was going on and they were all they needed. Stepping up when it mattered. Believing in the same things. Comfort in times of need. Laying awake in a chaste bed, staring across the pillow, thinking I cannot believe she is this beautiful.
They have been through hell and back. Cancer, sneaking up in the night, coming closer closer closer and then disappearing like smoke. Siblings lost in the struggle. Parents pushed away when the pressure became too much. Through this all, they were constant to each other, devoted, the hand hovering over the small of the back, I will not let you fall.
It took a moment of crisis to finally push the words out. A heated confession when death hung on the horizon, hovering, checking its watch and waiting for the moment to strike. An acceptance with an air of shock, a falling into each other's arms, quick moments of passion stolen away from the eyes of authority.
Their love was one played out across hospital beds, with whispers into cell phones tucked neatly under chins, on endless miles of road with tires rolling beneath them. Talking, talking, talking all the time, you'd think they'd run out of words, but they don't, they can't, because there is always something new to say, always a new way to end up laughing at each other. Eyes communicating across silent rooms, the arch of an eyebrow a semaphore of humor and love. The subtle touch of hands, hidden away from public sight, bringing them together into a new world.
How does it end, you want to know? What brings these two to their denouement?
It's simple, actually. Reader, I married her.
What? You thought I was talking about someone else?
Happy birthday, Leigh. I'd pick you over Dana Scully any day.
But there's one that came before all the others, the more I reflect. Not just chronologically--though there's that too--but conceptually. It's the stick against which I measure all OTPs, judging if they are worthy of my attention. It's my Platonic ideal of OTP-hood.
It's a story you all know, I think. It began totally by accident, orchestrated by forces that had no idea what they were unleashing. Neither of them knew then that meeting would change their lives forever. The memories of it are fleeting. A pair of wire-framed glasses on a baby face. A grown-out haircut aiming towards adulthood and failing. The crunch of dry leaves and pine needles underfoot. A nice trip to the forest.
It took a long time to grow from there. A friendship, first, tried-and-true. Starting as one among many, then it became just them, hiding out together because something was going on and they were all they needed. Stepping up when it mattered. Believing in the same things. Comfort in times of need. Laying awake in a chaste bed, staring across the pillow, thinking I cannot believe she is this beautiful.
They have been through hell and back. Cancer, sneaking up in the night, coming closer closer closer and then disappearing like smoke. Siblings lost in the struggle. Parents pushed away when the pressure became too much. Through this all, they were constant to each other, devoted, the hand hovering over the small of the back, I will not let you fall.
It took a moment of crisis to finally push the words out. A heated confession when death hung on the horizon, hovering, checking its watch and waiting for the moment to strike. An acceptance with an air of shock, a falling into each other's arms, quick moments of passion stolen away from the eyes of authority.
Their love was one played out across hospital beds, with whispers into cell phones tucked neatly under chins, on endless miles of road with tires rolling beneath them. Talking, talking, talking all the time, you'd think they'd run out of words, but they don't, they can't, because there is always something new to say, always a new way to end up laughing at each other. Eyes communicating across silent rooms, the arch of an eyebrow a semaphore of humor and love. The subtle touch of hands, hidden away from public sight, bringing them together into a new world.
How does it end, you want to know? What brings these two to their denouement?
It's simple, actually. Reader, I married her.
What? You thought I was talking about someone else?
Happy birthday, Leigh. I'd pick you over Dana Scully any day.