#also simultaneously feeling like i have to manage everyone else's shit but also that i'm not doing ANYTHING well enough

[forsakenwitchery]

It's been a long time since I've really ranted about something on here but like.

HOTD is just… On another level of bad? At some point this season, I got so tired of getting angry with the writing I just straight up started laughing at almost every single scene. I managed to find a sliver of enjoyment in the shitshow what S2 turned out to be. Not anymore.

Small costest backstage at the end because I felt like looking at myself smiling after writing all this down lol

Having seen some and read about some E8 leaks I'm just… I guess I'm checking out. What they've done to the Greens and specifically Aemond this season is Merlin's 'Morgana suddenly full evil' level of shit writing. And I can't handle yet another favorite nuanced character of mine being stripped of any nuance by the shit writers. But at least with Morgana there was a lot of her, and with Aemond it's 2 minutes of peak character assassination per episode and it isn't cutting it.

I feel so bad for Ewan and the rest of the Green actors who gave it their all - and in some scenes you can clearly see Ewan giving his all trying to fight the shitty writing, but there's only so much an actor can do with a script so bad.

Like when in ep. 5 everyone kept referring to Aemond as if he's suddenly Satan incarnate (Alicent, Daemon ahhh pretty sure there was someone else this episode ‘cause I remember three characters) I knew they decided to flip the switch with Aemond suddenly going full caricature villain (and yeah he was no saint BUT LIKE BBQ-ING HIS BRO?) with no proper buildup for it but HOLY SHIT I didn’t think it would be ‘blink and he’s full on sociopathic villain’. And the way they really did try and hammer that point home with him yanking Helaena now is just… Fucking wild. But like, he wasn’t wrong with dismissing Alicent who turned out to be the biggest traitor on TG this season (RIP S1 Alicent). He’s not wrong in saying they need Dreamfyre. But the show sure did go about him technically not being wrong yet showing it in the worst way possible very... head-on and with lacking any nuance. It truly feels like Condal & Co just couldn’t handle how popular Aemond became in S1 and gave him as little screen time as possible while simultaneously trying to make him as unsympathetic and suddenly 180 as possible. Which just doesn’t work without the proper buildup if you stop to think for even one second.

Then we’ve got Alicent who drilled it into her sons’ heads they’ll be dead unless they fight Rhae and now she’s also 180 and doesn’t understand why they want to fight and turns out to be the biggest traitor basically surrendering her children, the city and her brother to the woman whose husband killed her grandchild. The fuck did S1 Alicent go? Can we see her? Is she in the room with us? You know, the one jumping Rhae with the knife for Aemond? By all means, she and Aemond should have had a dynamic akin to Cersei and Joffrey’s if they were dead-set on making Aemond pretty much THE (only) villain in the show (which should have been about everyone being a criminal lmao). But like… We came to THIS? THE FUCK. THE FUUUUCK. Like imagine for one second Cersei pretty much throwing her kids to their enemies. This is. I don’t know which level of bad writing is this. We’re so far past the rock bottom at this point, the bottom doesn’t exist, the depths this season has reached don’t even have a proper name.

Then we’ve got Helaena. All season I’ve been waiting to see more of her. All season. And I waited. And waited. Her being the Dreamer sounded cool on paper. And they just ended up using her as a device to show ‘Aemond bad’ again? And HELP DAEMON? And like... to spoil the end of the story for those unfamiliar? THE FUUUUUUUUUUUCK. THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

Like damn, I knew they were baiting us with the promo and I knew it would be OOC for her to want to fight but at the same time I was kinda hoping at least she’d want to? Like she’s sane in the show. Her son was beheaded in front of her eyes. I kept hoping this show would have at least ONE female character actually willing to fight, but no. The balcony scene was good. But in spite, not thanks to what the writers clearly meant for this scene to be. Phia and Ewan really did give this scene their all and try to add nuance where they just once again tried to write Aemond off as a dick.

I haven’t seen the Aegon scene but apparently, they tried to make him look dumb again? And since there’s no rush to vacate KL in the show, why the hell didn’t he try to at least take his daughter with him? Like we get it, show, you hate the Greens and therefore all the Greens hate each other apparently (not buying it no matter how much you’re selling it tho), so him not bothering with Helaena is like okaaaay suuuure (not), but HIS KID? He was the hightlight of the first part of this season, and now we're... back at it again. Yay.

Also tbh I hated Daemyra as a concept in S1 as a ship but I LOVED their dynamic if it makes sense. It was truly interesting and both characters really shone in their shared scenes, so when Rhae’s arc this season started to feel like Groundhog Day I really missed Daemyra since at least their push and pull with Daemon made her feel more alive and interesting idk. But like. Their reunion scene looks like a grand meh? Daemon looks like he cares. Rhae came off to me like she doesn’t give a single fuck about him. Rhae in general was one of my fave characters in S1 and now it’s just. Huh? Them trying to saintify her absolutely ruined the character for me, she’s just so bland now which with her amount of screen time just… Doesn’t make for a very compelling show.

So. Yep. Those are my thoughts and feelings. tbh I don’t even know when I became so attached to the Greens. Like maybe it was in spite of the show trying to ruin and ignore them. Sort of like when you start rooting for the underdogs. But now I just feel really hollow and drained and sad for the actors. On both teams tbh, ‘cause like… What even is the point of this show anymore? There’s no war. Aemond is the only one who’s willing to wage it and the show villainizes him for it. Even in ep. 8 Rhae still says she doesn’t wanna fight the war. What did we spend 8 episodes, then, on aside from some character assassinations?

What’s the point if you don’t really feel anything towards most of the characters? Not even anger or apathy? ‘Cause like, I couldn’t care less when Rhaenys died. I’m sure when Jace kicks the bucket it would be the same. If the characters themselves can’t be bothered (where’s the aftermath for Blood and Cheese ffs?), why and HOW the hell should the viewers care? I’m sure they’ll find a way to make even Helaena’s death as meaningless as possible with giving her zero agenda in the matter.

I truly don’t think I’ll be watching S3. I don’t think I have it in me to witness how they screw up the Greens even more than they already did. It’s not even fun anymore how dumb the show is, it’s just draining. Motivations and relationships changing 180 between episodes or even during them (sometimes even during scenes), major events not phasing anyone and having no consequences. Characters the show chose as THE main characters living in Groundhog Day with nothing to do. We’re supposed to just believe the characters are suddenly completely different than they were weeks/months ago in show’s time just because the show says so. HOW ABOUT NO?

I’m only holding out hope for Daeron but at this point? I’m sure he’ll have a total o 1-2 minutes of screen time each episode as well and they’ll ruin him somehow, too. Still funny though how him and Aemond are both 16 which I’m sure is just another writing plot hole but on the off chance it isn’t… The only cool and redeemable thing the show can do at this point in my eyes is make Daeron and Aemond twins. You know, at the very least to give Ewan the screen time he deserves AND give him some better material to work with. But ah well.

At this point I’m choosing to more or less ignore everything that’s happened in S2, ‘cause the sure itself sure as hell ignored 2/3 of it, so why can’t I. Honestly, I want to do a full Helaena and Aemond cosplay, not a costest, if not for any other reason than to freaking forget S2 ever happend and maybe do some scenes which should have been in it, shippery or not. tbh I wasn't even shipping Helaemond until I saw Ewan and Phia's interviews about them and I was SO HYPED. And Tom's interviews. I was so hyped for siblings interecting in general and I feel like both the actors and the audience were done dirty in the worst way possible.

Also also the last thing I want to say is that it's super sad to see viewers turning on Aemond because it's so clear that's what the show wants everyone to do and neither Aemond nor Ewan deserve it. That's very telling of how badly he's written this season, he's not a villain you love to hate, he's just there for people to hate him. I hope at least Ewan doesn't get hate for his character, but we all know some people are braindead enough to project characters onto actors, so... :(

ALSO ALSO ALSO I don't really feel like fighting over this show because I don't think it deserves any more of my nerve cells, so should anyone decide to come at me for this post don't bother, I'll just reply with print screening this part. But it's kinda funny how tumblr seemed to have an actual war over this show when the show straight up refused to commit to anything.

To everyone who has read thus far – here, have some cute backstages from our costest. I’m sure we could all use a hug and a laugh. I know I could.

[user-rui]

Soulmate!Seme!Male!Reader x Soulmate!Uke!Male!Insert

(U/n) = Uke name

(Y/n) = Your name

This is a text that has you inserting yourself and another male of your choice. Put anyone you want maybe it'll work out (though I've written it with male x male in mind). Also cross posted on Ao3 right here.

Soulmate AU: There are a few different versions but the one I'm doing is where an hour before the new year a red string will appear on two soulmates' pinkies (if one's soulmate is not born or dead, it will not appear). The string will disappear once it turns to the new year. Might experiment with other versions in the future. Enjoy~

-(Y/n)'s POV-

Hi! My name is (Y/n) (Seme last name) and I'm one of your average members of society. Nothing too special about me, just working my ass off to pay bills... like everyone else. This year is the 14th year I've been trying to find my soulmate. Yeah, I know. I've managed to miss my soulmate for 14 years. Whoever my destined partner is is gonna murder me once I find them. Honestly, after missing them for the fourth year, I kinda gave up and just took up the fact that I would be forever alone.

All of my friends had found theirs within the first or second year. But this lonely feeling in my heart kept on growing and growing and I really couldn't bear it anymore. I've earned enough money to live relatively well for the rest of my life, but money isn't going to get me a partner. Which is why I'm out at 12:46 right now, desperately following a glowing red string to wherever it'll take me. 

I turned a sharp corner and stopped myself just in time before rushing out onto the busy streets. "Holy shit, how much further?" I growled, looking down at my watch as I waited for the street light to change. 11:57... I'm gonna miss it again... I thought as I started to dash again. "5! 4! 3! 2! 1!" Fucking- "Happy new year!!"

Fireworks were set off as I turned a corner, praying that the string wouldn't fade away. But I was still too late, the once glowing red string faded into nothingness. I was too busy watching it to notice another person turning the corner as well. "Ow!" He and I yelp simultaneously. Rubbing my head, I looked up, wincing slightly to see what I had bumped into. Coincidentally, the other person also looked up and we made eye contact. His (uke eye colour) eyes are beautiful… 

A worried (and angelic, might I add) tone suddenly broke my train of thought. "Are you okay?" he asked, sticking out his hand so I could grab it. "Hm? Oh yeah, I'm fine. How about you?" I answered, taking his hand and pulling myself up. "No major injuries," he chirped, releasing my hand and dusting a bit more snow off of his legs. "Just a bit wet."

We went to a nearby hotel (cause they have laundry service there) and got a room. While our clothes took their sweet time getting clean, the male, who's name I learned is (U/n), and I talked a bit about the situation from before. He said that ever since he was born, there had been a red string every year and he was desperately trying to find his soulmate.

"That's quite some courage. What are you going to do if you can't find your soulmate?" His (uke eye colour) orbs had a hint of question as he thought about it. When he answered, he said: "As long as the string is there, I’ll make sure I find them!" I chuckled at his enthusiasm and got up to check on the washed and dried clothes. "You'll definitely find your soulmate before I do."

Another year has passed and it was about time single pringles would run around the streets trying to find their other half. I had been working out, along with (U/n) who decided that we should keep in contact. I was ready for this annual run, and I was determined to reach the finish line this time. (U/n) said he wanted to try a different neighbourhood and wanted to test his luck there, so I drove him there and dropped him off.

I found a crowded plaza close to him and parked my car, waiting for this ghost of a red string to appear once again. I dozed off thinking about what my significant other could look like. It would be nice if they had (uke hair colour) locks and stunning (uke eye colour) orbs... whoever it is could also have (uke skin tone) skin and be (shorter, taller, about the same height) as/then me...

I felt a rush of wind go past me as I see others running about the plaza, following what I see as nothing. I looked down and saw my own red string and snapped out of my thought. "Oh fuck, precious seconds I'm never getting back..." I cursed as I joined the crowd, running. Wind rushed through my sweat filled hair as I ran around the streets following the thin red string as it took me to... the neighbourhood I dropped (U/n) off at?!

"Damn it... if I knew they’d be here I would've stayed with (U/n)... What a waste of time..." I muttered, following the string, winding up and down the long roads to find (U/n) being harassed by a group of shady looking people.

"Come on! Just give in already! Your soulmate doesn't want you anymore so just stay with us! We'll make you feel so good!" 

I rushed over and punched the bitches in their ugly ass faces and snatched (U/n) back from them. "Fuck off! He has a soulmate and it definitely isn't any of you!" Those very shady people must've seen my angry expression cause it didn't take them three seconds before they were running for their lives. After scaring them off, I looked down at (U/n), who was currently holding the sleeve of my jacket. “Did they hurt you anywhere?” I worriedly asked.  "N-no... (Y/n), look at your- I mean our hands..."

I looked down and finally saw what I've been wanting to see for at at least a decade. The end of my red string was attached to none other than (U/n), who was admiring our hands like an art sculpture in a museum. His (uke eye colour) eyes were sparkling in the night, as he mumbled, "so maybe it was fate that we bumped into each oth- Mph?!"

I grabbed his face and hastily connected it with mine, just as fireworks fired off signaling the end of another year. Except this year would be the start of an everlasting relationship, bound together by lovely red strings of fate.

[thoughtsofthegirlwiththecurl]

Fic Rec Friday

This week's theme: Rec a fic that starts with the same letter as your username (or, if you like, a part of your username) The rules: Tag a fic that starts with the same letter as your username and describe why it's so good / how it has a hold on you. Then tag some people to see what everyone else is reading. Spread the love! Also, she'll do the round up on Sunday, so if you're still recc-ing on Saturday, no pressure! Please tag @welcometololaland or tag #fic rec friday so she can compile the masterlist.

thanks for the tag @cricketnationrise

Check Please

Theatre Building, Dec. 6 by @cricketnationrise; Ford my absolute beloved! She's my favorite! And theatre! And like I'm fully biased because this was my prompt but it's so *chef's kiss*

There Have Been Five Kisses by @cricketnationrise; nurseydex 5+1 kisses, need I say more? nope you've already clicked through

Red, White, and Royal Blue

The Royal Wedding Stylist Breaks Down Prince Henry & Duke Alex Claremont-Diaz's Looks by th0ughts; are you sensing a pattern and the pattern is that I'm a former costumer rolling around in any theatre/costume adjacent fics? You'd be correct. This technically breaks the rule I set for myself of not allowing fics that start with "The" but I love it so much??? Do yourself a favor and read the whole series. Exactly what it says on the tin.

Stranger Things

takes a village by alchemystique; It's Buckingham, it's background Steddie, it's a modern AU, Chrissy has a really cute and precocious 4-year-old, it's all the found family feels, it's a treat

took you for a working boy by pukner; pukner manages to simultaneously write the most profoundly moving and gut-busting hysterical fics. Also anytime anyone says "you can't make that character trans" I read 5 more fics where the author makes a character trans. I'm fueled by spite and you're only making me more powerful.

