#any terrible pun i make is ok now this is the worst post. this is the worst one

[literaphobe]

season 2 of she-ra rated by catradora content

the frozen forest: “aw, cute, you can turn your sword into stuff.” very interesting how adora has to literally train not by fighting any real soldiers in the horde just... catra. light hope scanned her brain and knew she wouldn’t bother to run after anyone else :/ which. is true. call her out!! she fights bots too but she has more or less no issues with them even though she’s no expert with turning her sword into stuff yet, but then catra comes out, and suddenly adora can’t even block a single punch because catra laughed at her :( AND suddenly her sword can’t turn into anything but a cup. why adora? are you thirsty? it’s even funnier because none of this is real, and adora KNOWS that none of this is real, but she’s still Affected when fake catra says her seductive “hey adora” and she decides oh i know! i’ll turn my sword into a d*ldo with holes! oh wait never mind, is that a flute? damn it now she wants to Serenade catra. that’s even gayer than wanting to have sex with her. “did you mean to do that? because if you did it’s a terrible weapon.” “is not! >:(“ adora’s comebacks are like. kindergarten quality shit. i would make fun of catra’s insult too but in her defense that’s not actually catra. so adora tries to hit fake catra with her musical instrument and it doesn’t really work so she tackles fake catra and pins her to the ground. and looks,,, low key aroused as she does it okay adora.... she’s not real please remember that.... ur already a furry please don’t also be a bot fucker “what are you waiting for? you gonna play me a song on that thing?” yes she WAS catra! that’s what i’ve been SAYING don’t be mean to your girlfriend when she’s trying to serenade you :( adora gets angry after this latest act of oppression so she raises her hand, about to hit fake catra, but she stops right before the weapon can make contact, and her face softens. “i knew you couldn’t do it.” fake catra fades and the audience finds out something adora already knew. none of this was real, and even if she had hit fake catra and killed her, real catra would be fine. And Yet,,,,, big fucking sigh bros. haha y’all ever so hung up on a chick that you can’t even kill a fake simulation of her? even though she’s your enemy? lmaoooooo anyway the training simulation ends and adora is so depressed she transforms out of her she-ra form and asks “did you have to make her so mean? :(“ even tho light hope is about to come out and yell gay slurs at her. light hope shows up and is very confused. is catra... not mean? was my catra ooc miss adora? :/ did this catra hit different? too hostile? not like what ur used to? :/ go to hell adora if you made catra into a sim and picked her defining trait it WOULD be MEAN god everyone’s a critic. and then adora is like ok ur right :( catra is mean.... but have you considered making your simulation’s fake catra one that will hold me gently in her arms? have you considered that maybe i don’t want to fight her and that i want to kiss her instead? god damn it light hope you bitch. you fucking homophobe.

light hope is like okay cool. this latest performance was ur worst one btw and adora is like why do you THINK and is like i wanna be the very best :( like no one ever was :( and protecc etheria :( “but catra, she’s just in my head” ;) oh yeah i bet she is adora JFJSJDJSJD “when you grow up with someone, they know how to push your buttons :(” that’s very true adora. but you also grew up with many people such as lonnie, rogelio, and kyle. and you don’t seem to give a shit about them :/ so i guess “grow up with someone” really means “be in love” huh. i love you but do NOT lie to me ever again. after this, we see the real catra :’) she’s back at the horde training kyle, lonnie, and rogelio. “she-ra is too strong to defeat with force alone. but she’s slow and easily manipulated.” yeah maybe for you! maybe she slows down when she fights you because ur pretty and ur voice is sexy! way to flex ur privilege :( not everyone can manipulate she-ra because she’s not in love with all of them ok :( just u :( later on, we’re back at the war meeting in bright moon. bow says “we’re defeating the bots, but more keep coming. while we’re using our resources to hold our borders, the horde hasn’t had to deploy a single soldier.” hey! that’s a perfectly normal statement right! one that does not mention any specific person. there should be no reason for anyone to respond to this by bringing up any individual. guess what adora says. guess what she fucking says. i’m so fucking done oh my god. “typical catra >:(“ did... did bow MENTION catfkakdjsjdjsjs????? i’m fucking WHEEZING. adora. baby. could u. like. chill out? :/ re catra? for like one second? no? okay guess i’ll have to live with it. adora is so hung up over the “hey adora ;)” she heard from fake catra during training that she has to repay the favor when she fights entrapta’s upgraded bots. adora looks into the camera of one of the bots and just. she just KNOWS catra is watching and she’s correct. and she’s like “hey catra ;)” before punching the camera and cutting the live stream. catra’s response isn’t to immediately ditch the horde and go kiss adora (booooooo) but to. try and explode she-ra using one of the other bots. okay. i guess we all cope with arousal in different ways :/ when the bot explodes and adora realizes her attempt at seduction did not work out the way she intended (press f to pay respects), she gets all “>:( catra” which is very cute and iconic of her. and it’s apparently her way of coping with the situation so i’ll just let her be! 9/10

ties that bind: fuck you swift wind. what the FUCK. i can’t believe adora had to go on some stupid quest with the horse all because she would be fiFTy sEVeN pERcenT mOrE eFFeCtivE with him. who gives a shit. catra getting kidnapped and tied up is clearly the superior plot here and adora wasn’t there for it?? which, i know is the whole point, but also, why did they have to put her with the horse. would’ve rather seen adora with literally any of the princesses instead. haha jk. but also, am i? it is important that adora gets over her hatred of swift wind and bonds with him. but also, is it? sigh, let’s get on with the show. bow and glimmer set out to go bring back entrapta. “let’s go get adora!” bow baby. u r so woke. i love that attitude. yes y’all should’ve absolutely brought adora along. no she was not doing anything important. “adora’s training!!!!” glimmer baby i love u but why :( why would u do this :( anyway, bow and glimmer get tricked into thinking the horde is torturing entrapta so they (accidentally) kidnap catra. bow is an absolute sweetheart who just. is sweet to everyone so he tries bonding w catra and is like “come on, i bet even the horde has friends. what about adora? :3 you two grew up together. what was she like as a kid? :3” because adora is bow’s best friend and he wants to know more about her <3 best boy <3 and catra just hisses at him because if she spoke she would probably say. adora was everything to me. adora made me laugh, she played with me, she took care of me, she protected me even when everyone else looked the other way. just seeing her would put a smile on my face. she held my hand. she hugged me. she was my shoulder to cry on. adora was the only good thing in my life at the horde. i have been in love with her my entire life. and now she’s she-ra. anyway. catra decides to annoy glimmer into letting her go, and glimmer gets so frustrated that she says “how did adora take years of this? she didn’t run away from the horde. she ran away from YOU” which. is about the most horrifying thing you could say to catra since she like. really believes that. and adora’s not even there to defend herself :( and say shit like. Well It Helped That I Was In Love With Catra And That Every Moment We Spent Together Was Filled With Laughter And Joy Because No One Else Has Ever Made Me This Happy Even When We Were Stuck Together In The Worst Place On Etheria—stuff like that u know? :/ anyway catra is like :’( —> >:’( “adora’s gonna dump u one day too glimmer!!” + “you and adora are perfect for each other, i’ll give you that. earnest, naive, ridiculously easy to manipulate. it’s adorable!” wow catra. u think…… adora…. is…. adorable? wow…. :’) djdjdjdjdjdj but yeah. she really said my gf is cute! my gf is earnest! and that’s pretty much it on the catradora front. notice how i didn’t say a word about the horse plot. yeah. :) i mean i physically couldn’t because this is a catradora based evaluation post. but ya. u get the point. 7/10