Good Omens

Take My Hand, Take My Whole Life Too by @thebibliosphere; Have we all read it and loved it already? Don't care, still lovely, and with season 2 of the show coming up, well worth a revisit. Joy has a Pratchettesque style to begin with, which just makes it even better.

Star Wars (sequel trilogy)

Tomorrow (there'll be more of us) by dirmircharmer; someone on here was recently complaining that the movies didn't do enough with Finn defecting and the ways that could have led other Stormtroppers to as well. This fills that gap; also check out all the related fic at the bottom of it for more.

MCU

take it or leave it by kellifer_fic; The year was two thousand and a number I shan't say so I don't have to confront the passage of time. Everything was great, I still had faith in humanity, the MCU had not yet completely shit the bed and absolutely exhausted my patience. This is Clint x Darcy, which is not everyone's cup of tea, but mostly it's a very funny story about superheros attempting to lay low as normal people and mostly being pretty bad at it.

i'm tagging: @vhenadahls @appalamutte @starthecozy @dancemakestheworldgoround @zimmerdouche

[sunfoxfic]

about the “recognizing stereotypes is actually what’s racist” thing NO BC THAT TAKE HAS BEEN SO AGGRAVATING TO ME FOR SO LONG.

without going into the eight page long essay about how passionately i feel about this, all i have to say is how important it is to recognize stereotypes in media in order to accurately understand what’s wrong with them and criticize the media we consume in our everyday lives.

if you just Watch Media without recognizing the problems the stereotypes represent, you just end up internalizing them. to better describe what i mean, its just like the problem with anime and misogyny. you see it happen again and again and again and again, and eventually your brain (since it learns from patterns and familiarity) starts to expect that women and feminine-presenting people are in those roles and Only those roles.

go into it with a mindset of “oh these stereotypes are okay, i cant think about it or else im the bad one” and suddenly theyre just like the people on tiktok who just throw around buzz words without any critical thought behind it.

okay thats all, thank u for coming to my summarized ted talk

Anon, you're so valid. It was such a bizarre take and unlike anything I've personally run into before. It's like?? It almost treats coding as though it's a retroactive association with *insert group here* rather than an intentional insinuation. Coding in and of itself is a neutral thing - plenty of coding is used for good, plenty of coding is used for bad. Sometimes it's really hard to tell the difference between subtext and coding, too (and subtext is also in and of itself neutral).

When you frame coding, and in particular racist sorts of coding, as a retroactive association, it turns it into a no-win situation - the person who points out the coding is the one creating the association, and therefore is the one who is bigoted.

In my eyes, when you're calling out bigoted stereotypes via coding, the "best" outcome is for the creator to have been thoughtlessly replicating bigoted media. We'll never know if she-who-shall-not-be-named was doing it intentionally or unintentionally at first (it being anything you can think of, there are more than a few examples) but clearly her reaction to being called out is to dig her heels in the ground, so considering the "best" outcome is kinda moot in this particular case.

But yeah, you're really spot on with the thing about stereotypes. Because even if you can recognize that the stereotype is wrong while simultaneously keeping your mouth shut about it in fear of someone thinking you're the one who's doing the coding, you're the one who's bigoted - even if you can manage that, you're letting these ideas perpetuate to someone who doesn't know.

My politics recently have shifted to the ideology that "what works > what is ideal." I'm not interested in debating whether the person who knew it was wrong and said nothing is more innocent than the person who wasn't educated on the matter and adopted the ideas without critical skills to challenge them. I'm not interested in debating whether the latter was a victim, whether the former is part of the problem. Ideals are great when applied inwardly but nothing trumps results when trying to change the world - and it is true, great is the enemy of good.

In an ideal world, everyone could just agree to stop this sort of bigoted coding in works and then we don't have to worry about whether it's retroactive or not. We don't live in an ideal world. The actual way that it works is that, regardless of innocence and morality, change depends on Person 1 calling shit out so Person 2 doesn't fall into it. Is that sort of act an act of social justice, or just what a good citizen does? Should people get credit for it?

Man, fuck if I know. People in three hundred years won't be studying me in their textbooks either way because I don't want them to, but where we are now, people are dying and the climate is changing, so I really prioritize making a world where they have trees to make into textbooks and a history that's written not only by the victors, but the good guys.

[221bshrlocked]

Hey if you're taking requests I'd love a Javier pena fic where you have adrenaline filled sex after a near death experience

Man, I'm not taking requests at the moment...but this made me feel things. Things that I rather enjoy meditating on. Things I like humoring...enjoy. Also, anon...this came out much different than I thought it would be so if you don’t like this, let me know and I can write a part two.

Warnings: semi-public sex (they’re in a car), rough handling and fingering, dirty-talk, affectionate degradation, very very slight over-stimulation, and after-care.

You should have expected that it wouldn't be a clean in-and-out kind of bust. In fact, you should have known that these nights were never easy. But like every one else, you put too much trust in everyone and assumed that they were going to follow the plan down to the line. You wish you could say you had a slither of a chance but everything went to shit the second you got there. You could tell that something was not right, and when you looked at your partners, you realized they sensed the same feeling as well.

You weren’t a religious person, not by a longshot. But you couldn’t deny the fact that it was a fucking miracle no one was seriously injured in the shoot-out. Hell, how you and Javier managed to get out of that cornered room was unbelievable. You would call it ‘divine intervention’ but as you sat there in the car, with Javi seething in anger and slamming the steering wheel from time to time while he yelled at you, it was clear he didn’t think it so.

No. He was, as always, telling you that you were lucky he followed you to the second floor because if he hadn’t, you would have been dead. And as much as you wanted to tell him that he was just exaggerating, you knew he was right.

Cocky bastard.

Then again, he would have reacted the same way whether or not your life was in danger. The man made it clear to everyone in the fucking office that you wouldn’t be up for the job. You were offended in the beginning when they told you what they had planned, not because you were meant to go into the warehouse along with the other girls the cartel paid for, but because it proved that none of them would ever see you as anything other than a piece of meat. No matter how many years of experience you had over them, they still looked at you as a sex object. You were going to give them a piece of your mind then, but when you saw the way Javier reacted and how he constantly tried to convince them that you’d fuck up the job, you felt hurt.

When you took this job on Murphy’s recommendation, he had told you that Javier was different, that he would always have your back and support you whenever you needed it. You should have known then that he was the same as any other asshole you met in the field. So, as much as you were against the plan because of how reckless it sounded, you went along with it anyway. And when Javier tried to convince you otherwise, you waited until he finished what he had to say before flicking him off and telling him to mind his own business.

“Are you even listening to a word I’m saying?” You flinch away from the window and turn around to face Javier. He’s looking at you like he wants to simultaneously hug you and punch you in the face. The silence that follows his growled question is deafening, and you don’t realize that you’re back at your place until you he shakes his head before unlocking the door for you.

“Get the fuck out,” the calm tone of his voice is more terrifying than when he was yelling, but you don’t dare move from your spot. You’re not sure if it’s shock over what could have happened or acceptance over the fact that you may never be good enough for the job. The longer you stare at Javi, the more you realize that it may not be either of those two things but something else. Something worse.

“Where are you going?” It’s the last thing you want to ask but you wanted to make sure that he wasn’t going to do anything stupid.

“Back to the embassy, where else would I go at this hour?” He’s still not looking at you, and when your heart finally stops attempting to beat out of your chest, you slowly feel a spirit of anger fall over you.

“I don’t know, maybe back to whatever cunt you’ll find the next intel in!” You wish you can regret the snarky comment as soon as it’s out, but as Javier slowly turns around to look at you, eyes almost lighting on fire and jaw clenching so hard, you don’t bother to apologize. It’s unfair to call him out on whatever habits he has, especially when said habits help out pretty much every day. But you don’t care about any of that right now. You care about pissing him off, and from the looks of it, it seems like you managed to get the job done.

The leather of the steering wheel whines underneath Javier’s grasp, but you don’t back down and continue to hold his gaze. When his nose flares a little and his chest begins to rise and fall a little rapidly, you smile at him in victory, knowing that you managed to do to him what he’s been doing to you ever since you got the job.

You expect the man to lash out, perhaps walk out of the car and get to the embassy on foot. You even expect him to maybe yell at you or call you a bitch for pushing your nose into his business. But like everything with Javi, he does the unexpected.

Before you can even ask him what he’s doing, Javi lets go of the wheel and throws himself at you. Your mind is too slow to catch up with what he’s doing so you don’t even try to get out of his grasp. The man may have had some anger management issues, but you knew that he’d never hurt you. He wouldn’t.

But then he grabs the back of your neck with one hand and you can’t help but think of how good it would feel if he did hurt you a little. Fuck, that would feel so good. The pornographic moan that fills the tense air of the car lets Javi know exactly what you’re thinking. You barely manage to look into his eyes, and when you do, you’re met with an even more aggressive touch sliding up your bare thighs. As much as you want to push him off of you, to call him a pig for thinking that he had the right to touch you, you don’t. In fact, you do the opposite. Not breaking eye contact once, you reach for the arm laying across your legs and dig your nails into his skin. The hiss that follows sends a shiver down your spine, and it’s then that you notice just how drenched you are.

Javi narrows his eyes at you to study your body language, and when he sees how docile and submissive you are to his touches, he lets out a quiet laugh as he shoves his hand against your cunt. As soon as he makes contact with your heat, he swears beneath his breath before leaning further in to your space. You want nothing more than to kiss him but the hold he has on your neck prevents you from doing anything. When he tightens his grasp and pushes your face the other way, you try to rub your thighs together but his hand gets in the way.

“If you wanted to be one of the whores I fuck sweetheart, why didn’t you just ask?” The menacing tone of his voice as he whispers in your ears and licks just below your earrings makes you melt against him but you remember how you got to this moment and you decide to push him just a little further.

“What makes you think I want your sorry excuse of a dick Peña?” You gulp nervously when his fingers press harder against your clit and as you prepare yourself for whatever answer he’s about to give you, you can’t help but wish that he would get a little rougher with you.

Your prayers are answered immediately.

Javi doesn’t let up once as he forces you to look at him so he could watch your every expression and when he sees that he has your undivided attention, he smiles down at you as he takes hold of the edge of your panties and rips them away from your body. The sound of ripping fabric makes you jump and you try to look down to see if he really just did that but Javi slithers his fingers into your hair and tugs harshly on it until you accept that you’re at his mercy.

You can tell that he’s enjoying the effect he has on you when he looks down at your heaving chest and sees your nipples pushing against the thin fabric of the dress. You don’t like the patience this man has but you don’t bother to try and ask him to just fuck you already, knowing that he might leave you high and dry if you told him what to do.

“Because sweetheart,” Javi breaks the silence after too long, and you feel your lungs give out when his fingers tease your wet heat. You instantly look at his lips when he wets them, and the action doesn’t go unnoticed by Javi. You hope that he’s as affected by this as you are, but you don’t try to look down at his jeans, knowing that he might get irritated if you looked anywhere else but his face. 

He must sense that he’s losing your attention because all of a sudden, you feel two thick fingers slowly inch into your slit and curl deliciously against your tight walls. The force of his actions drives you mad with lust and you unintentionally squeeze his forearm as he begins to move his digits in and out of you.

“You’re letting me fuck your sweet little cunt with my fingers...in my car of all places. And you’re not asking me to stop. So be a good cockdumb whore for me, and let me show you just how good I can make you feel.” His words make you clench around his fingers, earning a smile along with a few expletives from his pretty lips.

“Hmm? You want me to fuck you bebecita? You want me to show you what you’ve been missing out on? Come on hermosa, don’t get all shy on me now. You always have something to say to me, what’s gotten you all quiet?” You know what he’s trying to do and you hate that he’s succeeding. When you try to respond to him Javier parts his lips and shushes you as he picks up the pace. He’s knuckles deep in your cunt, and you know for a fact that people are still walking around in the neighborhood, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when he was about to make you cum.

“Y-you’re all bark and no...oh fuck- fuck...please- Javi please!” You don’t get to finish what you’re saying and as Javi continues his assault on your drenched pussy, it occurs to you that he might be the only guy you’ve ever fucked that was about to make you cum this quickly, this easily.

“What? I’m all bark and no bite? Baby...you have some balls talking back to me when I’m can literally feel your heartbeat from how deep I’m inside you. If you want me to bite, just ask. I’m a giving man querida, I’ll make you cum anytime you want. You just have to ask. Be a good little doll and ask.” He’s growling those words against your cheek at this point and no matter how hard you’re trying to pretend that you can still get some control back, you give up.

In the end, it’s the feel of his lips against the corner of your mouth that undoes you, but before you cum around his fingers, you force yourself to finally look into his eyes and listen to him.

“Javi please...can I cum?” Your question is barely louder than a whisper but you recognize the second your words lands on his ears. You expect him to respond immediately but when he trails his eyes down your body and sees how willing and open you are for him, he can’t help but drag this out a little more.

“I gotta say baby, I was planning on leaving you like this. All messy and sweaty and fucking beautiful. Don’t like it when you talk back to me, even though it makes me rock hard. But you asked so nicely sweetheart, you begged so prettily...and I think you- deserve- this.” He pronounces each word with a harsh thrust of his fingers into you, and as you try to apologize for talking back to him, Javi snarls in defeat and launches himself at you.

The force of his kiss is unlike anything you’ve ever felt, and you can’t help but let it take you over the edge as he claims every inch of you. It’s all too much but not quite enough, and you let him take whatever he pleases. His tongue, his hands, his eyes. You let me rule over your muscles as he stretches out your pleasure as much as possible. There’s a vague whisper in your mind telling you that you really shouldn’t be doing this in public, but you don’t have the will to listen to it. Not when he was making you cum this hard with only his fingers.

Javi growls and moans into the kiss, sneaking his tongue into your mouth as aggressively as he was doing with his fingers. You’re not sure how much more your body can take, but you trust Javi to know when he should stop. You’ve never felt such pleasure in your life before and you hate how he lived up to every single expectation you had of him, exceeded your dreams even.

You don’t realize you’re sobbing and shaking until Javi’s ministrations slow down. He breaks the kiss to give you some respite, but he doesn’t move away completely. As he rests his forehead against your own, he whispers assurances that manage to bring you back down from that impossible high. When he sees that you’re almost back to your senses, he removes his hands from between your thighs and lowers down your dress. The hold you have on his arm begins to loosen and Javi takes the chance to slither his palm away from you and up to your face.

You should be disgusted by what he does next but the affections behind the action don’t go ignored. Waiting until you can finally look into his eyes, Javi smiles softly at you as he wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. You can smell yourself on his hand but say nothing, knowing that the moment has completely shifted from before.

As much as Javi wants to point out the mess you made of his car seat, he says nothing and instead parks the car where he always does. You say nothing to him, expecting him to ask you to leave so he could go to the embassy.

But if the night proved anything, it’s that Javier was filled with surprises.

Getting out the car, he makes his way around the vehicle and opens the door for you. You look at the hand outstretched towards you with confusion, and Javi looks around to make sure that no one was prying. When he sees that the street is as empty as it could be, he steps into your space and wraps his arms around your back and your thighs. You want to ask him what he’s doing but you can’t find the words, even the breath, to say anything. So instead, you swing your arms around him and nuzzle into his neck.

Javi kisses your forehead twice before he kicks the door shut, and immediately heads towards the door to your building. You shut your eyes and enjoy the sway of your body in his arms. You think that he might perhaps ask you to walk up the stairs with him, but he doesn’t and silently makes his way to his apartment.

How he had this much energy after everything that happened in the night you have no clue.

When you’re at his place, Javi manages to get out his key and unlocks his front door in record time. You want to ask him why he’s bringing you to his place but you quickly realize that you don’t want to hear the answer. Maybe it was a tit-for-tat kind of thing. Maybe he just wanted you to return the favor. You sigh into his chest when you think of how good it would feel to be at his mercy, in his own bed, smelling his sheets, sleeping in his arms.

But ever the gentleman, Javi lays you down in bed and whispers to you that he’ll be back in a second. You nod at him before you turn your head to scent his pillow.

Fuck, he smelled so good. How did he always smell so good?

He comes back a few minutes later with a glass of water and he puts it on the nightstand near your side before he slips out of his clothes. You prepare yourself for whatever the night holds for you.

Except when you look back at him, he’s getting in bed with you with his boxers...boxers that have a prominent tint right at his crotch.

“But you...don’t you-” You want to return the favor, you really do. You’ve only dreamt of his cock for months and months on end.

“No sweetheart, I just want you to get some rest.” His voice is soothing, loving even, unlike him at all. You look at him like he’s a completely different person, a look that Javier recognizes instantly. He smiles deeply at you as he tugs you closer to him until you’re resting your cheek on his chest.

“But I can-”

“Por favor, mi corazón. Get some rest.” The weight of his exclamation crashes on you like a brick wall but you say nothing else, choosing to relish in whatever this moment was because he might not be here when you wake up. He might not be so caring when you wake up.

“You- you won’t leave me...right Javi?” You hate how small and vulnerable your voice sounds right now but you have this feeling that this might be the only way he could understand just how much you need him.

“Never.”

[buck-yyyy]

mental illness/health is so goddamn awful, and i hate that i have to deal with it.

quick warning for a **at some points graphic** vent about some serious mental health stuff, so really- don't read this if you're at ALL sensitive to anything of the sort. i'll tag everything best as i can to make sure filtering works, but i don't have any guarantees. please do not read this if you aren't 1000% sure you can handle it.

so, for context, i experience depressive episodes. they usually last a month or two, sometimes three, and from what i've figured out they're spaced out similarly- about three to four months apart.

i don't have a diagnosis for any of this because i'm not really in a place right now where that's an option, but i know that what i'm experiencing is Not Right, nor is it in any way normal and healthy. i know that something is wrong with my brain, and the definition of a depressive episode fits what i experience the best, so that's what i'm going to call it. i have no idea if this is tied to some kind of other disorder, and to be honest, i'm not in the right mental space to be thinking about researching it- so i'm not going to think about it.

when i'm in an episode, not only am i. yk. depressed, but i also shift towards completely self destructive tendencies, i get horrible intrusive thoughts, i lose all energy and motivation, my social anxiety spikes 109827654321%, i sleep simultaneously way too much and not nearly enough, amongst a whole MULTITUDE of other shit.

i've learned that these things are tied to the episodes, and while they're still problems i have to deal with when i'm doing well, it's not nearly as bad- particularly with the self destructiveness. rather than being on my mind 24/7, it's more like. once or twice a week, the thoughts genuinely pass my mine.

right now, i'm doing good- i thought. i'm not actively depressed. but the self destructive tendencies are back, and i can't stop myself from following through on some of them. usually, though, when i'm in an episode, i feel guilty about it, and it's a horrible feeling that follows me all day. i don't anymore. and i don't know why.

and then it's spiraling into "well i don't feel depressed, i'm not at 100% and i'm not mentally healthy like everyone else, but again- i'm not depressed all the time. it comes and goes, and it's brought on by external factors- something that usually doesn't happen with a regular episode.

for clarification, the episodes VERY MUCH can be brought on by an external factor, and they can be made worse with stuff that's happening in my life. but they don't come and go so quickly like this. this is,,, sporadic, and impossible to track.

it's not sadness. i know what sadness is. i've experienced it recently. depression is so distinctly different from sadness.

but it's such an awful feeling, because i feel so invalid for the change in my experience. i keep telling myself, 'why are you doing this shit if you're not depressed?' because healthy people don't do what i do. but i can't stop.

the best example of this happened a couple weeks ago.

i watched the goldfinch. it was a horrible decision. i loved it- but it fucked up my head completely.

i. um. fuck.

the biggest problem i have is with making myself throw up. it's not a body image problem, that's not why i do it. the reason it started in the first place was because i didn't know a better way to get help, but it's fucking addicting. i finally stopped doing it when i started to get better, but the urge was still there, in the background, whenever something went wrong, or i didn't feel so good, or ANY kind of negative emotion. my brain would immediately jump to 'make yourself throw up.'

i was doing so good with it, managing the thoughts, until the goldfinch. two weeks ago.

even during the movie, i was doing good. i wanted to do it, so bad, because the content of the movie brought on the Bad Thoughts, but i kept telling myself that the instant gratification was not worth the pain and the guilt and the regret.

it was working- until it wasn't.

until boris made theo throw up the drugs he used to overdose.

something in me completely snapped, and i lost ALL resolve to hold myself back. i started gagging, even though i was still sitting on my bed, and then i put my fingers down my throat and everything i had so delicately built up for myself broke into pieces.

it wasn't very much, but it was enough.

it was all over my hands, and it got on the floor, and all i could do was sit and stare and think, think about how i just completely fucked up my progress and recovery and my life, because of a MOVIE. because of a goddamn movie.

i guess you would call it being triggered. god, it feels so weird to say that. i've always thought myself lucky to not have to use trigger warnings of any sort, but now i do, and yet i still can't heed the warning, because something in me refuses to believe that it's something i need to protect myself.

it's happened two more times since then.

it's so fucking confusing, because i'm not depressed, i'm not suicidal, i should be okay- but i'm clearly not. but if i'm not depressed, then why do i keep doing this to myself?

i've never told anyone these things. i sit in my bed and i turn off the lights and i daydream about telling people, about reaching out for help, but the fear and the shame and the guilt of being halfway-okay and halfway-broken outweighs the possibility of help.

i really do feel broken.

i'm sorry if you read all this. i need to put it somewhere, i need there to be a possibility that someone will see it, because i feel like i'm drowning if i keep it all to myself- but i can't bring myself to tell anyone in real life. not yet.

i'm sorry if i scared you. i don't want you to worry about me. i'm trying to get better, i really am. but i'm scared, and i'm lost, and i'm confused, and all i can ever ask myself is just.

why does it keep happening?

[batlingsstuff]

|| DREAM SMP HEADCANON|| Ranboo with Dementia

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

AYYY WHAT'S UP GUYS it's me :) i'm sorry this took so long to make, school is fxcking me over

okay okay now onto the headcanon

this will be pure angst, so be ready boys ;)

also, this is completely platonic.

insp: Everywhere at the End of Time - The Caretaker

TW/CW // anxiety, death, panic attacks, hallucinations, dementia

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

┌────── ⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────┐

GENDER NEUTRAL

└────── ⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────┘

✦ - STAGE ONE

at first everything was normal, you two were best friends and did basically everything together

he ocassionally forgot little things, like where he left his pickaxe and other stuff

it was harder for him to concentrate so you always were there for him to help him with everythimg, even just little things

and he appreciates it so much

then the behaviour changes, like suddenly getting more angry and/or impatient

and being more cheerful than usual

then the anxiety, he was always scared and one time he had a really bad panic attack

you were absolutely concerned about him and decided to take care of him

you never left his side

he always talked about how scared he was

and ranted for hours

until he forgot about his problems

✦ - STAGE TWO

everything stayed like that for two years, then he started forgetting major things, like people's names

one day you two went to visit your friend, jack manifold

he couldn't remember his name or who he was

you noticed there was something wrong with him, and decided to take him to several hospitals and clinics

after several check-ups you got the results

he was diagnosed with dementia

you cried for hours while he was sitting next to you patting your back, constantly asking why you were crying

he would ask the same question several times, making you cry harder

you moved in with him to make sure he was taking his meds

"why am i taking these, (y/n)?"

'for your own sake'

one day you took him to a walk around snowchester and he looked disorientated, not knowing what was that place

✦ - STAGE THREE

everything was worse, so much worse

he lost his memory book because he misplaced it somewhere, but you don't know where

he had trouble with speaking and stumbled with his words most of the time

tubbo, his platonical husband, came to visit every now and then to check up on ranboo

but ranboo forgot who was him

"your husband? haha oh no, i don't rem...ember getting engaged, i'm sorry."

"why are you crying?"

tubbo stopped visiting after that

he often had problem differentiating colours

one day he was so depressed that he couldn't get out of the bed for two days

after that, he seemed to have trouble recognizing you

'ranboo, it's me, your best friend (y/n)! don't you remember me ranboo? please remember.'

"i... don't know who you are... i'm sorry. i don't even r...ecall having a b-best friend."

you couldn't stop crying

your best friend was slowly losing his memories, and you couldn't do anything about it

i guess it's over, isn't it?

✦ - STAGE FOUR

his memory problems got so much worse, he forgot that water could actually damage him

he was curious about the rain, so he got out one day when it was raining and put out his hand to reach the droplets

he hissed in pain when the water damaged his skin and stormed back inside

hopefully you treated his wounds quickly and told him that it was better if he stayed in bed for now

while he was in bed and you were trying to get some rest besides him, he allucinated about a whole ass wave drowning him and he started to scream, like if he was in pain

you woke up due to the screaming and tried to calm him down, hugging him tightly and shushing him

he calmed down after a few minutes, sobbing loudly and returning the hug

he was scared, he didn't want to die

he couldn't talk at this point, every noise that came out of his mouth was incomprehensible, he was unable to communicate with others normally

you couldn't understand him, he couldn't understand you

your friendship was falling apart with the time

but afterall, you were there for him.

and that warmed his heart, even if he wasn't aware of that.

✦ - STAGE FIVE

he stayed up late multiple times, just watching you sleep or looking at the window, not able to think about anything

he felt like he was disconnecting from reality, like if his soul was slowly leaving his body

everything was foggy in his mind as he started to forget who was he, what was his name and occupation, who were his friends

who were his friends? is a question that he often asked himself

he looked at you one more time while he repeated that question simultaneously

"they're my friend."

he repeated that sentence several times, like if he was reassuring himself so he wouldn't forget that you were his friend.

he wrapped his arms around you while you slept, pulling you in a gentle hug

"thank you."

why was he thanking you? he felt like you were doing something important for him

but he couldn't remember what it was.

and that frustrated him, so he started sobbing uncontrollably

but he managed to calm himself down thanks to the relaxing sound of your heartbeat

he felt like he was dying slowly, but he didn't care about that

he had a friend who cared about him, and that's what matters to him.

✦ - STAGE SIX

ranboo was worse than ever, he forgot how to eat food properly and the basic movements of the mouth to do so

so you had to help him by gently moving his jaw up and down so he could munch the food

deep down his heart, he was thankful.

he didn't understand what was happening to him or who you were, but he knew that you were his friend.

he would randomly start crying, but it wasn't out of sadness

they were tears of joy

he was thankful that you were his friend

as no one else came to visit anymore

so he spend up his last years snuggling with you, always trying to remind himself that you were special.

and he loved you dearly, platonically speaking

✦ - STAGE SEVEN

ranboo couldn't even get out of bed as he forgot how to use his legs properly, not being able to walk

so you brought him food to his bedroom and started talking with him everyday and you didn't care anymore if he didn't answer you

you knew he wasn't able to speak anymore

you even stopped caring about your life, like work and friends

you wanted to spend every single minute with ranboo so he wouldn't be alone in his last days of life.

the days passed by slowly and one day everything ended abruptly.

ranboo forgot how to breathe, his body reacted roughly to the lack of oxygen and started moving his hand uncontrollably

you were beside him scared and paralyzed, watching how the life drained slowly from him

after what seemed to be like a few minutes, he stopped moving

he gasped loudly as he remembered everything; his name, his friends, his origins, his house, his cats, his crown, his husband, l'manberg, his memory book, you.

after that, he whispered his last words:

"(y/n)?"

and boom, he was gone.

gone from this world, forever.

you shaked him in horror, screaming his name multiple times as you cried.

your best friend was gone, and you couldn't do anything about it

so i guess this is it, huh?

✦ - AFTER RANBOO // BONUS

you hosted his funeral and everyone except dream was invited

everyone cried for him, they felt guilty as no one except you were there for him when he most needed it

tubbo was heartbroken, he was in denial and left the funeral early, probably gone to spend time with michael, his son

after that, everyone went home and you noticed that a strange book was lying in your house's entrance

you went to inspect what was it and noticed the book was dusty so you cleaned it to read what the title was

the title was 'DO NOT READ'', you recognized that book as ranboo's memory book

you gasped and stormed inside the house to read it

you sat on a couch and flipped the first page, reading carefully every single page and making sure you didn't skip anything

while you were reading, a small note was found in one of the pages and you started reading it, noticing that his handwriting was more messy than usual

it read: "Hello, if you're reading this then this is embarrassing. I wanted to write out my feelings in this small note because I was scared to talk out this with (Y/N). The thing is: I'm scared. I've been losing my memories and it's scary, I'm scared of forgetting who am I or who are my friends, I don't want to lose them. I know I promised Tubbo and Michael that I would protect them, but I'm not sure if I can keep that promise anymore. Tubbo if you're reading this, I'm sorry, for everything. Things seem to go downhill everytime I forget about things, even if they're just small things like forgetting where is my crown, and I'm scared that I will eventually forget who are my friends. I don't want to lose (Y/N), they're my best friend and I'm not ready to lose them yet. I know it sounds stupid but I just wanted to write about how I feel, goodbye forever Memory Book."

oh no, you were sobbing again.

"why didn't you tell me sooner, ranboo?"

"why?"

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

IT'S FINISHED, FINALLYYyyY Yy YY yes i love angst i love making people suffer

ANYWAYS thank you if you readed all of that shit, also big thanks to my friend moony for helping me with the grammar since i don't do english

moony if you're seeing this i love you /p

ANYWAYS THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT!! I REALLY APPRECIATE IT!!!!!!

[antarax]

𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

It's late at night when Damian makes a stop by your house with the intention to confess his feelings for you.

Damian Wayne x Black!Reader, gender neutral.

Words: 2,105

AN: Happy Valentine’s to all the beautiful black people in the fandom!! I dedicate this one to all of us, who rarely get any works that include us or are actually vague enough to. Hope you enjoy it 💞

It was a quiet, cold night in Gotham. Neon city lights blurred into your room as the muffled sounds of the videogame on the old TV kept you company, the blue hue of the fluorescent lights washing over your bedroom even through half-pulled curtains. 