signals: huh! nothing! except when glimmer says “catra was right!” and adora’s face is like... u kno. u know how she gets when catra is suddenly brought up. 2/10 but the whole ghosts thing is cute. adora believing and wholeheartedly being scared of ghosts makes me think... catradora buzzfeed unsolved AU

roll with it: the absolute RIGHTS of this episode. adora planning obsessively because “you’re not taking the biggest variable into account :( catra </3 she’s been behind every horde plan, she led the attack on bright moon, she’s devious, she’s very cute—“ and everyone is like omg adora calm down,,,, okay fine we’ll fantasize about ur gf. so everyone is all: this is my catra headcanon <3 glimmer is like. catra is a sexy femme fatale. bow is like. catra and i would make so many sick fucking puns. and adora is like :( y’all are all headcanoning catra WRONG :( she’s sexy and funny and cute the Way She Is :( why mess with the original recipe? :( except she’s wrong because season 4 and 5 will exist one day. but she is not wrong because season 1-3 catra is also very good. adora u do u. have fun laughing at everyone’s interpretations of ur gf. go ahead and brag about how uve been in love w her ur entire life. adora is like. all ur plans suck. obviously catra would block or duck or jump up really high or look really cute or smile and dazzle u with her charms. how DARE you underestimate my enemy gf. and then everyone devolves into their cool plans again and adora is like CATRA CATRA CATRA >:( so everyone is like ok fine we are going 2 bully her. and we get this epic scene where they do impressions of catra, but it is visualized like: different versions of catra keep flanking adora, and she in that scene is clearly very seriously considering having a fourway with femme fatale catra, prom catra, and punny og catra. but in like uh.... a cool platonic way. anyway, everyone is like. hey adora. we know ur paranoid and obsessed with ur gf. but can we just attack the horde now? could you chill the fuck out? and adora is like. u wanna know the worst that could happen? fine. “i’m the heaviest hitter, so catra will separate me right away. trap me, take my sword, do Something so i’m helpless when she turns on you. she knows Everything about me, EXACTLY what i’ll do, EXACTLY how to take me out. they’ll overwhelm frosta and mermista with bots, they’ll fire on perfuma, and use her to draw bow out into the open, pinning him between the bots and the horde soldiers. glimmer will teleport in to save him, but she won’t have enough magic left to get out, trapping them both. catra will make me watch all of it before she Finishes Me Off.” which..... weirdly kinky, but okay, and also weirdly sweet if u think about it? like catra grew up thinking she was never as good as adora but adora even with her new she-ra powers now is convinced that catra is so good that she can predict and counter and overpower anything adora throws at her, even with her super-powered friends and allies <3 and she...... lets it paralyze her with fear and blames herself for anything that could possibly go wrong which is really sad and not good :( but stuff can be two things! and. we’re kind of trying to be gay here so let’s continue on the gay train <3 the princess alliance realizes that adora has major issues and give her love and support so adora is like oh nice!!! time to run in without a plan and stay true to my brute strength colors <3 and she’s so excited to see her gf..... only to find out, her gf isn’t there?????? the fuck???? she spent hours planning their fight date only to get stood the fuck up??????? she’s so distraught over it as she fights scorpia she goes through the five stages of grief. she’s like... catra’s really not here?? and she left you in charge???? and babe i get that ur jealous and upset that ur gf didn’t show up but hey :( don’t hate crime scorpia like that :( 8/10