The day had been a slow and uneventful one. For you, at least, after the hope of receiving someone's valentine had been completely blown off, the same energy manifesting itself in you as the night also dragged itself along. 

You almost jumped out of your skin at the sound of your window opening, having had no expectations of anything more for the day –that, and the fact that it was well into the night already. You saw Damian standing outside with his hand on the window sill, a bag in the other, Robin uniform dirty and tattered as his cape fluttered violently with the breeze. 

He seemed stuck in his place, as if he had been the one surprised, frowning like he hadn't expected you in your own room. 

The slight semblance of a smile grew on your face, "Well, come in," you said, pausing the game. 

It wasn't uncommon for Damian to stop by your building after a busy night, the moon shining beautifully in the sky and the clouds a beautiful swirl of the light as he came through your window expertly quiet. But, even then with the known comfortability and trust you two had managed to reach in your relationship, it also wasn't uncommon to feel like remnants of the younger, more insecure Damian still clung to him slightly. 

Slightly as in  heavily. 

You watched him as he moved into the small space and set down the bag on the floor, taking off his gloves and mask with the rough delicacy you associated with him. 

He stood as if he was tightly wound up, like perhaps he could breathe wrong, or whatever new, unspoken rule he'd created for himself plagued his mind now. 

It was a little funny. 

"I'm not going to eat you, you know?" 

Damian rolled his eyes, "I'm aware." 

"Doesn't look like it," You muttered, glancing down at the controller in your hands, "What's in the bag anyways?" 

"I— Things." 

You raised a brow. 

"Food, sweets. Drinks." 

"Really?" 

"Yes," Damian replied, sitting down and sagging against the wall underneath the windowsill, chest rising and falling slowly as he exhaled deeply. Damian grabbed the bag again, putting it down next to you, "They're yours." 

You set aside the controller and rummaged through the bag, the thoughts racing in your head. Damian knew you well and you him, your friendship spanning over a few years now. There had been a lot you'd trusted him with. Secrets, worries, embarrassing shit you'd done that still haunted you and Damian had been no different. He let you in on his bigger secret, how he carried the mantle of Robin every night. Some of his deepest remorses were ones that you had knowledge of; although never diving too deep in the murky waters of Damian’s life, you still valued the clear trust he had in you. 

And along all these moments, every opportunity you've had to know each other, slowly and softly peeling aside the layers covering the people you were, a warm intimacy rooted itself in your growing friendship. A comfortable sort of intimacy. 

Every once in a while you stopped by the manor on the quiet days where it was only Alfred and the animals. You helped Alfred in the kitchen whenever he was practicing for a new recipe or baking a dessert for the family later in the day. You spent hours with Damian in his room, where his cat Alfred would always curl up next to you on his bed as he worked on his art, walking around the manor or playing around with Titus and Batcow in the manor's backyard –which, really, was just an enormous open field that they were too humble to call so– and sometimes you'd even earn an invitation to dinner. 

As for you, Damian tended to visit at night more so than day, but there were moments where he would show up on a sunny afternoon when everyone else wasn't home, slumping down on your couch for an hour or two before going back to his own things. Sometimes he'd drop by books he'd seen at the library, a small trinket he'd bought at the store and various other paraphernalia that, somehow, you always ended up loving. 

Damian knew your taste well, and there was no doubt he'd spend countless amounts of time pondering over each of his gifts before they ever reached your hands. All things that while anyone else might have brushed over you appreciated immensely. 

"You know," you began as you leaned back into the foot of your bed, ripping off pieces from a napkin you'd taken out of the bag, buying time. Hesitating, "I actually— sort of, was hoping for a valentine this year." 

You gazed at Damian's eyes, your interest boring into them, digging as deep as you were allowed. They looked nervous, hilariously so. Almost like he'd been caught. But caught... doing what, exactly? 

Perhaps caught in the middle of staring back at you as he'd tend to do; how he'd tend to do and assumed you didn't notice. 

Or maybe caught when he would discreetly drop off something in your room or your locker after having seen it at the store or the cafeteria and knowing immediately you'd like it, always behind the guise of simple complacency. Caught, in his true intentions, what truly made him do all these otherwise insignificant things that were much too small even for somebody as detail-driven as Damian. 

Olive-colored eyes still shifted uncomfortably in front of you as the sole giveaway of the true nervousness Damian was drowning in, refusing to show anything more of himself, even when it mattered. 

Especially when it mattered. It was frustrating. 

"You were?" 

"Yeah," You shifted in your spot, "I was." 

No one could ever, ever know something about Damian that he didn't share. It's just not something you could do. Not when it came to him. Anybody who knew anything at all about who Damian Wayne is, at his core in existence, knows it only because he's allowed them to. 

And he'd allowed you to know this too, and yet now he was hesitating. 

"You wished to have... a valentine. Anyone?" 

"Anyone." 

"You could have, easily, if you wanted it," Damian rolled his eyes. 

"I could?" You smiled, and the twinkle in your eyes was nothing short of mischievous. 

"Yes." 

"Reeeally. How?" 

Damian slouched against the wall, "Well, you'd simply have to ask," he said it as if it had been an obvious fact, "I'm sure anyone at the academy would've said yes." 

Your smile widened as you raised your brows, "Oh?" 

Damian frowned, "You are making fun of me." 

"What do you mean? How." 

Damian crossed his arms as you laughed. 

"You think I'm making fun of you," you protested, "I'm not." 

"TT." 

"There's something you want to say, isn't there? Just spit it out, Damian." 

Damian's eyes lingered all over the room. His hands had started to sweat a while ago and by then, his heart had sped up so much he was sure it was making some attempt at breaking through and out of his chest. 

Originally, his plan had been to drop by and bring you a gift, but then he'd gotten nervous and internally malfunctioned, because he'd bought a double of everything so that you wouldn't assume it had been a gift and instead just him coming by to hang out like he always did. 

He had planned to come by, tell you he'd... harbored a few unwanted feelings towards you and hoped you would have been tired enough that you wouldn't have realized it, but clearly, his plan had flipped over backwards and blown up in his face. 

Damian took as deep a breath as possible with his collar putting him in a choke hold, as if trying to push out his words while simultaneously wanting to keep them buried the deepest he could. 

"I— hm," He stared intently at the floor, for the first time in a while feeling like the small child who would trip over his own emotions again, but he was resolved to tell you, "I like you. I suppose." 

It hadn't been surprising to Damian. More that it was hard to accept. He'd mulled over it for a long, long time. In fact, the reason he'd visited you tonight, made up his mind to tell you so, had been his ridiculously embarrassing performance. 

Being surprised by petty thieves and thrown out of the loop by measly codes, none of which happen, ever, not to him at least. Damian was far above such childish mistakes, at least so he thought until he started taking a closer look at his own thoughts and realized your eyes had gone from brown to 'beautiful pools of honey', your skin a beautiful, shining shade of brown. 

He was an artist, after all. He'd spent afternoons studying his environment, the shapes and colors, how everything fit in together; you were no stranger to his thoughts. 

Which of course, you wouldn't know. If you had, you would have taken the jump much earlier. You would have never acted based off of assumption alone, but having the confirmation, well. 

By now you had to contain your smile because surely, surely, your cheeks would be sore afterwards. 

"Wow," you raised your brows in obvious mocking, "Really?" 

Damian scrunched up his face in disgust, like he'd witnessed the most foul thing yet, crossing his arms tighter but refusing to meet your gaze as he turned to the wall. 

"You know, Damian." 

"Yes?" 

"The valentine I was hoping for this year… was yours. You could've easily made a card and thrown some glitter over it and that would be the end of that." 

"A card, with glitter?" Damian snapped his head at you, seeming almost bored as he spoke in a deadpan voice, "Is that how lowly you think of me?" 

At this you did laugh, almost too loudly for one in the morning, that you had to push both your hands against your mouth. 

Damian frowned, "Please do know that if I were to ever make something so miserable, it must be because I've been replaced. Which would not happen. Ever." 

You stood, shuffling over to Damian and sitting down next to him. 

He looked pretty underneath the moonlight coming through the window, the curls over his forehead looking soft and shiny. 

Damian looked right into your eyes, for the first time that night not looking away, he was trapped now. Not truly, he could leave, but did he want to? Not at all. 

Softly, Damian touched your hand, something perhaps akin to fear in his eyes as if he still expected rejection. 

"Damian?" 

"Hm?" 

"I'm going to kiss you." 

"Oh." 

"Unless you don’t want me to." 

"Please do. I mean—" 

It was a shy and quick kiss, but so, so exciting as Damian's grip tightened around your hand and you leaned into him. 

When you leaned away, it was with a mischievous glint in your eyes. 

"Please do—" 

Damian frowned again, clearly not amused. After a few seconds though, your laugh died out. Truth is, your stomach was churning. Because, while you were very much happy and excited, you were also incredibly nervous. 

Both of you were stitching your thoughts back together, seconds of silence passing by. You were still holding Damian's hand. 

He closed his eyes, frown deepening considerably and quickly before he spoke, vile spilling out of his mouth, "A card? With some glitter thrown over it?" 

He looked downright furious, disgusted even. 

"Seriously?" 

"It's not that big of a deal," You chuckled, "Get over it." 

"Hm." 

Damian looked out the window, and you followed, the moon standing beautifully in the middle of the sky. 

Damian sighed, "I have to go." 

"Oh... okay." 

He didn't move. Neither of you did. 

Damian gave you a quick kiss again, looking absolutely scandalized when he pulled back. You stared at each other in complete disbelief before he stood up and started putting his gloves on again. 

He pressed his hands onto the windowsill and took a deep breath.

Damian looked at you, tenderly, "Goodnight, Y/N." 

"Goodnight, Damian." You smiled. 

Damian gave you a small smile, "Hm." 

You watched as he jumped off, grappling to the nearest building and laughed when you saw him standing still before disappearing into the night. 

[mightbewriting]

So I came to W&H and B&E in an odd way. I'm a long time Dramione fic reader who like many of us doubled down on in 2020 to find comfort in a bananas year. I kept seeing W&H on everyone's rec list, but for whatever reason kept putting it off. Then I heard about the prequel and decided to wait for that to be finished, read it, then do W&H. But once it was finished, I saw you recommended W&H first so I was like okay I'll do that. I struggle with impulse control but am trying to do better so when I saw the audiobook for W&H I was like perfect, I'll listen rather than read that way I won't gobble it up in a day. Ha well that did not work, I listened to the first 3 chapters (at that time those were the only chapters they had recorded) then instantly ran not walked to A03, reread said chapters, then continued on. At Chapter 4 of W&H, I thought hmm maybe I'll read them simultaneously. I continued that way maybe through Chapter 13 of B&E and Chapter 7ish then fully committed to W&H first. I cannot imagine reading these fics in real time because reading them in full, back to back was the most intense glutenous binge and it's taken over my life in the best way. I have been living in your fictional universe for the past two weeks. I started a list of all the parallels and callbacks and eventually had to call it because they are innumerable. I'm awed. In literal awe. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Your writing - the individual words of your vast vocabulary, the way you string said words together into hilarious, heart breaking, heart stopping, beautiful, and visceral feelings is astounding. It's hard to explain but even good writers (and/or an intriguing plot) sometimes do not create an overall immersive feeling. But the feelings your words evoke are all encompassing and truly universe building. Like it's not just the wording or the plot or the charters but all of it together come to make something even greater than the sum of their parts. Your writing, your universe of W&H, S&S, and B&E live in my mind and heart and in an embarrassing amount of screenshots of passages on my phone and in voice memos to myself as I don't have anyone irl to fan girl with. When I think of your words and the world you built, I'm reminded of a Taylor Swift lyric: "it cut deep to know you, right to the bone". That is how I'd describe your writing's effect on me, but in the best way.

Your brain's capacity to plot, plan, and flawlessly deliver W&H THEN B&E? Idk how you kept all the threads and plot points and moments and timelines in check. My head aches just thinking about how you wrote these stand-alone but also inextricable works of art. Like how does one's brain function in such a level? And it's especially telling in B&E because we knew where we were going but I still gasped, screamed, squealed, giggled, had to put my phone down, clutched it to my heart, fist pumped, stopped half way through just for a minute to breath and take it all in, and overall looked and acted as an utter idiot during each and every chapter because while I knew where we were going I also had no idea! I'm just floored you managed to keep us at the edge of our seats with a prequel? Who does that? You do!

The texts in the final chapter of W&H devastated me, literal chills. I think about that daily. It's exactly what H and we needed. Just like a reminder of what they went through. It reminded me of Chapter 41 of B&E. Like a summary of where they had been and where they are now.

The other thing that rattled in my brain is the motifs of choice and time, life kind of boils down to those two things huh? But choice especially. It's funny because choice is so prominent but at the same time how W&H and B&E give off soulmate vibes even though this is not a soulmate fic (also are the rumors true...?!) because despite time turners, breakups, and lost memories, they always come back together. But more on choice: it's just as Draco says - in a million scenarios he'll always choose her and he feels lucky she chose him just once. But of course with W&H, she does it twice. And she does it in both timelines of B&E, and of course that's the problem when Draco realizes he has not done the same hence heartbreak 1.0. And just god - he wants her to have a choice with the potion, a choice with her memories, and stops the timey wimey madness by realizing he's taking her choice (and in a way H started it by taking away his choice and leaving the first time). And then those parts about how he chose her, she chose him, but they could not chose each other. This motif, these callbacks. I'm flabbergasted. It's just hitting me now that you extend the choice to us as readers - we get to choose whether H get her memories back or not.

Theo in all your Wait and Hope universe, but especially S&S broke me. Blaise asking who is taking care of Theo when he's taking care of everyone else? Theo's literal and figurative demons? Yikes. Those were unpleasant looks in the mirror for me. I'm glad Theo has his Blaise. Where's mine haha? Also just shout to your underrated Blaise. The fact that he might be my favorite of the Slytherians in your stories says a lot since he doesn't say a lot haha. But he packs such a punch in all your works.

Okay, after singing your well deserved praises and fan girling and marveling at your works (god this is so long, I'm so sorry!), at long last my ask. I still cannot get this out of my head: what did Theo mean in Chapter 1 of B&E when he suggests to Draco “I know that. Maybe you could—tell her some of—” some of what? I zeroed in on this as soon as I read it and it's been rattling in my brain ever since.

um. hi? holy shit. i dont know how to process this. i am resisting the impulse to cringe away from the level of praise happening here because i really need to learn how to take a compliment but oh my god? i am not...this is just...wowzers. you are very literally too kind to me. i have melted into a puddle of feelings in my reading chair here. 

so, first things first: thank you. these are some of the nicest things i’ve ever heard about my writing and i can guarantee i will come back to this ask when I'm feeling like i suck and need a motivation boost. i can’t deny...it feels really nice to know that at least one person out there caught and appreciated some of the insane attention to detail i forced upon myself lol. so thank you. truly, thank you so much for saying such amazingly kind things that have short circuited my brain!

and im sure my friends at @etl-echo-audiobooks will be over the moon to know that their recording work was such a hit! your trajectory reading these stories is so fun and hilarious and probably the most unique reading experience i’ve heard so far xD

also, please be advised that your analysis on choice in these stories is probably going to live in my head rent free for the rest of my life. i feel seen, you know? you just...picked up what i was putting down and it feels really nice to know that it worked for you! 

and ok. your question. that little dash of ambiguity i was planning on leaving open ended. but let it be known i can be plied with compliments. i can’t just *not* give you something in return for such a lovely and kind and thoughtful dose of joy you had absolutely no obligation to give me today. 

so, in my mind, after draco’s house arrest ended and before he went abroad for his mastery, he and theo had an extensive (most likely drunken. also blaise was probably there too) night of reflection where they kind of just looked back at their childhoods and the war and the history of blood purity and just sort of went: “what the fuck?” i imagine draco probably confided in theo that when he went abroad, he planned to just try and pretend like none of it mattered, to see if that was really true. and draco probably kept him updated via owl (even though draco did not write enough and theo had feelings about that) so that by the time draco returned and we have theo asking that sort of trailing question, the implication at the end is “what if you told granger some of your realizations about it all?” so...not all that exciting? but there you have it!

in conclusion: thank you! you are too kind! i appreciate your thoughtful commentary SO much! i’m so happy you enjoyed these stories. and i hope the explanation of what theo was going to say wasn’t too underwhelming.

[welllpthisishappening]

Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot

Honestly, Emma was less mad about the whole thing than she expected. Disappointed, that was the word. And everyone knew that disappointed was far worse than mad. 

Because being dateless on New Year’s Eve was one thing. Being dateless while pining over a roommate with a secret Match.com profile and apparent relationship-type desires that were the complete opposite of her was—

Disappointing, really. 

If Killian kissed anybody, she was going to drink an entire bottle of champagne by herself. 

-----

Rating: Teen, kissing, far too many Grinch references

Word Count: 9.2K

AN: Today is our last festive prompt! Or, at least one that’s a stand-alone story. Our said prompts come from @kmomof4​ who asked for “i don't wanna get up-- you're comfy."// "i'm cold. come closer." //"i love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.” And I got all three in. As always, I cannot thank you guys enough for clicking and reading and saying such nice things. Here’s to a 2021 that’s full of even more fic, satisfying TV storylines and lots of fictional characters making out. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

-----

“Shit.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Rolling her eyes over the top of the phone in her hand, Ruby didn’t look particularly amused at the distinct lack of enthusiasm in Emma’s voice. That was something of a theme. For like—the last thirty-six hours, but also the majority of their relationship, and none this should have come as a surprise, only she’d had a lot of wine in the last forty-six minutes, and it might have been catching up with her. Was definitely catching up with her. 

“How much did you pay for the garbage alcohol you’ve been shoving at me?” Emma asked archly, and she was only slightly worried about getting home. Her head felt muddled. Like there were too many thoughts, and this time of year always did that to her brain, and her consciousness, and at least eighty-two percent of this was Mary Margaret’s fault. 

For deciding that they were going to have a party. 

On New Year’s Eve. 

Like complete cliches. 

“I’ll have you know,” Ruby drawled, eyes dropping back to her phone and whatever noise it was making, “that I paid at least twelve dollars for—”

“—Lies,” Elsa yelled, and it was a testament their current situation that she’d raised her voice at all. Nothing like that ever happened, and the overall roll rate of Ruby’s eyes was going to give her a migraine. 

Her phone made another noise. 

“She’s lying to you,” Elsa added. “Straight to your face.”

She’d still be staring down a dateless New Year’s Eve, but—

Emma scrunched her nose. “What else is new?”

“Oh, I take offense to that,” Ruby cried, but she was almost too obviously distracted, and the inability of this conversation to be concise was starting to grate on Emma’s nerves. Or what remained of them. Maybe she was the Grinch.

No, that wasn’t right. The Grinch had an enlarged heart, which Emma certainly did not have — and that was nice and appropriately festive for the season, the Grinch, not her, and he had a dog. Emma didn’t have a dog. If she had a dog, there was no possible way she’d be annoyed as she was. 

Whatever, honestly. 

Her date, or lack thereof, was not important, and she was going to drink this entire bottle of Barefoot Moscato, price tag be damned, and then she was going to figure out some way to get home. Without falling over. 

Also, the Grinch didn’t have a roommate. Unless you counted the dog, and Emma didn’t think Max could conceivably hold so many titles in a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special, and she imagined the Grinch was also not pining after his dog slash roommate slash stand-in reindeer. That’d be weird. 

For a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special. 

She’d never seen the Jim Carey version. Or that other one with Benedict whatever-his-name-is.

Away from dating apps and wine that was very likely going to give her one hell of a headache, and Killian would at least make sure she was vaguely hydrated before she collapsed on some sort of horizontal surface. She wasn’t going to be picky about which one, honestly. 

“Why are there so many versions of the Grinch?”

Ruby didn’t look at her. Her eyebrows moved, though. Lifted ever so slightly into her hairline, and Elsa’s glance wasn’t exactly subtle, and Emma needed to go home. 

“Expand on that for me,” Ruby said, lips twisted as soon as she stopped talking. Something was wrong. Well, more wrong. In an alcohol-saturated sort of way that included all those previously discussed mobile dating apps. 

“There are so many Grinches,” Emma said. “You think that’s a commentary on society? Like as a whole? That we need to—”

“—Embrace the spirit of Christmas?”

“Because we as a general population are all assholes?”

“You’ve had too much wine.”

“Not a question,” Elsa mumbled, elbow bumping Emma’s shoulder when she perched on the edge of the sofa, and Ruby’s eyes were still doing that thing. Widening every now and then — a flash of understanding mixing in with surprise, and Emma wasn’t sure how many muscles were in a human thumb, but she figured all of Ruby’s were getting quite a workout, scrolling as quickly as they were. 

“If I have,” Emma muttered, “it is entirely Ruby’s fault. Who buys pink Moscato and expects their guests not to drink the whole bottle?”

“Seems to suggest you’re a guest, though,” Ruby said, “and that’s awfully prim and proper.”

Ruby couldn’t possibly be Cindy Lou Who in this metaphor. 

Emma couldn’t argue with that. Mostly because she’d drank so much of the pink Moscato. “Ok, ok, forget the wine for two seconds. And the Grinch. Why were you making proclamations before? They were very loud and—”

Nothing changed. The phone was still there — wobbling slightly because it seemed Ruby’s forearm strength was lacking just a bit, but the screen didn’t change, and Emma was certain this was somehow also Taylor Swift’s fault. For rerecording Love Story and letting Ryan Reynolds use it in that Match.com ad. 

“So…”

Although really that made it more Scooter whatever-his-last-name-was’s fault, for stealing all of Taylor Swift’s songs and being a noted and massive dick, and Emma’s inability to remember anyone’s last name was clearly something of a personality failing. 

“Thoughts?” Ruby pressed. 

At least twelve-thousand, but none of them seemed especially interested in being said out loud, and Emma’s tongue felt like it was simultaneously growing and dissolving in her mouth. None of it was particularly comfortable, what legitimately felt like cotton balls bursting out of her cheeks and making it difficult to breathe, and she should have lived in a cave. With her dog and the inexplicable set of antlers she owned to make that same dog look like a reindeer, and then she wouldn’t have to be staring at Killian Jones’ dating profile on goddamn Match.com eight days before a New Year’s Eve party she only marginally wanted to attend. 

“Don’t people just use Tinder now?” 

Emma’s voice did not sound like her own. Presumably because of the tongue thing and the cotton ball analogy, and she wondered if the Uber driver she was inevitably going to request would be especially annoyed by her desire to blast Taylor Swift in the backseat. 

She’d give them five stars. 

No matter what — because she wasn’t an asshole, but especially if they let Emma blast Taylor Swift in the backseat. 

Ruby rolled her eyes. “You’re very old; you know that?” 

Her face was very warm. 

“Buy me better wine.”

Emma had never gone into cardiac arrest before, but the sinking feeling in her chest was sudden and a little jarring and she tried very hard to swallow down the wad of emotion currently taking up residence in the middle of her throat. Didn’t work. 

“Only nine bucks, honestly?”

Failed spectacularly, quite honestly. 

“I don’t want to know,” she announced. “Whatever he put on there is his—”

“What Killian does or doesn’t do in the world of modern dating has nothing to do with me,” Emma said, only a little disappointed because she didn’t think people got multiple miracles in their lives and to having hers ensure her voice didn’t shake over those particular words in that particular order felt lame. 

“I don’t care.”

All things considered. 

Scrunching her nose, Ruby’s nod lacked a certain sense of honesty. “Sure, sure, sure, well—” She shrugged. “—He’s here. Being available. Presumably for New Year’s, and…”

Emma waited for the rest. All the reasons she’d heard before, and her friends were convinced. Something about inevitable, and happily ever after, but that second part was mostly Mary Margaret and it was likely easier to believe in the fairy tale when you were living it. 

Pessimism was also fairly lame. As far as defining traits went. 

“What are you—” Elsa started, but then she was moving and her teeth clicked exactly five times, as soon as she looked at the screen, and Emma was not capable of dealing with any of this. Watching her friends gape at her, Ruby’s phone still held loosely in her hand, and neither one of them objected when she finally managed to get to her feet. 

And the Uber driver didn’t offer to play any Taylor Swift, but Emma didn’t ask and she didn’t blast it in the backseat. 

So, that felt like a victory. Which she desperately needed — to counteract the state of her pancreas and half a dozen other internal organs when her thumb hovered over the button, and it took at least two minutes and twelve seconds for Match.com to download. 

She should have waited until she was on wifi. 

To say that Emma’s relationship with Killian Jones was complicated would be something of an understatement. And she wouldn’t use the word relationship. 

He was her friend. 

Her very good looking friend, with stupid eyes that regularly flashed at her like he was too aware of the mush-like state it sent her into, and he was friends with her brother, and once upon a time she’d briefly considered hating him, but that never really stuck and he made hot chocolate better than anyone she knew. Refused to use the prepackaged mix. Did something on the oven that Emma didn’t entirely understand, and never trusted herself to try on her own, and Killian was never late with his half of the rent. 

Or any of the utilities. 

Living together was a decision born of convenience and the extra room Killian had once Will moved out, but it also made a lot of sense and it was good. Really good. Would have been great if Emma wasn’t pining after him and his stupid eyes like some lovelorn idiot, but she had gotten almost impossibly good at rationalizing the whole thing in the last few years, and—

“Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted, slumped in the corner of the couch with her knees threatening to impale her chin and there must have been a record for frustrated cursing while staring at a roommate's dating profile. She’d definitely passed it, like, seven minutes ago. 

Scrolling down only led to scrolling back up, twisting her lower lip between her teeth while staring at photos and lists and options she was sure came from some AI or relationship-type algorithm and coming to terms with the end of the world was harder than she expected it to be.  

At least the end of her love life. 

Of which there wasn’t much to begin with, so it probably wasn’t very hard for the whole thing to topple over, but Emma was feeling especially melodramatic and they needed to buy some WD-40. For their very squeaky door. 

“Hey,” Killian said, shrugging out of his jacket and it was apparently snowing out. Flakes dusted his shoulder, clung to several strands of hair, and Emma couldn’t melt into the couch. They couldn’t afford to buy another one. “That can’t be good for your spine.”

Humming, Killian didn’t bother brushing the snow out of his hair before he walked forward, falling onto the other end of the couch and pulling Emma’s sock-covered feet into his lap. “Are they any cookies left?”

“I’m going to tell Mary Margaret you’re a cookie glutton and—”

Sixteen guys had messaged her already. 

“So I’ve heard. Whatcha you doing?”

Maybe that was a compliment. Emma didn’t think so, though. 

She couldn’t believe she had to make a profile. To stalk her roommate. And his interests. There were a lot of interests on Killian’s Match.com profile. 

Strictly speaking, she didn’t have much experience with shoulders and their proclivity to being rested on, but she liked to believe Killian’s was one of the more comfortable out there. Her head fit very well, at least. 

“Nothing.”

So as to avoid any lingering after-effects from its continued failure. 

“I’ve got twenty-seven bucks on him asking at the party,” Killian said, “but Locksley thinks he’s just going to lose any sense of self-control and blurt it out before, I just—”

Emma’s phone dinged. 

Again. Multiple times, in quick succession — and she should have turned off notifications for that stupid app, but she wasn’t really using it for its intended purpose and Killian was staring at her. With a look that made it all too clear he knew what was going on. 

That didn’t make her feel any better. 

“Ruby said she was thinking about bringing someone,” he muttered, “to, uh—to the thing. The New Year’s thing.”

The air shifted. Crackled with electricity Emma knew she was imagining, and want she was only barely managing to temper and if Will did propose to Belle on New Year’s Eve she refused to be held accountable for her emotional reaction. She’d totally cry. 

“Call it a thing again.”

Ruby would never let her hear the end of that.

Shaking his head brusquely, Killian’s grip tightened around Emma’s ankle. She had no idea he was holding her ankle — fingers wrapped all the way around the joint until the tips threatened to touch because apparently his fingers were that long, and she’d probably only obsess about that for like the next few years, or so. Which seemed reasonable. 

“Anyone good?” he asked, low and gruff and whatever was back in the middle of her throat did not appear intent on leaving any time soon. No matter how many times Emma swallowed. 

Or how often Killian’s eyes flickered. Towards her throat.

The idea never even crossed her mind, honestly. 

Flinching the way she did only guaranteed that Emma’s spine collided with the arm of their couch, but she was at least less inclined to melt and she supposed romantic beggars could not be choosers. “Yuh huh,” she said, “and you’re well acquainted with the noises and the reasons behind the noise?”

That probably wasn’t important. 

And just like that—it was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but at last fine adjacent, and something inching closer to normal, and Killian kissed her temple again before he stood up. 

“You’re avoiding my question.”

She didn’t pick up her phone until she went to bed, dragging every blanket they owned behind her down the hallway. 

On the ever-growing list of problems Emma had during a week when problems were supposed to be non-existent, Killian's Match.com profile had very easily cemented itself at the top of the list. 

It didn’t match — her, at least. Every single thing he was apparently looking for in some sort of potential life partner was the exact opposite of every single thing that made Emma her. Musical tastes were diametrically opposed, movies she’d never once seen him watch in the legitimate decades she’d known him were praised with the kind of adjectives even Robert Ebert would scoff at. The pictures were good, but Emma knew that was more a result of her attraction to her roommate than anything else, and he said he liked people who cooked. 

She couldn’t cook. 

She tried. 

Twenty-four hours after the weird couch incident, which was a name only Emma was using, she was sure, and the smoke alarm had gone off and—

This was Ruby’s fault. And Taylor Swift. Whose new album was very good, and made for perfect and consistent pining music. 

She was so disappointed she was positive she reeked with it.

“Cooking,” Emma said, like that was an explanation and not an excuse and she was definitely using too many of her personal miracles. “Nothing caught on fire!”