white out: adora is upset that she hasn’t seen her enemy gf in a while so when the squad finds out that the horde is doing stuff in the north(?) adora decides that they must immediately go there in case the horde (catra) is doing stuff that she must stop the horde (catra) from doing immediately. and it works! they bump into the super pal trio! but before that, we see entrapta show catra the red disk that makes she-ra go RAGE and adora go floop. it’s basically a Make Adora Delirious/Drunk Crystal <3 catra gets an evil hate boner when she hears that the disk “takes away she-ra’s powers” and is like damn entrapta ;) why didn’t you tell me about that sooner ;) later on, the best friend squad bumps into the super pal trio! adora sees catra and is like. hey remember last episode? what the fuck was that babe. step the FUCK up. run away with me? <3 but here’s a more literal break down of what really happened: catra is threatening entrapta as she... tends to do when she’s interrupted by adora who says “catra! >:(“ completely ignoring that there are other people there who she should also greet. i mean it’s just manners u know? “it’s been a while.” is not an excuse. u haven’t seen entrapta either for an even longer time. and u had nothing to say to her? i get that ur gay and in love but have some respect okay :( catra is happy and decides it’s time to seduce her. we get yet another “heyyy adora ;)” for the books. adora starts to ignore everyone present again and banters pettily with catra about how catra lost the battle of bright moon, because you know :( she hasn’t seen her gf in a while :( and she didn’t get to rub things like that in her face :( and catra is like haha lmaooooo loserrrrr and it really pisses adora off so she’s like okay down to business then! go away >:( and catra’s like oh u want me to go away? make me ;) and so they literally. run away from everyone else. i’m not making this shit up they literally said those things and just ditched the group. and both groups, who have not said a fucking word to each other since this confrontation began because the lesbians are so fucking loud and clearly everything they discuss is personal and not an invitation for group convo, they’re all left there to be like..... i guess we should fight each other now? and scorpia is like UGHHH goddamn it. and u really feel for her u know? :/ u try and u try to ask a girl out and she’s so stupid she doesn’t know ur asking her out on a date, but her stupid ex walks in and all she has to do is run and catra runs in front of her ready to go on a date. what the fuck. anyway, catra and adora are also fighting. adora’s better at transforming her sword into stuff now so she summons a rope (ok kinkster) to grab catra’s leg and pull her towards her and she threatens catra with her sword, saying “don’t move.” catra’s response? “oh, please. you’d never have the guts.” and god damn it catra it’s not that she doesn’t have the guts! :( it’s that she loves you and doesn’t want to hurt you! and also she’s not into necrophilia! catra continues with “you know, as much as i love our fights, it’s way too cold for this.” i hate them so fucking much. they really do get off on this shit!!! i hate them but also mood!!!! stop flirting with each other ur both so goddamn annoying omg. “why don’t we try something new? ;)” yeah. something new like hmm what if y’all kissed? haha, just a suggestion! but no, catra decides to use the red crystal thingy :( haha SIKE i’m not :( at all i’m very much :) because we’ve been WAITING for drunk adora. i love that delirious baby. what a fucking cutie. but because she-ra’s sword is the one who gets poisoned, she-ra goes all angry and evil and catra is like that’s hot! but it’s not what i signed up for but also... oh lmao she’s fighting her friends? nice. this is hot again. complacently, catra goes “this is the greatest thing that’s ever happened!” causing evil!she-ra to realize she exists and trying to kill catra for real, and catra is like NEVER MIND I DID NOT SIGN UP FOR THIS and she’s like “adora wait :(“ which is like. babe no :( babe u were supposed to turn evil in a sexy way :( we could be sexy and evil together baby :( babe :( thankfully for catra adora’s not the only one who has a crush on her so scorpia tackles she-ra, separating her from her sword, and she goes back to adora. catra gets the sword, laughs, and says “that went so much better than i could’ve ever hoped.” did it?????? ur so stupid ur gf was about to murder u and u were ready to simp for ur life. then she goes “looks like you’re mine now, adora. >;)” and like. lifts adora’s face up by the chin with the tail end of the sword. and. let me just take a deep breath here. uh. What The Fuck Is That. HELLO?????? why is that. okay. HHHHHH. why!!!! good god!!!!! i hate sexual tension. anyway, catra tells scorpia to carry adora inside bc adora’s not wearing enough layers and she doesn’t want her gf to get cold :( jk but uh, they get adora inside, and catra is once again obsessed with her. she sits right next to her and pines like “always so perfect.... look at you now.... (i HATE how sexual this sounds) you’re coming back to the horde under my command.....” like. COME ON. why is she like this. ur allowed to be evil but i draw the LINE at u flirting with adora she’s not even AWAKE. and scorpia is like. could u. could u not be obsessed w adora for one second? it’s kinda harshing my vibe :/ and catra is like hehe she ra go >:( haha funney. we can turn the rebellion’s own hero against them. That’s Good™ i wonder which of your friends i’ll have you annihilate first... and then she giggles to herself and it’s so cute but babe. once again. stop flirting with adora while she’s out cold she won’t be able to flirt back :( and then the most. upsetting part of the ep happens. catra LEAVES and makes scorpia watch over adora before adora even wakes up so we don’t get! to see! catra with drunk/delirious adora!!!!!! what the FUCK. what is the POINT. i am DISTRAUGHT. hello?????? why were we robbed. whatever. it’s still good but come on not even one scene? :( scorpia is annoyed as she should be and is like UGH just wanted to be alone with catra but nooooo im stuck babysitting her “”””””ex-best friend””””””” which we all know is code for just. ex. LMAO fkdkdkdk like this isn’t even reaching we BEEN knew. anyway adora is being. so cute. so goddamn cute i am in love. adora barely even remembers her name but when scorpia is like hm what’s the passcode to the lab? adora goes BOOP BOOP BOOP BOOP BOOP and puts in catra’s super long fave number. that is so fucking cute that she knows and remembers that and thinks that catra would use it even tho she’s not even. in the right state of mind. and scorpia gets jealous obviously like ohhhh u know catra’s favorite number and i don’t! u grew up with catra and she’s been in love with you her whole life and i don’t have that! fuck u adora. even when u and catra are fighting each other tryna kill each other u can tell there’s a real bond there :( and like scorpia I’m so sorry baby I know :( they’re in love and it’s very annoying :( and i know adora is very annoying but have you also considered that she is very cute? that she is so lovely? and yeah that’s why catra is in love with her and shit :( seahawk and scorpia fight over adora and adora is like. hehe. catra mean <3 she’s so mean <3 and so hot and cute and sexy <3 omg im gonna marry her hehehehe <3 both sides reconvene to fight the bug, and adora finds glimmer vaguely familiar but doesn’t recognize who she is exactly. but she’ll remember catra’s long ass fave number. ok whore. catra, who’s also stupid, sees adora and is like guess I’ll drop all other priorities to get her! and tells scorpia to find the sword because she’s going after adora again. she’s so determined to keep adora that she.... catches a moving arrow. and throws it away. fjdjdjdjddj DAMN ok sheer gay determination is THAT strong huh. but it’s also sad because catra’s so busy fighting she doesn’t get to see adora being super cute :( it’s fucking wasted and not FAIR. catra thinks it’s funny that anyone would expect her to willingly give the disk up, because she’s got control of adora now, and control of adora means that adora won’t leave her.... which is not healthy :( but also HHHHHH but also it’s okay because their relationship gets healthy in the future and that’s very sexy of them <3 the disk is broken by scorpia in the end, and as adora regains.... conscious???ness????? idk??? her sense of reality??? sobers up???? anyway she and catra exchange this one last very heavy look, right before catra is grabbed by scorpia 9/10, except i want to take away so many points because of the wasted potential, but also i wanna add back so many points because of “looks like you’re mine now, adora ;)”

light spinner: ewwww shadow weaver ewwwww hordak i’m so sorry catra baby so sorry u had to interact with them instead of adora :( 0/10 </3

reunion: I AM SO SORRY. I AM SO FUCKING SORRY. THIS EP IS SO GOOD. BUT. I CANNOT BELIEVE I HAVE TO SAY THIS. THIS IS ONLY BECAUSE THIS IS A CATRADORA EVALUATION OK. therefore the rating is.... is..... :( 0/10 :( i know i am distraught too. :( despite what a masterpiece it was... there was no catradora :(

[lacrow]

SXF Collaboration Story

@nonokoko13 , @sxfobsessed , @nagy-bari

First off I’d like to apologize. Under my insane direction, this little ficlet has turned into a 12k behemoth. Therefore I will be positing it in two parts (and also linking to ao3 since I threw it in with my one-shot collection). I’ll add the link to Part II when it’s edit/posted. Thank you to everyone who helped come up with this idea, it was a lot of fun to write!