Lolling his head to the side, Killian leveled her with an exasperated expression. Brows pinched together and that shade of blue wasn’t quite as sharp, but was still somehow almost amused and she didn’t think the oven was supposed to make that noise. It was very loud. “Lack of flames is not a sign of success, love,” he said, “and it’s—ah, fuck.”

The smoke alarm was louder than the oven. 

Blasting through their apartment and, Emma was sure, through the entire building, the beep hit its rhythmic stride quickly, so she reacted like an adult to the whole situation by gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. Killian breezed by her, swinging open another squeaky door and fumbling through what sounded like several dozen boxes and he cursed. More than once.

Emma nodded. 

Emma cracked open one eye. “We do, I—”

Their neighbors must hate them. Rightfully so. 

“We definitely own a broom,” she promised, “we’re not savages. We clean.”

Graham was probably very nice.

“Was there a reason for that?”

Emma swallowed. Still didn’t help. 

“Swan.”

“Alright,” Killian said softly, “c’mere.”

Saying that what happened next happened quicker than Emma expected it to, also suggested that Emma expected it to happen at all, which was one of the bigger lies she’d told in the last week or so, and she was really growing a metric shit ton of lies, so that was especially impressive and she yelped very loudly. As soon as hands gripped her hips, lifting her off the floor and directing her underneath the questionably loud smoke detector. 

“This could wake the dead,” she proclaimed, shouting the words because if they were going to descend into total farce, then she was really going to lean into it.

Killian’s head fell to her stomach. If she died right there, she hoped he didn’t drop her. Although, she’d also be dead, so—she probably wouldn’t notice. 

“Just turn it off, love.”

She hated all that music. 

“See,” he grunted, “that makes it sound like we don’t have a broom, and—” Adjusting her, one of her legs twisted around his, something Emma was going to claim as instinct and not that same want that was another one of her more defining characteristics, and he definitely exhaled. Loudly. And directly into her t-shirt. “—Swan, I really need you to fix this, love.”

Using his shoulder as leverage, and keeping her leg exactly where it was, she still had to stretch her arm out and it took far more movement than either one of them could apparently handle silently for her to press the button that fixed everything. 

Despised The Godfather, on some sort of fundamental level and Kay deserved better than Michael Corleone, even if that version of Al Pacino was almost kind of attractive, but—

Relatively speaking, at least. 

He didn’t lift his head immediately. Or drop her. That probably wasn’t a metaphor. 

Emma’s metaphors regularly sucked, anyway. 

“Pizza or Chinese?”

Chuckling into her stomach, Killian’s laugh warmed her from the inside out and kept the goosebumps there and she’d kind of forgotten he was shirtless. Idiot bastard, that was her.

Graham Humbert had owned more plaid shirts than anyone Emma had ever seen. 

“Order extra egg rolls, and I’m in,” Killian said, finally working her back to the ground and they didn’t move. They stood there. Staring at each other, and conducting more inventory, and Emma could only imagine the penance she’d have to do for keeping her stomach in its correct spot. 

“Deal.”

“She’s in love with him.”

“Which part?” Ruby asked. “How in love Emma is with Jones or whether or not we were acknowledging his shitty dating profile?” 

“Doesn’t have to,” Elsa muttered over the top of her half-empty glass. “It basically broadcasts out of her.”

They took the batteries out of the smoke detector a day later. 

“Either or, I guess.”

Not the safest thing they’d ever done, but Emma kept trying to cook and failing spectacularly and she was certain the people at the Chinese restaurant fourteen blocks away knew their order based solely on the sound of her voice when she called. 

“Does this have a name?”

Slumped as she was over the edge of the bar, Emma barely noticed the lift in Killian’s eyebrows, but that also might have been her tendency to be preoccupied with his mouth and he was smiling at her. Wide. Meaningful—ly. 

Distractingly. 

At some point that afternoon, she’d decided she needed to respond to Graham’s messages. Or, well—keep responding. There’d been some conversation, what might have been construed as flirting if Emma’s thumbs didn’t keep cramping up while they flew across her phone’s keyboard, but that definitely wasn’t a sign either, and the overall lightness in her body was likely a direct result of whatever blue-colored alcoholic concoction Killian had put in front of her forty-seven minutes before. There were gummy—things floating in it. 

Or there had been. 

She’d eaten them. 

Her mouth felt a little numb. 

“What do you think we should call it?”

Propping her chin on her hand made Emma wobble a bit, Killian’s lips twitching again. Idiot bastard asshole. Poor Graham. She was a jerk. And his eyes were getting brighter. 

Killian’s. Not Graham’s. 

She had no idea what Graham’s eyes did. 

“Are you serving me unnamed alcohol?” Emma asked, and she was sure she did not slur her words the way it sounded. 

He shrugged. 

Good thing the holiday season was nearly over. 

And Will’s reaction was far too loud, tossing a towel over his back before he draped himself across Killian’s back, hooking his own chin over that slightly lifted shoulder. “He’s showing off, Em. That’s all it is. Are you going to die, though?”

At the bar. 

“Your tongue is blue.”

Four seats away from Leroy the regular. 

“Don’t move so quickly, Swan,” Killian said, a hand finding her cheek and that was fine. Totally fine. Great, even. Super—

Califragilisticexpialidocious. 

So, she was more drunk than she’d been. Like, ever. 

“Your fault,” she mumbled. Burrowing further into his palm was not an option Emma had, so naturally that’s exactly what she did and Will made another noise. “Something to add, Scar—” Emma paused, lifting an impatient finger when both men in front of her dared to laugh. “—Let, you jerky jerkface.”

“You will find out whenever else does, kid,” Will guaranteed. “And there were at least four different types of rum in that swill he gave you.”

That would have annoyed Belle.

Humming, Will untwisted his limbs from Killian, a different hand finding her cheek and the strands of hair that were hanging over her eyes and she scowled when he tapped her chin. “Trying to impress you,” Will repeated intently.

“Is he—” Emma’s brain couldn’t keep up. Thoughts rushed through her, firing synapses that were only passably functional, and the lights from the jukebox across the room were starting to float in her vision. Pressing her fingers into her cheek, Emma knew the skin there moved, but she also could not feel a single thing and—“You’re laughing at me.”

Her head hurt. Ached, even through the haze she’d only recently evolved into, and Emma hated bowling. Was absolutely God awful at it. The kind of awful that required bumpers whenever they’d gone, and they used to go when they were kids. On New Year’s Eve afternoon, some tradition that Ruth had come up with and David honored, even after he and Mary Margaret had segued into happily ever after, and Emma could count on one hand how many times she’d crested the 100-point mark. 

“I am,” he said, “but you’re also sloshed, so I’m willing to give you a pass. And no.”

She felt oddly similar now. 

Playing a game she wasn’t very good at, with more gutter balls than any self-respecting adult should record. Eight pounds of cylindrical force kept rolling through her, threatening anything in its path, but not hitting what it was supposed to, and she also could have eaten an entire tub of bowling alley snacks right now. 

“Why are fries better in a bowling alley? Like, better than anywhere else.” 

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Better than Shake Shack?”

Blinking continued to be one of Emma’s less impressive reactions, but she was stuck on that bowling ball metaphor and Killian’s arm around her shoulders made it impossible to talk. 

“‘S’totally different.”

“You ready, love?”

“We’re leaving, love,” Killian said, and there was at least part of her that was smart enough to pick on repeat endearments. And then promptly cling to them. In her swollen heart. 

“For?”

“Make sure you brush your tongue too tonight, Em,” Will advised, “otherwise that blue is going to stick.”

Saluting left her more off-balance than she’d been all night, laughter echoing behind them as Killian pulled the door shut and he’d ordered them a car. Emma honestly had no idea how they got in said car, but then they were moving and she was only slightly dizzy and he—

He made another noise, slumping next to her, which made it even easier for Emma to touch as much of him as possible and he didn’t object. She didn’t think he would. Ever, actually. 

“Smell really good.”

God, poor Graham. 

She was the worst. 

David played hockey when he was a kid. 

“Not as such, no,” Killian said, “just thinking we might be able to add something new and—” His shoulder shifted under her cheek, Emma’s soft hum of disapproval making him smile. She still didn’t check. “—Not that we haven’t been making money, but...people gotta have a schtick.”

No sound. Nothing except engines, and there could only be one engine in a car, Emma was fairly positive, so that didn’t really make sense and Killian stared ahead when she tilted her head up. “Sometimes,” Killian admitted softly, “but, uh—like I said, just trying to get something that might help us a little more and weddings are expensive, y’know?”

“Whatever,” Emma groaned, “just—I’m saying it’s a good bar.”

Thinking about melting as often as she was, was starting to become patently ridiculous. 

“You’re trying to come up with ridiculous bachelorette party drinks—”

With such God awful interests in the opposite sex. 

Emma rapped her knuckles against his chest. “To help pay for Scarlet’s wedding?”

The world was a joke. Happy Holidays. 

“You’re not getting ready with Lucas or Elsa or anything tomorrow, are you?”

Huh. No grand slam, then. 

Of all the questions she definitely wasn’t prepared for, that was at the bottom of the list. Emma was not actually making any of these lists. “This isn’t prom.”

Being hungover on New Year’s Eve was one of the crueler jokes the universe had played on her in the last week or so. 

“Yeah, ok,” she said, letting her head drop back to his shoulder and Emma wasn’t sure why it sounded like he exhaled. In something almost like relief. Eyes fluttering the way they were, she must have imagined it, another ridiculous metaphor and even dumber analogy and her groan was especially pitiful when the car stopped. No way her stomach was going to stay where it was supposed to for the rest of the night.

All of Emma hurt, muscles she hadn’t been aware she was in possession of seemingly rising up in revolt of her very existence, and she couldn’t really turn her head. Which endlessly delighted Ruby in a way that was making her reconsider their friendship, and Killian kept glancing in their direction. His arm bumped Emma’s no less than twenty-four times in the car over. 

And for as much as she wanted to crawl under several mountains of blankets and consider all her romantic shortcomings, something in the back of Emma’s mind preened a bit under his flitting gaze, trying not to meet his eyes too often. Only to fail every time — if Ruby’s laughter was any indication, and Will had groaned several times, but he also didn’t appear to be engaged yet and Emma had apologized to Graham that afternoon. 

Through text, though. So it only kind of counted. She wasn’t even sure parts of the messages were English. Her head felt like it was going to snap open, which made the champagne she was practically shotgunning at that point a very bad decision, but she’d been on a roll on that front, so she had no intention of altering course and it was nearly midnight.

“This is depressing,” Ruby announced. “He’s staring again.”

Rolling her eyes was an impossibility if Emma didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself in front of her brother and some of the teachers from Mary Margaret’s school, and Ruby’s date was nice. Had a lot of pictures of her dog on her phone, but nice all the same.

More blinking. Honestly, she was a mess. The teachers kept hogging space on the couch. Killian smiled when he looked at Emma, that time. “Elaborate on that.”

“Are you the dumbest person alive?”

“No, this is just our general opinion of you. Both of you, really. I—are you not almost painfully aware of how in love Killian is with you? Em, he is staring at you. Like, right now. Blatantly. Obviously. Some other adverb.”

“We live together.”

Wide eyes and an impressively straight row of teeth were all the warning Emma got before there was a hand on her shoulder and he smelled just as good as she was hopeful she hadn’t mentioned last night, but that felt like wishful thinking and Emma did not, in fact, eject any bodily fluids when Killian turned her. Victories, she was flush with them. 

“I’m so bad at cooking.”

“Hey,” she breathed, and Ruby groaned so loudly it likely did damage to the ozone layer. 

Frozen to the spot, she tried very hard to regulate her breathing and fix her pulse, and neither thing worked. And then. Something clicked — almost audibly in her brain, and her soul and her heart’s potential for explosion was suddenly something she had to worry about. 

Killian’s lips twitched. “You got a second?”

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Killian murmured. She barely heard him. Not when there were fingers tracing up her side and lingering on the small of her back, and Emma’s head moved her head as slowly as she could. 

If she moved any faster, she’d either fall over or wake up from this very lucid dream and neither of those things were all that positive. 

“Cooking, it’s—I love you a lot, but you are absolutely atrocious at it.”

“You’ve got to stop cooking, love.”

The world stopped. Paused, at least. Gave Emma’s muddled mind a second to catch up, and she’d need several more seconds, but she also wasn’t quite that greedy and Killian’s smile widened. As soon as her fingers curled into his shirt. 

He didn’t move his hands. 

“I—” she stammered. “I am...but we don’t match!”

“What is happening right now?” Emma breathed, only cautiously optimistic she wanted the answer. 

A chorus of angry jeers rained down on them — Will using Robin to keep himself upright while he flipped Killian off with both hands. “Pining piner who pines like a goddamn idiot.”

“Well, I’m fairly in love with you. To an almost ridiculous degree.”

“I do appreciate the cooking effort though,” he added. “But it’s a very old profile, made almost entirely by Scarlet in—”

“I honestly forgot it existed,” Killian continued, “I’ve never used it, really. Just knew that Scarlet had made the thing, and then I ignored the messages and—”

As it was, her fingers were already tight enough that Emma very easily pulled herself up and the hand at her waist helped keep her balanced and they were very good at this. Kissing, specifically. Heads tilted automatically to an angle that made it all too easy for Emma to open her mouth, and Killian’s tongue was even more distracting when it was brushing hers, and someone was groaning, but that might have been her, or possibly him and his hair was soft. Between her fingers. 

“Not as many as you did.”

Breathing was suddenly a secondary concern, and Emma’s lungs had already proved they were basically made of steel, or at least impervious to the flames currently exploding between her ribs and none of that was biologically accurate. 

She never did find out where her pancreas was. 

And she was so busy dealing with the way the solar system appeared to be reordering itself around the pair of them, that Emma didn’t notice the countdown or the metallic crown tossed at her feet. Only that there were eventually cheers and Ryan Seacrest’s face plastered across the TV on the other side of the room, and one of Killian’s hands had worked underneath her shirt. 

The sparkly one that had made his eyes noticeably widen several hours earlier. 

“How did you figure it out?”

[xhanisai]

Hey there been a few days. Did the money thing get sorted yet? In any case for your consideration: Kiss AU Reflekdoll episode. (I'm a sucker for Lady Noire). But seeing as they have to kiss to transform you might have to get creative as to why they swapped.

Yo! I’ve managed to successfully pay my rent thanks to everyone’s support (everyone pretty much saved my life here cos my scholarship money has been cut almost by half loooool) 

I’ve answered about how they kiss in this ask ---> (x) So, before sure to check everything in the Kiss AU tag on my blog in case you have questions that are already answered (That goes to everyone else too!) But anyways, let’s get to it~

- So we start off with Juleka wanting to model Marinette’s designs, Luka giving her some good ol brotherly encouragement and clipping her hair to the side so that we can finally see her beautiful face~~~~

- Adrien has already been decided to model for Marinette’s site; it’s not the first time he’s done it and certainly isn’t the last. They’re looking for someone to model as a female counterpart to emphasise that the designs are unisex. Adrien has suggested numerous times for Marinette to do so but she keeps shying out.

“But you’re so beautiful and your designs would look so cute on you! Come on Marinette~”

“No-ooo, we need someone taller, someone with a chic style, someone who would look level with you,”

“No one else looks better with me than you,”

“Pfft. Flirt.”

“I’m being serious. I’ll even ask the other girls for their opinions and I can guarantee that they’d all agree with me.”

“DON’TYOUDARE-”

- That’s when Juleka appears with her new hairdo, asking so shyly if she can model. Everyone else just melts and gives her a huge hug- Adrien included. He and Marinette could model another time but he’s super happy that Juleka is trying to come out of her comfort zone. 

- In Marinette’s room where everyone is setting everything up, Juleka not only freezes up and has a panic attack, she faints on the spot because she’s so overwhelmed. When she comes to, everyone’s apologising to her, trying their best to help her out.

- Juleka feels shitty and thinks she’s ruined everything so she takes a break downstairs, changed back into her original clothes. Rose comes down and talks with her. We get some really cute Julerose moments here~~ (those two are also definitely dating hue~~) 

- Meanwhile, the girls finally convinced Marinette to dress up in Jules’ place since Adrien really needs to head out soon (was it fencing practise? I don’t remember). 

- Both Tikki and Plagg warn them about taking off the miraculouses but they get brushed off. (Same as canon basically).

- Adrien totally sees her checking him out and combusting on the spot. Being the lil shit he is, he wraps an arm around her shoulder, asking “What did you say just now?” in the most innocent tone possible. Marinette gets revenge by replying back with “I said that you’re lucky that everyone else is here otherwise I’d have kissed you till you passed out cos you’re so unbelievably hot. Satisfied?!” Adrien turns into a puddle of happiness and shyness. 

- Although there was some professional shots, the girls made Marinette and Adrien do some romantic poses as well for the sake of it. We have Adrien dipping Marinette in one whilst there’s another where she’s holding him bridal style. Rose left earlier on to join them whilst Juleka brooded alone in Marinette’s room (even though she told Rose to leave).

- Boom! She gets akumatised by both Mayura and Le Papillon.

- When Marinette and Adrien realises that an akuma has surfaced, they hide away together to avoid getting hit. 

- They quickly kiss to transform only to open their eyes in shock when they see that it hasn’t worked. They try again plenty of times before they realise that they don’t have their miraculouses with them.

“Why- Mm!- Isn’t- Hnn!- It- M- WORKING!?” Marinette growled out after the umpteenth kiss, fingers digging into her partner’s shoulders whilst his were on her waist. The chaotic duo tried to catch their breath, panting and confused. 

“Have we leveled up or something? Do we need to use more tongue? Is there any other-” Adrien was halted when he spotted Marinette’s brows furrowing. She quickly picked up his hand, eyes widening at the lack of the ring and then immediately shot her hands to her ears. 

“Our miraculouses are still in your bodyguard’s car along with Tikki and Plagg...” Both of their skins paled before simultaneously rushing towards the vehicle, trying their utmost best to avoid the blasts.

- Unfortunately, not only do they get seperated, they get turned into Reflecktor clones. However, as per canon, they get approached by the opposite kwamis and immediately transform in order to find the other.

- Mister Bug finds Lady Noire in amidst the battle field, catching her eye so that she can follow him. 

- They get that cute, spiderman kiss, with Mister Bug dangling upside down and Lady Noire playing along. As a result, they feel more of their powers rushing in which promptly causes Buggaboy to fall down in a slump. (they don’t notice Alya who’s transformed as another Reflektor clone, taking a few pics).

- We get lots of banter, clumsy teamwork and many close calls. The duo agrees on instead of trying to be LIKE each other in the suit, they should follow their instincts. Marinette manages that with ease but it takes a while for Adrien to follow suite. He does so in the nick of time.

- Plus, with a few clues from Lady Noire, Mister Bug manages to work out his Lucky Charm and the duo saves the day.

“Always told you that you’d make a great kitten, My Lady~” Mister Bug coos, kissing the tip of his partner’s braid with a wink. She in turn playfully rolled her eyes, flicking his chest.

“Though I do miss your bell, you look lovely in spots,” She winked back, laughing at the way the boy swooned. “What is with the extra padding though? Trying to achieve that superhero abs look?” She knocked on his chest playfully.

“Padding? But they’re real.” 

“W-What?”

“If you don’t believe me, I can always strip for you?” 

“NO THANKS!” The boy only cocked his head to the side innocently as his counterpart babbled incoherently. 

- The girls regroup with Mari and Adrien, Juleka apologising to them all for getting akumatised. Everyone is quick to assure that it’s not her fault and that they can do the shoot again so that Juleka can model. 

- With a few puppy eyes to Gorilla, the bodyguard let them go.

- We get a cute Julerose kiss towards the end in a picture with everyone else cheering in the background~

Hope you enjoyed!

[nemirutami]

I'm a huge fan of your work, and seeing that piece for hackers memory reminded me I still need to play that game. I had a lot of fun with cyber sleuth but I was worried there wouldn't be enough new content to keep me interested. How would you rate hackers memory compared to cyber sleuth?

Thank you for the kind words!

Alright, full disclosure, I have a lot of opinions, so I apologize in advance.

I did not enjoy cybersleuth past chapter 10 when Nokia [insert spoiler here] and ever since then, I always felt like we (as protagonist) were secondary to the plot. Which would have been fine, had Nokia gotten fucking development within cybersleuth to take over as protagonist instead of us. On top of getting no development to [insert spoiler], she’s extremely irritating, which didn’t make me like the fact she was considered more important to the plot at all. She even talks to you as if you’re her sidekick and let me tell you, this shit can be cute because DRV3 managed to do it in a way where the character (Kaito) is earnestly trying to help the protagonist (Shuichi) develop past his anxiety and fears. But that’s not what they did here. It didn’t work. It just felt like Nokia was putting us down, regardless of how “uppity” and “positive” she was trying to phrase it. Sidenote: I also absolutely detested how she treated Agumon and Gabumon so lmao when chapter 10 dropped I had no fucking idea WHY because imo they should’ve hated her. 

We never SAW how she got into the position she got in (Ch10). It felt absolutely hamfisted and undeserved. Kind of like a “oh yeah, it’d be cool if this happened now” shit. Then, to top it all off, the protag magically breaks the rules Suedou sets before them, basically slamming a middle finger at the screen saying “you thought this would make sense? no, we need to hamfist a happy ending sort of kind of maybe, it’s all very unclear WE DONT KNOW”. Honest, I completed all quests and side quests, got max hacker rank, entire field guide, I did everything to cover every last bit of the game, and I’m still sour on the turnout and the payoff because the game so clearly didn’t give a fuck about its own rules since it constantly broke them and failed to foreshadow Kuremi entirely. I enjoyed a bunch of the sidequests more than the main plot of the game, and to be fair, I believe I also remember the sidequests better than the main plot and this should absolutely not be the case.

That being said.

Hackers Memory does not fuck around, and I say that in the best way possible.

It presents you as secondary in the big scheme of things at the very start, (in regards to the original cybersleuth ending, because the story takes place at the very same time events are happening in cybersleuth) but it makes you a protagonist of your own story, and this is truly where the game shines. 

It really makes it all about you- as Keisuke- as an individual, from the very start to the very end. It feels more like a journey of a specific protagonist with a fixed personality, and if the original had done this instead of give us a more flat character, I think I would have enjoyed the game more. I couldn’t stop playing this game the moment I got it, and easily beat it in about 4 or 3 days because I was so invested. Hell, in Cybersleuth, I never gave a fuck to collect all medals, and I decided to actually do it for this game just because I adored every last aspect of it? I did gacha in this videogame for 8 hours that gave me absolutely nothing in return, this is how you know I’m serious about the quality of a game- I waste time in it doing POINTLESS SHIT and I still have fun.

I went in expecting to be secondary, but the plot absolutely knew how to shine the spotlight on this protagonist (Keisuke) flawlessly and draw out his best characteristics. Cybersleuth protag is a clean slate at best, but Keisuke has a variety of very unique responses even without giving you the option to respond. He reacts very fixed to certain events, giving you a general feel of what he’s actually like, which is different from the signature way Cybersleuth Protag simply cocks their head a little or does the “:o” face when someone says something surprising. Keisuke has a lot more expressions, and you can easily tell what the characters are feeling (once you get to know them) just by their expressions alone. There’s a scene at the very start of Hacker’s memory where Yu (Protag’s best friend) and Keisuke share 4 silent “...” dialogue boxes with only a small variety in expression. 

At my first playthrough, I had NO CLUE what this meant. I assumed it was all an awkward silence (since it’s quite literally at the start of the game) but after knowing exactly every little aspect of their personalities- that entire scene bears a different meaning. I could TELL what both of them wanted to say, and what they wanted to convey without actually having to use words. That might be because what facinated me most about Hacker’s memory was exactly Yu and Keisuke’s friendship. What’s great here though isn’t just the fact that this happens with Keisuke and Yu. It happens with every character. I replayed, noticing the quirks early on, and knowing the backstory- was aware of why they were acting the way they were. I knew of the secrets, I knew of the motivations, and honestly, I think Hacker’s memory only gets better a clean run right after you beat it. Yes I... I’m being serious. I replayed it the very second I completed it. This might also tell you something of how invested I am, and how big of a change this was to experience in contrast to the original cybersleuth which left me glaring at the ceiling angrily begging for the plot to make some lick of sense. And unlike cybersleuth, the plot here, is quite honestly, really good. Despite the stakes not being as high, and ultimately won’t matter in the end (because cybersleuth end)- you... FEEL like it matters more. Just because of how intimately you’ve come to know the characters that’ve been with you for so long.

All the relationships are developed, focusing mainly on the team at Hudie (your new hacker team). When I say the relationships are developed, I mean, quite literally, every important character has some role to play in the other’s life. Ryuji: the leader, a mentor to Keisuke, who later becomes a follower of Keisuke’s- outlining a good start and end for their dynamic as leader becomes follower and the student becomes the master. Chitose: Aloof and carefree, never quite speaks up against Ryuji despite the shit he knows Ryuji is causing, but becomes more mature and manages to put Ryuji in his place after he loses control. Erika: A shut-in with a one-track mind (Ryuji’s little sister), doesn’t open up to anyone, not even her brother, especially LIES to her brother to protect him (and Ryuji does the same to Erika, outlining the fact they’re both trying to protect each other but simultaneously hurting each other in the process without knowing) but she learns to rely on Keisuke (Chitose and Ryuji are childhood friends, so naturally, she can’t tell CHITOSE her worries because he’ll get worried and relay the message to Ryuji, so Erika in a sense sees her oppertunity to open up and ACT once Keisuke joins Hudie) and opens up to HIM later more than anyone else. Chitose acts like a second big brother to Erika when Ryuji isn’t around, and he also acts like comic relief character that’s there to give Keisuke some time to relax between cases. Unlike the first game, you actually FEEL like a hacker this time around, giving you a wider variety of hacking options, including minigames (which sadly arent that fun but- hey, it’s something. The part that IS fun is the BONDS you get to rank up- THEY’RE LITERALLY CALLED “DATE TIME!” and they’re the ONLY reason I played so so many of those minigames).

The game isn’t dominated by women anymore (If you play as female in CS, you’ll quite LITERALLY only see Arata every couple of chapters in a sea of tits, and while this is usually an aesthetic I can get behind, I hated absolutely every goddamn female character with the only exception being Kuremi. I detested Date so much. Every time she opened her mouth I wanted to mute the TV. I absolutely LOATHED Nokia for everything and anything she did. I couldn’t stand Fei because of how aggressive she was (even if Fei and Yuuko was something I definitely would have shipped had Fei just been toned down, and LUCKILY- I absolutely love Fei now, but that’s ALL thanks to Hacker’s Memory- I actually like NOKIA now too- which is all thanks to Hacker’s Memory as well). I liked Yuuko bc she hit all my right notes, until she proved to be a tsundere in disguise (she also manipulated us and admitted to it so I quickly said FUCK NO to that and she dropped on my list) but even she managed to get better treatment in Hacker’s memory. I hated Jimiken too, to be honest. I disliked a LOT of characters in cybersleuth, but once they appeared in Hacker’s memory I? I saw a new side of them that I didn’t before. There’s 1 particular “Hacker Memory Fragment” you pick up about Yuuko that details her visits to the hospital to check up on her brother and honestly? This shit. This one hacker’s fragment managed to give me so much better insight into her character than ALL of cybersleuth. Now that shit is admirable imo. I admire Hacker’s memory for making me LOVE every character I disliked. Date was one character I disliked thru Hacker’s Memory too, but towards the end, even she grew on me. I still don’t like majority of her dialogue, but she doesn’t seem so one-dimensional anymore. My main problem with Cybersleuth was that everyone seemed to have “THE ONE MOOD” and that was it. I loved Arata because he varied a lot, and he and the protagonist had some really, really good chemistry, but that’s about it? Compared to how I love everyone from Hacker’s Memory, I wouldn’t even consider the two games on the same level, simply because of how well the second one was executed in comparison?

I took my time with this reply, because to me, cybersleuth was average as a digimon game for me. Cybersleuth had a villain i absolutely ADORED!! But they did piss all and nothing with him. He had such an interesting goal, but when everyone gathered to stop his plans it was like. He lost all motivation for his goal? What the fuck. You don’t even get to fight him he’s just. There. He was awesome, they shoulda done more with him, and my only qualm about hackers memory is that they STILL DONT DO ENOUGH WITH HIM. He gets a bit of a backstory without WORDS really it’s all implied and shit but it explains why he acts the way he does in cybersleuth. You understand the reason behind his actions now, what got him there, and his motivations more clearly. God I wish we got more of him though. Cybersleuth for me was a 4/10 as a game and a 6 or a 5/10 as a Digimon game. I’d honestly play DW3 over Cybersleuth if I had to be perfectly honest...

Now, Hackers Memory however managed to score 10/10 for me of all the digimon games I’ve played- putting it at the... top, actually. For good reason. The characterization is consistent, every characters motivations are clear, every character has reasons to take the actions they take, and none of it seems forced or random or even undeserved. Sometimes, you’ll dislike a character the game wants you to dislike. It will lead you in to turn your expectations around and force you to think of a character in a completely new light. You’ll end up loving each and every character regardless of how shitty they act because you can understand the way they think. You can empathise and you can relate much better than you could in Cybersleuth IMO because so many characters in Cybersleuth made me think “well, Angela, if you weren’t such a BITCH maybe i’d feel sorry for you” which was a perpetual mood tbh. I felt absolutely no sympathy for a lot of the characters in Cybersleuth bc I felt like they deserved the shitstorm they got. Whereas, in Hacker’s Memory, the only character that DESERVED to be punished, actually GETS PUNISHED, and the character that does something wrong goes out of his way to REDEEM HIMSELF. Now this is some tasty characterization I tell ya. 

To top it all off, because the game has to follow cybersleuth logic, I absolutely thought they were going to fuck the end.