Title: Cabernet Makes Her Clothes Fall Off

Rating: T

Part I: ao3

Part II: tumblr, ao3

Parties Involved: Loid Forger, Yor-Briar Forger, Anya Forger, Bond, Franky, Yuri Briar, Becky Blackbell, Camilla, Dominic, Millie, Sharon Mission Objective(s): host a dinner party for friends and acquaintances, [INCOMPLETE] Reporting Status: [IN-PROGRESS] ADDENDUM 1 [NIGHTFALL]: After careful review of last night's mission report, it has come to my attention that Twilight's conduct has been highly inappropriate for that of a WISE agent. I recommend personnel changes be made for the ensured success of Operation Strix. ADDENDUM 2 [TWILIGHT]: Sorry, I forgot to save you leftovers. ADDENDUM 3 [NIGHTFALL]: That's not what I meant, and you know it. ADDENDUM 4 [HANDLER]: He's married. Also, thank you for the leftovers, they were delicious.

Part I

A cacophony of sounds emanated from the Forger house as Yor frantically tried to get things ready for what was sure to be a total disaster.

In just a few hours, guests would be arriving for an impromptu dinner party that she had no right organizing in the first place. It wasn't her call to make, not without consulting her husband first, but...she went and opened her big mouth anyway. Now she was suffering the consequences for it, and not just her, either. Yor looked up through the window above the kitchen sink as she desperately went about getting things ready for the evening's festivities. Loid and Anya stood by the door as they started to put their coats on. The latter had her school backpack on, though in lieu of books and pencils it was instead filled with a change of clothes and some toys.

"I'll be back soon to help set up," Loid called out to her. He went to gather his hat and gloves. "I already called the Blackbells' nanny and told them I can't stay long."

"Ok," Yor replied meekly. Half of her wanted to tell him not to rush. The other half desperately wished to ask the opposite of him. "Please be careful you two."

"Bye mama!" Anya looked over at Yor as Bond came up to sniff her goodbye. "Have fun with your party tonight!"

The Forger matriarch couldn't help but to frown. "You do the same at your friend Becky's...do everything her parents tell you, okay?"

"I will!" Anya replied back. She smiled brightly in anticipation at her upcoming sleepover, though it waned the longer she stared up at her mama.

Yor had no way of knowing her daughter was reading her mind. If she did, it wouldn't have made her feel as guilty when Anya suddenly ran around the corner and wrapped her arms around her leg in a tight embrace. That wasn't to say she didn't appreciate the gesture; if anything she desperately needed it at the moment. It's just that she assumed Anya's hug was less out of fondness and more out of pity, though in the end she accepted it all the same. Yor knelt down and pulled Anya in close as Loid waited by the door with a well-hidden smirk on his face.

"Love you," Anya smiled encouragingly, eyes closed in content.

"I love you, too," Yor teared up a little. She squeezed her daughter tight. "I'll see you tomorrow."

They held each other for a moment. Though she didn't want it to end, Yor ended up being the first to let go. She smiled at Anya before the little girl waved and skipped off towards the door. Already turning the knob to leave, Loid let their daughter out first before turning to his wife. He said nothing, but gave a small, comforting smile to her before exiting. She nodded as a silent thanks before watching him leave, and it soon became just her and Bond. The Forger hound sat there with his tail wagging, and he looked up at Yor with an expectant look on his face.

Yor glanced down at the dog and sighed. "Well, Bond...time to get back to work."

Bond said nothing back, as was to be expected.

/*\

"You're joking, right? Not even a housewarming party?"

A familiar face; the deadpan look of an unimpressed Camilla, though to Yor she seemed just as pleasant as ever. If only the poor girl knew what every other woman working at city hall knew, which was that Camilla loathed her with a(n admittedly waning) passion. No one had the heart to say anything though, which was mostly why they stayed silent as Yor revealed to them that she and Loid had never had a get-together at their house before. Individual people, of course, but never more than one person at a time.

"Er, well...no?" Yor's lips squiggled. Was that a bad thing?

"Really, Yor, you're hopeless!" Camilla shook her head, exasperated. "Don't you and your husband have any friends?"

Yor blinked. "Well, of course we do. You, for starters."

Camilla's jaw dropped as the other women snickered behind her. Yor continued. "And I suppose that includes Dominic, as well? Also Loid's friend Franky, and his co-worker Fiona, and-"

"-Alright, alright, I get it!" the blonde woman grumbled, waving Yor off. "Fine, you have friends. So why then haven't you hosted before?"

Yor frowned a little. She knew why; it was because Loid was always tired and she was terrible in the kitchen. If there was going to be party then he would have to do the cooking, and Yor didn't have the heart to ask that of him. Not when he had so much on his plate already (pun unintended). Still, Yor could see where Camilla was coming from. She had been nice enough to invite her over to a get-together at her house, while Loid and herself had never shown the same courtesy back. It was rude, and not to mention suspicious.

Couples invited people over for dinner, right? So then, what would people think if she and Loid never did?

The more Yor thought about it, the more she realized her attempts at playing house were falling short again. Yor looked up at Camilla, Millie, and Sharon, and all of a sudden she felt self-conscious. They seemed to be waiting for an answer that Yor couldn't give them, or at the very least one she refused to share; that her marriage was a sham and she didn't know the first thing about entertaining guests. It was the truth, but they weren't meant to know that. All Yor could do was think about what her husband would do in her situation. What would Loid's response be?

He'd make it happen. One way or another, he'd pull through like he always did.