No.

No, it was.

It was absolutely perfect.

It was emotional, it didn’t feel forced, and best of all?

It made sense.

As fucked up as the ending from cybersleuth was, in this universe, they can’t control their end because of the first game--- so this ending has to happen regardless of what they FEEL is fair. Which means, yes, the ending is unfair. But it leaves you with this... bittersweet feeling of longing- wishing they COULD have made a change. It’s a really nice metaphor for how things sometimes are out of our control, and we’re forced to deal with a fate someone else drops on us regardless of what we may feel or want to act on. We just have to make the best of it?

10/10 as a Digimon game, and 9/10 as an actual game because I do believe I am nitpicky as fuck and I rarely give 10/10′s but if I wasn’t a nitpicky fuck, this game would DEFINITELY easily be a 10/10.

If this ramble wasn’t indication enough, I really love Hacker’s Memory. You should definitely play Hacker’s Memory.

[rubydollchaos]

One of my co-workers got COVID, bit worrying as she's in her seventies but she's vaxxed up and hopefully she'll be okay. So my manager asked if I could come in on Wednesday. I said no, as I have plans and then because I couldn't just leave it there I pointed out I was already working six days straight over the bank holiday weekend including Sunday when I don't get a break - it's 10-3.15 and Monday 9.45-4.15 - again only two of us in so do we get a break even tho it means leaving the other solo on the shop floor?

I get a reply saying I just need to remind them about my breaks and even if I don't get them I get paid for them. I'm the only one at work who kicks up a fuss about breaks. The others grumble about not getting a break but don't do anything about it. The supervisor complains to me that I get my breaks but she doesn't and I've told her the only reason I do is because I kick up a fuss and she should too.

Then the next message. Can I do tomorrow and she'll swap things round with another member of staff. I say no. I have plans then too. But since I don't want to be unreasonable I explain that it's my mum's birthday on Friday but since I'm working I promised to spend the day with her on Wednesday. If I can have Friday off, I can do Wednesday.

This is "getting too complicated" so the manager decides to just stick with it as it is. She posts the "updated" rota to show that she has crossed out the member of staff with COVID and she and the assistant manager are in on their own. So I reply to that (admittedly just to bea little shit) to ask if I still need to come in early on Thursday as the updated rota doesn't show that, almost as if the only reason to post it was to show everyone how the manager was in with only one member of staff for the whole day (a situation that has happened twice with the supervisor and one non management member of staff - said supervisor also being in every Sunday on a 9.45-3.15 shift with one other member of staff and having already done one bank holiday with just two of them in). Another version of the rota just got posted with my shift corrected and no comment.

I actually messaged a friend for a second opinion even tho I didn't think I was being unreasonable. I'm the only one sticking my neck out and asking nicely if we might possibly have the bare minimum please. We had a conversation last year about having only two people in on a bank holiday and someone else "on standby". I objected then, saying I would rather be in and getting paid than on standby, unable to make plans since I might have to cancel. And I screenshotted the gov.org page with minimum break requirements. Meanwhile everyone else, clinging onto the possibility of working less bank holidays, chime in with how they're fine with just a drink behind the door. We've been going the extra mile so long it's just become part of the standard track. I don't mind doing more to help in exceptional circumstances but it's just taken for granted we can cope with and will accept less so that's the new normal.

And I'm somehow simultaneously feeling like I should be rallying my fellow workers to unite and stand up for ourselves, and at the same time feeling bad because I upset my boss and think I'm special and deserve basic rights and stuff I should be ashamed of myself.

[dxringred]

Hey, I'm the anon that asked you how come you couldn't see both Paily and Emison as decent ships... I'm sorry I truly didn't mean it to come of negatively.. An I sure didn't mean to bring up bad memories. For that I'm truly sorry.. I agree to disagree on certain things you said. An I'm truly grateful for your candor with answering.. Its just the girl that fell for her best friend wishes to have that happy ending we never get.. Which for me is the appeal of Emison. I enjoy Paily also.

I think Emison Endgame is the product of MK not writing it in earlier.. Hear me out.. I think they planned on making Emily an Ali a couple at some point.. I think with all the writers the storyline kept getting delayed.. I think it was suppose to be this I tried cause I really do love you just not that way storyline.. They held out season after season.. Than lots of angry shippers later.. They were like oh shit better give them what they want. Hence the Endgame was born.. 

As for the discussion as a whole. One of the reasons I’m turned right off of Em/son as a ship is due to the premise of: “girl that fell for her best-friend and desires happiness.” And that’s mostly because that’s how my abusive relationship started. She was my best-friend and I had the biggest crush in the world on her, and that’s why she found it so easy to manipulate me etc. which is arguably the issue with Em/son because Alison can use Emily’s long-term crush and adoration as a starting point to manipulate her. She knows how she feels, she knows personal stuff about her because of their friendship, and that means she’s well-aware of her weak points and her strengths. That makes it incredibly easy to use people.

I know a lot of people are very into this trope, and the “best friends turned lovers” is one of the more popular, and I’m guilty of loving it myself but only when it’s done right. Not when there are abusive undertones to it, because that just leaves a bad taste in my mouth in general. I prefer Pai/y as a relationship because the ship doesn’t have the same negative undertones, especially not after their initial rocky start. 

The two relationships, for me, have similar but vastly different premises. Both tell the story of a girl who gets/wants the girl of her dreams. Paige gets Emily, Emily gets Alison. But here’s the difference:

one tells a tale of hope where a depressed, bullied girl who hates herself and thinks she’ll be miserable forever gets her happy ending;

the other tells the tale of a mildly popular girl getting with her highschool crush of the “popular bitch” who’s not even a healthy friend let alone a healthy romantic/sexual partner.

The two stories, when looked into beyond the initial trope, are entirely different, and for me personally it’s obvious which one is the ideal representation not just for the community but also in terms of being shown to a young audience of influential girls. Hint: it’s the first one. 

I mean when I first watched PLL, Pai/y struck a cord with me for the exact reason outlined above - its story, being one of hope and love and promise. Because Paige was damaged but it didn’t make her any less of a person. It didn’t make her any less lovable or worthy. It didn’t make her any less deserving of being happy. She was closeted and lonely, depressed, bullied and suicidal. And as someone who, too, has been all of those things simultaneously, I related to her character immensely. She gave me hope. And she still does, despite MK being a giant screw-up in regards to writing the remainder of Paige’s story.

Alison on the other hand. Well, she’s the character you’re not supposed to want to see get a happy ending. Particularly when you see yourself in Paige. (Or Mona or Lucas or any of her other victims.) She’s the bully, the abuser, the manipulator, the individual who drives people to suicide and breaks them for her own amusement. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve always been for the assertion that the show would’ve been better had she stayed dead. (Or been revealed as alive right at the end, only to turn out to have been the villain all along, or for at least during some portion of the story.)

Having her get her victim’s happy ending instead is.. well, you can probably see why it’s problematic and why fans of Paige and Pai/y are more than a little bitter/angry. For similar reasons it’s always irked me that Alison gets so easily accepted by the core four while Mona is still painted negatively by them, but that’s another discussion for another day.

I think “Em/son Endgame” god I hate that phrase lol never made sense from the get-go personally. Of course I can understand why people were into it, and maybe if I’d watched the show when it initially started instead of binging it then maybe I’d have had more time to see the appeal. But I didn’t, and perhaps that’s where the different perception comes into play. For me the manipulation was apparent from the first flashback between the two, with red flags popping up all the time in their friendship.

I always thought the more interesting story was Emily overcoming her crush on Alison and realizing that she deserved more, recognizing that what she had with Alison to whatever extent clearly wasn’t healthy and moving on with someone else who appreciated her more as a person and wasn’t just using her to fulfill their desire to be admired and given attention.

So when she regressed completely and all of that became completely irrelevant… well, it felt like a waste of storytelling if I’m honest. Like all that build-up and development and introduction of new character dynamics had been for naught. And it was. I’m always a sucker for proper planning. It clarifies things, it makes them easier to follow, and I think the issue with several current shows nowadays is that the writers don’t always entirely know how they want to get from Point A to Point B. Despite claims otherwise. You can’t just decide on Point A, Point B, and half of the journey between the two and then decide you’ll think about the other half when you get to it because you don’t have time and that’s something I can definitely attest to as a writer.

There were several times when I thought Emily was finally seeing it, particularly in later seasons. Where I thought she was going to realize that she was being used, but then she constantly kept going back to Alison and that alone isn’t the healthiest thing. And I know that for a fact because it was a staple of my own abusive relationship with someone. 

If Alison had actually grown as a character I’d probably be less against the ship. I still wouldn’t ship it - no amount of in-depth character growth is going to make me like Alison enough, unfortunately - but I’d understand a lot more why other people do and I wouldn’t be disgusted at the thought of Em/son becoming endgame or labeled as good representation. Because it’s not.

Because I agree with you 100% on the last bit.

“Than lots of angry shippers later.. They were like oh shit better give them what they want. Hence the Endgame was born..”

I’ve always argued that that’s why the ship was “born” and suddenly became endgame despite all of the lack of development and character growth. It’s because of fan service, and that is no way to write or develop a show. You tell a certain story because it’s the one that needs to be told, that should be told, not because it’s the one that everyone else wants to be told.

And that’s my issue with PLL as an entire show, and why I stopped watching this last season, because it’s fan service for everyone at this point, including Pai/y shippers. And that’s one of the grossest things and some of the worst queerbaiting I’ve ever seen so don’t even get me started there.

Em/son shippers wanted something and they didn’t back down until they got it, and they went about it in a way that makes me gag even now: belittling the writers and the producers and the actresses. And let’s never forget them flipping insulting poor Lindsey every second of every day, telling her to commit suicide and not leaving room for a single nice comment on anything she posted anywhere. The poor woman probably regrets ever deciding to audition for the role of Paige and I don’t blame her one little bit.

And that’s my problem. You’ve got this abusive ship and mostly abusive fanbase behind it, and that’s why I can’t ever ship Em/son. It’s why I never will. Had it been planned, had it been developed, had it been turned into a 100% healthy ship, had Alison seen the error of her ways and genuinely become a better person, maybe I would. But that’s not what happened. And - with, what, five episodes left? Four? - it’s not what’s going to happen.

If you want to ship it, that’s perfectly fine. I can’t go around telling people what they can and can’t do, I can only explain to them why I don’t feel the same way as honestly as I can. So I know it’s long, and perhaps I missed some stuff, but hopefully this maybe explains my viewpoint a little better. If you managed to get all the way down here then thanks for taking the time to read!

[angry-woman]

OK, I'm here, now what?

Have you ever had a dream, something that you wished for with your whole heart, something that felt more right than anything else, that you never thought would ever realize but that you still loved anyway? I think I've always been half in and half out when it comes to music. For me, up until very recently, it mainly existed (in its truest and purest form) in the part of my life that no one saw; 11 o'clock at night, stillness setting in, finding the moments of clarity that only exist when I'm writing music. In this vulnerability, I don't need to be anyone I'm not. I don't need to wear the mask that is "Beatrice Keeler" and masquerade like I know what I'm doing or like I'm some variance of a professional. This facade feels more like a performance than anything else. Maybe that's natural when your dream becomes your job, when it is no longer just about carving off pieces of yourself to exist in the world apart from you but still remain just for your pleasure. It's about what you post, when you post, how you photograph, how you market yourself, and yet pretending like none of this has any affect on who you are as an artist. It feels wrong in some ways for me to say these things out loud because whether I intend it to or not, it comes across as ungrateful. Being unhappy with your success will more often than not present itself as disrespectful to the people who would give anything to be in your position. I would never call myself unlucky for the opportunities that have been gifted to me- that being said, I feel unlucky in the sense that the requirements of the only thing that ever made any sense to me completely contradict who I am at my core. The most difficult aspect of being a "professional musician", for me, has been trying to tow the line between what I thought, for the last 11 years, made me an artist, and what is required of me to be "an artist" now. It isn't about the work. I'm a perfectionist when it comes to the art I make, so the sleepless nights of unappreciated labour or hours spent on something that will ultimately be written off by my manager or label aren't an issue for me; at least I know that the final product is by my hand, and if it fails, it's my failure and no one else's. On the other hand, I am sure that this type of attitude contributes to the pressure I now feel while attempting to make music my career. What if it does fail? What does that say about me? There is no one else to blame but myself. Will the people who love me and believe in me be embarrassed by my lack of success? Will the people who've invested their time and money to further my pursuit of what could just be a lack lustre dream regret their decision? What makes me any different than the thousands of artists who have worked harder and longer than I have to get half as far? The "imposter syndrome" is very real in artists who participate in something like "The Voice" or other quick fix celebrity treatments. It's debilitatingly easy to feel like you haven't paid enough of your dues when who you are, or who you think you are, doesn't line up with who you're supposed to be to everyone else. When I look at myself in the mirror, I'm still that shit-head kid playing shitty alternative music with shitty made-up chords on a shitty guitar comprised of constant-breaking stock parts in my parents' basement. But after my show a few days ago, a kid asked me for my autograph, and presented me a printed photo from an interview I had done with The Gazette shortly after my first appearance on La Voix. He was nervous to talk to me. He had a difficult time looking me in the eye, as if I was a person who was any more important than he was, (mind you, he was also like 13 so I guess at that age, it's standard to feel like anyone at least 5 years older than you is more important than you are). My first thought was, "I hate that picture". My second thought was, "how the fuck did I get to this point where I'm still trying to fight off the impending nausea before each show and this person thinks I'm fucking professional or "good" enough to warrant asking for my autograph"? I hope these moments never become normal for me, because I don't ever want to feel comfortable having people ask me for an autograph. I don't ever want to feel like I should expect admiration like that from people who attend my shows. I don't ever want to feel like I'm not still that kid in my parents' basement making music only because I love it. That being said, my heart is warmed in such an overwhelming and beautiful way that someone cares enough about what I do to go through the effort of finding a photo from an interview I did 2 years ago, printing it off, coming out to my show, and nervously approaching me to ask for an autograph that for some reason, is more than just a scribble to anyone but me. I know this is part of learning how to be a professional, though, and for me, this is part of discovering how to love myself wherever my life takes me, or whoever my life forces me to become. Part of growing is knowing when to grow. Part of growing is knowing when to let go of the person you always thought you would become, because maybe that person is holding you back. Maybe that person still believes the dream you're living is the dream you never thought you would, or should, achieve. I've asked a number of artists and musicians if they like the art they make, and for the most part, the answer is no. But we make it anyway, because we don't know how to do anything else. Maybe we can't stop, even if we wanted to. Those moments at 11pm when the stillness sets in, when every inch of you connects to create, even just for singular second, a whole person, are enough to carry us through the hours of uncertainty and self-doubt. We are the product of who we think we deserve to be, and simultaneously who people think we are. But at the centre of it all, we find the person who we've yet to become. We find that person in the same place that faith and hope and self-admiration are hiding under fear and anger and self-pity. We find that person who eventually, one day, we will learn to love.