"W-well," Yor stammered. She flinched a little. "Why don't you all come over this Saturday?"

The other women paused, most of all Camilla. The three of them threw glances at one another, suddenly finding the spotlight reversed on them. They seemed to have a wordless conversation amongst themselves, while at the same time Yor kicked herself for opening the door to her home like that without talking to Loid first. He liked his privacy just as much as she did, and the weekend was one of the few times he got to relax (and even then it wasn't guaranteed). Yor's head started to slowly spiral; what if he got called into work, or she suddenly had to take a contract-killing job on short notice? This was a bad idea. She had to rescind her offer, and fast-!

"-Do you want us to bring anything...?" Camilla asked reluctantly. It almost looked like it pained her to say it out loud, mostly because it did.

Yor froze. The worst case scenario had come to pass, even more so because she had brought it upon herself. She stood there as three pairs of eyes stared at her once more, only there was no going back this time. The window of opportunity for backing out had already passed, and the only thing Yor could do was try her best to swallow the quickly growing lump in her throat.

"...N-no," Yor shook her head. She gulped. "...My husband and I will cook something for dinner..."

/*\

"I'm a horrible wife," Yor lamented as she straightened out her white polka dot dress. "I never should have agreed to this. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine, Yor," Loid eased. He closed the oven door and threw his mitt onto the stove top. He turned towards her. "There's no reason to beat yourself up."

Yor frowned. Loid sighed. They both looked to the clock on the wall next to them and immediately came to the same conclusion; their guests were fashionably late. A quarter past six and no one had shown up yet, but that ended up being more of blessing than anything else. Loid had gotten held up at the Blackbells' a little longer than expected, and Yor had only just barely finished cleaning by the time he made it home. She at least had it to where all he needed to do was fix up the casserole for later; the rest of their home, from the living room to the bathroom, was immaculately spotless.

"So remind me again who all is coming?" Loid asked uncomfortably as he looked back to the kitchen. He was fairly certain there was enough food, but...

"Well..." Yor thought for a moment. "The girls, so, Camilla, Millie, and Sharon. Dominic as well, and he of course told my brother so Yuri's coming, too. And also Fiona-?"

Loid shook his head. "She won't be coming. Something came up at work and she won't be able to make it."

Some hostage situation at the embassy, last he heard. Nothing Nightfall couldn't handle, though it'd certainly take her the whole night to sort through it all. Tragedy aside, it at least worked in favor of Loid's dinner planning. Along with some easy-to-make finger foods, there would be more than enough to keep everyone satisfied. On top of that, they'd rearranged the furniture in the living room to open it up a bit more. They had also moved the dining room table up against the wall, and Loid even got a hold of a couple breakfast nook chairs (courtesy of WISE) for the counter at the kitchen window.

This little shindig of theirs was turning into quite the gathering. Loid smiled a bit at the thought, even as Yor continued to look up at him in dismay. He had half a mind to reassure her some more, but knew it would only fall on deaf ears. Instead, he took it upon himself to leave her for a moment to go digging in the pantry. He fished out one of the cheap bottles of wine they'd gotten for the evening's festivities. Yor immediately held her hand up to protest, though karma had come full circle to spite her. She didn't listen to Loid. Therefore, neither would he listen to her.

A moment later and he arrived with a glass in his hand, filled halfway with blood-red courage. "Everything will be fine."

"I know..." Yor replied weakly as she took the wine glass from her husband. "...I just feel guilty for dragging you along with all this."

"Hey, we're a team," Loid reassured her. He smiled again, and Yor's face became flushed. "You just focus on enjoying yourself, and I promise it'll all work out."

For what felt like the first time that night, Yor gave a smile back. A small one, of course, since she still had a million things running through her head, but at the very least she gave Loid the response he was looking for. Yor closed her eyes and took a sip and, as if her husband had been right all along, there came a knock at the door immediately after. Yor paused; she quickly tried to swallow her wine in order to answer it properly, though Loid was already opening the door by the time she had composed herself.

They both figured it must have been Yuri (since he was usually quite punctual), but Loid's face fell flat as someone else came into view. "I hope I'm not late!"

Shaggy hair. Scraggly chin. A stature half that of Loid's; the man glowered. "Franky, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the party, of course!" Franky gave a stupid grin as he held up another bottle of wine. "I didn't get the invitation, but I figured you must've forgot!"

"...Right, of course," Loid's eyes narrowed. He continued to glare while Franky grinned. "Must have slipped my mind..."

Stiffly, Loid stepped back to allow his friend entry. He looked to Yor as Franky shuffled in, and he shuddered to think what an unaccounted for guest would mean for her party. Surprisingly, his wife seemed pleased at Franky's presence. She set her glass down and gave him a proper greeting, to which Franky did the same. He placed the bottle of wine on the counter after shedding his coat, and immediately made a b-line for the bathroom. The door shut behind him as he made his pit stop, leaving both Forgers alone again for a moment.

"I'm glad Franky could make it!" Yor smiled.

"Likewise," Loid added flatly. He shook his head in dismay.

"Next time I'll be sure to remind you to invite him," she added while grabbing his arm.

Loid relented with a smile to his wife, though the inside of his head was working overtime trying to sort through possible scenarios for the evening. It's not entirely that he didn't want Franky there (part of him truly didn't), but the less he mixed up Twilight's affairs with Loid Forger's the better. Not even taking into account just what a bad idea inviting an SSS agent into his home was, having Franky and Fiona there would have thrown a whole headache of problems into the equation. Nightfall could have handled herself well enough, but Franky...

He prayed to whatever god above that the little fool could behave himself. Just for one night.

All Loid could do was have a little faith, though that wasn't really his M.O. He'd try not to worry in the meantime, but would continue to keep an eye on Franky for the rest of the night. He eased up on the guy once he emerged out the bathroom and approached him and Yor for pleasant conversation; his initial terseness passed, and the three of them actually got on well enough for a time. For how long, specifically, Loid couldn't say. Before any of them knew it, there came another knock at the door. This time Yor was the one to answer.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Yor!" an impassioned voice cut through their home, and Loid knew right away it was Yuri. "I got held up at work and missed my train!"

"That's okay, Yuri, so is everyone else!" Yor smiled, and Loid did, too. She was letting the guest situation roll of her shoulders, which was good.

There was a shuffle at the door as both Briars came inside. Yor took her brother's hat and coat, and he smiled pleasantly at her in silent thanks. The moment his head swiveled in Loid's direction, however, that pleasantness quickly took a nosedive. Yor was none the wiser, of course, though Loid was more than aware of his brother-in-law's killer vibe. He smiled.

"It's good to see you again, Yuri!" Loid chimed politely. His smile grew as Yuri's turned even more.

"Loi-Loi," Yuri bowed his head stiffly in acknowledgement. Beside him, Franky cracked up at his friend's stupid nickname.

Yuri's eyes fixed on Loid and Yor's other guest. Likewise, Franky looked to Yuri. This was the first time either had met each other properly, though Franky was more than familiar with Yor's brother and his position as an SSS agent. Admittedly, it was a bit unnerving for Franky to be in his presence, especially with that...weird look he stared at him with. Loid had warned him about it multiple times; the dude was nuts about his sister. Him being friends with Loid probably didn't lend him any favors, so his opinion of him probably was at rock bottom at the moment.

Nowhere to go but up from there, right? "Hiya! The name's Franky, nice to meet you!"

Franky held his hand out to shake. Yuri glanced at it before looking back up. He offered no hand of his own.

"Yuri! Don't be rude!" Yor chastised her brother from behind. He cringed and glanced at her over his shoulder. "Franky's my friend, too!"

The Briar boy turned back around to find two smug smiles waiting for him; an obvious one from Franky, and a thinly-veiled one from Loid. Whether he noticed them or not, Yuri made no comment. He simply shook Franky's hand (reluctantly) and offered a halfhearted hello in reply. The two promptly separated and went their separate ways. Franky followed Loid into the kitchen while Yor stayed behind to talk more with her brother, and both groups kept up conversation for a time until another knock came at the door.

Camilla and Dominic. The pair entered, both carrying offerings for the party; a tray of enticing appetizers and another bottle of wine, respectively. The couple were met with multiple greetings and they offered their own before splitting up almost immediately. Loid showed Camilla into the kitchen while Dominic stayed behind to talk with Yuri. Franky joined everyone else in the living room, seeing as how there wasn't a lot of room in that tiny kitchen for three people. Besides, Loid didn't trust him in there, which was fair.

"Thank you for the food, but you really didn't have to go through all the trouble," Loid told Camilla as he dug into the cabinet for plates.

"Well, Dominic insisted we bring something, and it's a recipe I've been meaning to try out for a while now." She stood off to the side to stay out of his way.

"It smells great, can't wait to try it," Loid smiled pleasantly. A moment later and he procured the dinnerware. Camilla offered to take them into the living room for him.

Loid handed the plates off to her. Camilla turned to walk away, but paused as Loid spun around to gather his own appetizers. She shifted uncomfortably as she scanned him up and down; a nice dress shirt, perfectly sleeked hair, muscles, and an air of confidence that most men spent their whole lives pretending to have. Loid Forger had it all, and Camilla couldn't fathom just how in the hell Yor ever bagged such a hot husband in the first place. Seriously, how? It was downright frustrating just how perfect he seemed; the man could cook, raise a daughter, deal with Yor, and still seem nonchalant about everything. If she didn't know any better, Camilla would have said his and Yor's marriage was some kind of front for the mob or something. There was just no way...

"...Babe, you alright?" Dominic's head suddenly popped into the kitchen. "You're spacing."

Camilla jumped out of her skin and nearly dropped the tin, in no small part because she was caught red-handed thinking about Yor's husband. Luckily for her, Dominic didn't come to that conclusion. He smiled and waved her over and, after she shook herself out of it, Camilla followed him obediently towards the living room. The two of them dropped the food off on the dining room table on the way, which was joined by Loid's tin soon after. He stuck around to open some of the wine bottles, and Yor had half a mind to offer him help but ultimately decided against it. He was good at popping corks, and she would have honestly just gotten in the way.

Yuri, Camilla, and Dominic stood off to the side and chatted. Franky kept Yor company until Loid appeared a minute later, and the three of them sat gathered around the coffee table while they waited for the other guests to eventually arrive. So far, so good, Yor thought to herself as she scanned her apartment. Wine glass in hand, she let out a poorly hidden sigh of relief. At that point, Loid smirked. He must have been thinking the same thing she was, at least that's what Yor assumed. He leaned over the table to pat her shoulder comfortingly, and she flinched at his touch (out of habit) before quickly relaxing. Her husband was right; just enjoy the evening, and everything would work out fine.

She nodded to herself and took a sip of wine, and a small smile tugged at her lips soon after.

/*\

Millie and Sharon arrived stag together soon after. With Franky taking up the baton for Fiona, everyone Yor had invited ended up coming. Bond was promptly kenneled in Anya's room (with plenty of food, water, and a bone) and the party was in full swing. 

Loid started to drop off plates in front of people, and he couldn't help but be thankful that Handler had secretly requisitioned him the extra chairs. It was just enough for everyone to have a seat, though he distinctly remembered her shaking her head initially at his request. Not that she wouldn't do it, but more to do with the fact that he was going native, as she had so eloquently put it. A dinner party for his wife's friends? The higher-ups would rip them both a new one if they got wind that Twilight was blowing agency funds again over something stupid.

Regardless, she wrote it off as a business expense for an upcoming mission.

Handler always was a sucker for parties.

Loid just needed to save her some leftovers, which was easy enough. A couple missing appetizers and a suspiciously absent square of casserole were tucked safely away in his fridge for his boss. The spy game could get weird sometimes, and vicarious party attendance was just one of those things that agents did to keep themselves entertained during missions. Usually that involved going out of their way to secretly acquire a bottle from the bar to bring back to a safe house or finding out a way to smuggle out a whole chunk of wedding cake without being seen by the bride and groom. It was a stupid inside joke amongst spies; that being said, Loid was no stranger to it. He fully expected the same from Handler the next time she attended a party for a mission.

"Thank you, Loid!" Yor beamed up at him as he pulled up the chair next to her. All the plates had been delivered, and he held the last one in his hands as he sat down.

"Yes, thanks for cooking. It looks great," Sharon added politely across from them. At her side, Millie echoed the sentiment while trying hard not to eat without everyone else.

Loid nodded and waved off their praise. Meanwhile, Yuri grumbled from his spot against the wall. He of course wasn't about to afford his brother-in-law any good will, though Franky next to him had more than enough for the two of them. He stared down at the food in front of him with big eyes and watering mouth; it was by far the best looking thing he'd seen in a long time. He wasn't necessarily the healthiest eater at home. Mostly his pantry was filled with noodles, cereal, and the occasional box of macaroni. This was a downright feast.

There was only one thing missing, and he almost forgot it before digging in. He hadn't eaten anything all day so he'd abstained up until then, but now was definitely the time for a tall glass of wine. He swung down from his chair and shuffled into the kitchen as the rest of the party cut into their food and carried on in conversation. Nobody paid him any mind, save for one man whose head immediately shot over when he noticed a familiar bob of scruffy hair struggle to uncork another wine bottle. Loid quickly excused himself with no one the wiser.

"No drinking," he stated firmly as he came up behind Franky and lifted the bottle from his hands. The latter spun around incredulously.

"Excuse me?" Franky guffawed. He held his arms out to the side to accentuate just how insulted he was.

"Do you remember what happened the last time you drank at my house?" Loid replied flatly. His voice was hushed. Their conversation needed to be quiet.

Franky considered for a moment. He genuinely gave it some thought before slowly shaking his head. "Er...no?"

Loid pinched the bridge of his nose. "You nearly blew my cover, plus you convinced me to spend thousands of dalc on a castle rental for Anya!"

"Hey, that was your fault for listening to a drunk guy!" Franky shot back, which only caused Loid's eye to twitch in annoyance. "Also, what are you talking about?! Yor's drinking and she's way worse than I am!"

"I can handle my wife. I can't handle both of you," Loid shook his head like a father reprimanding his child.

"She's your fake wife!" Franky whispered back loudly. "I'm your best friend! You're really just going to cut me off like this?"

Loid leaned over his so-called best friend. Their height difference was on full display, and Franky gulped. "This whole party was Yor's idea! It's important to her, and I'm going to make sure it goes off without a hitch. If that means keeping you dry for an evening, then so be it!"

Twilight made a brief reappearance; those cold eyes he was known for were suddenly aimed directly at Franky, and they got his point across loud and clear. With a reluctant nod, Franky agreed to skip the booze. Loid soon eased and nodded back before leaving to return to the other guests. That just left Franky alone by himself with an open wine bottle and a half-full glass on the counter in front of him. He grimaced at the thought of pouring it back into the bottle, a social faux pas if there ever was one. Dumping it certainly wasn't an option, either. Franky was never one to waste a good drink, regardless of the situation.

The newly-sober intelligence agent put his brain to work and came up with a quick solution; if Loid thought so lowly of him at the moment, why not prove him wrong? He was trying to score points with Yor (probably, he really didn't know why Twilight cared in the first place), so maybe if he helped make sure she had a good time then that might make him back off a little. Yeah, that's it! He'd pour the rest of the wine and treat her to a glass, then...well, he'd think of the rest later! His first priority was to make sure Yor was liquored up. Can't have a good party without feeling good, of course!

It all made sense. At least, it did to Franky, anyway.

With a smug grin, he filled the remainder of the glass. The bottle glugged in his hand until there was nothing left, and he promptly disposed of it before carefully curling his fingers around the cabernet meant for Yor. He focused intently on the red liquid as he walked, staring down at it to make sure that none of it came splashing out. Franky narrowed his eyes and suffered full on tunnel vision; for all the years he and Twilight had known each other, also taking into account what a connoisseur the latter was, it was a downright shameful how little Franky knew about handling wine.

Anyone who had ever carried a glass before knew to look forward when they were walking, not down at their hand.

Nobody noticed him at first. He scooted into the open room and crept up while everyone was eating and talking. Yor had her back to the wall, and Loid's was towards him. All the better to surprise the Forgers with a kind gesture, Franky plotted. He let a sneer cut across his face as he arrived and cleared his throat, summoning his hosts' attention.

"Here you go, Yor!" Franky announced obnoxiously. All eyes turned towards him. He lifted his nose haughtily in the air. "I thought you might like a glass of wine-!"

-He suddenly stopped.

Not of his own volition, but because something had caught his foot and sent the rest of him reeling forward. Franky's eyes widened, and he looked down to find he'd tripped over one of Bond's stupid chew toys. He hadn't seen it before. It was too late to do anything about it. Already he was lurching towards Yor and Loid, and even if he caught himself from falling over there was no stopping the overflowing cup in his hands from spilling everywhere. Franky watched, captive, as cabernet rained over the one person Loid had done his damnedest to please that evening.

Yor sat helpless as her white polka dot dress suddenly splattered blood red. Warm liquid stained her and her clothes, and the rest of the party froze for a millisecond as what was happening still registered in their brains. Then, immediately after, Loid jumped up. Yuri and Dominic did so as well, while the women covered their mouths in disbelief. Yor stared down at herself in shock as her brother and husband clamored around her, though it was Dominic that ended up gathering all the available napkins to sop up whatever wine was left puddled around her.

Franky ultimately didn't fall. He caught himself at the last second, though he quickly wished he'd landed flat on his face and passed out from the trauma. At least then he could have been spared from Twilight's wrath; when Westalis' legendary agent quickly ascertained his wife was alright and promptly spun around, Franky could feel his soul being pulled out from his body. And the worst part about all that was, Loid wasn't alone. For the first, terrifying time, both he and Yuri seemed on the same wavelength. The two pierced through him with blood lust in their eyes. An SSS and WISE agent both teaming up to gut him; hell had certainly frozen over, and Franky felt the chill down to his bone.

"...Franky!" Loid menaced. He said nothing more. He didn't have to. The mere mention of his name alone was enough to make the agent quake in fear.

Yuri on the other hand was far more animated, though Dominic was at least on standby to forcibly reel him in. "How dare you spill wine all over my sister you q-tip-headed moron!"

"Hey now, it was an accident!" Dominic reasoned with a pained smile, even as Yuri tried to break free from his grip in order to pummel Franky's face into casserole.

"...H-he's right," Yor piped up reluctantly. Everyone suddenly got quiet and spun around to face her. "It's fine, you two. I'll just...have to rinse off in the shower real quick."

Loid paused. He looked at Yor to find her already standing up. She hid her face with a frown, and immediately Loid's heart sank. With a muted excuse me, she walked past Loid and the other guests on her way to the bathroom. The party watched in silence as she darted into the bathroom. No one made a peep, not until the door closed behind her; at that point, things picked back up exactly where they left off. Yuri went to rip Franky a new one. Dominic did damage control. Camilla and the girls mumbled to each other in hushed tones, and Loid was left standing there in the middle of it all. He stared at the bathroom, disheartened. He wanted to help, but knew there was nothing he could do at the moment besides keep the party going. He had to. For Yor's sake.

With a heavy sigh, he flipped on the switch once more. Back to being Loid Forger, the perfect family man.

With a fake smile and calm demeanor, he went about trying to put everyone at ease. Yuri was by the far the most difficult of the bunch to appease, but after much pandering (and an honest promise to kick Franky's ass later) Yor's brother finally calmed somewhat. He sat far off at the other end of the living room away from everyone else, and once he settled down the rest quickly followed. Conversation slowly picked back up, even more so once the sound of a shower being drawn came from the end of the hall. Yor was getting cleaned up. She'd be back at the party in no time, and the thought was enough to finally get things back in full swing. Franky was still the odd-man out, but Loid didn't care about that. The twerp.

New house rule, Twilight thought to himself as he went back into the kitchen to pour the ladies some more wine. No more WISE agents at social functions.

[montagnarde1793]

Ribbons of Scarlet: A predictably terrible novel on the French Revolution (part 1)

Parts 2, 3, 4 and 5.

Q: Why is this post in English? Isn’t this blog usually in French?

 A: Yes, but I can’t bypass the chance, however small, that someone in the book’s target audience might see and benefit from what I’m about to say.

 Q: Why did you even read this book? Don’t you usually avoid bad French Revolution media?

 A: My aunt left the book with me when she came for my defense last November. I could already tell it would be pretty awful and might not have read it except that I needed something that didn’t require too much concentration at the height of the Covid haze and I — like most people who insisted on finishing their doctorate despite the abysmal academic job market — have a problem with the sunk cost fallacy, so once I got started I figured I might as well find out just how bad it got.

 Q: Don’t you have papers to grade?

 A: … Next question.

 Q: Aren’t you stepping out of your lane as an historian by reviewing historical fiction? You understand that it wasn’t intended for you, right?

 A: First of all, this is my blog, such as it is, and I do what I want. Even to the point of self-indulgence. Why else have a blog? Also, I did receive encouragement. XD;

 Second, while a lot of historians I respect consider that anything goes as long as it’s fiction and some even seem to think it’s beneath their dignity to acknowledge its existence, given the influence fiction has on people’s worldview I think they’re mistaken. Besides, this is the internet and no one here has any dignity to lose.

 Finally, this is not so much a review in the classic sense as a case study and a critical analysis of what went wrong here that a specialist is uniquely qualified to make, not because historians are the target audience, but because the target audience might get the impression that it’s not very good without being able to articulate why. To quote an old Lindsay Ellis video, “It’s not bad because it’s wrong, it’s bad because it sucks. But it sucks because it’s wrong.” Or, if you prefer, relying on lazy clichés and adopting or embellishing every lurid anecdote you come across is bound to come across as artificial, amateurish and unconvincing.

 This is especially offensive when you make grandiose claims about your novel’s feminist message and the “time and care” you supposedly put into your research.

 I also admit to having something of a morbid fascination with liberals creating reactionary media without realizing it, which this is also a textbook example of (if someone were to write a textbook on the subject, which they probably should).

 With that out of the way, what even is this book?

 The Basics

 It’s a collaboration between six historical novelists attempting to recount the French Revolution from the point of view of seven of its female participants. One of these novelists is in fact an historian herself, which is a little bit distressing, given that like her co-authors, she seems to consider people like G. Lenotre reliable sources. But then, she’s an Americanist and I’ve seen Americanists publish all kinds of laughable things about the French Revolution in actual serious works of non-fiction without getting called out because their work is only ever reviewed by other Americanists. So.

 Anyway, if you’re familiar with Marge Piercy’s (far superior, though not without its flaws) City of Darkness, City of Light, you might think, “ok, so it’s that with more women.” And you might think that that’s not so bad of an idea; Marge Piercy maybe didn’t go all the way with her feminist concept by making half the point of view characters men (though I’d argue that the way she frames how they view women was part of the point). It’s even conceivable that if Piercy had wanted to make all the protagonists women her publisher would have said no on the grounds of there not being a general audience for that. It was the 1990s, after all.

 Except the conceit this time is they’re all by different authors, we have some counterrevolutionaries in the mix, and instead of the POV chapters interweaving, each character gets her own chunk of the novel, generally about 70-80 pages worth, although there are a couple of notable exceptions. We’ll get to those.

 It’s accordingly divided as follows:

·      Part I. The Philosopher, by Stephanie Dray, from the point of view of salonnière, translator, miniaturist and wife of Condorcet, Sophie de Grouchy, “Spring 1786” to “Spring 1789”; Sophie de Grouchy also gets an epilogue, set in 1804

·      Part II. The Revolutionary, by Heather Webb, from the point of view of Reine Audu, Parisian fruit seller who participated in the march on Versailles and the storming of the Tuileries, 27 June-5 October 1789

·      Part III. The Princess, by Sophie Perinot, from the point of view of Louis XVI’s sister Élisabeth, May 1791-20 June 1792

·      Part IV. The Politician, by Kate Quinn, from the point of view of Manon Roland, wife of the Brissotin Minister of the Interior known for writing her husband’s speeches and for her own memoirs, August 1792-(Fall 1793 — no date is given, but it ends with her still in prison)

·      Part V. The Assassin, by E. Knight, which is split between the POV of Charlotte Corday, the eponymous assassin of Marat, and that of Pauline Léon, chocolate seller and leader of the Société des Républicaines révolutionnaires, 7 July-8 November 1793

·      Part VI. The Beauty, by Laura Kamoie, from the point of view of Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe, a young aristocrat who ran a gambling den and who got mixed up in the “red shirt” affair and was executed in Prarial Year II, “March 1794”-“17 June 1794”

An *Interesting* Choice of Characters…

 Now, there are some obvious red flags in the line-up. I’m not sure, if you were to ask me to come up with a list of women of the French Revolution I would come up with one where 4/7 of the characters are nobles/royals — a highly underrepresented POV, as I’m sure you’re all aware — but fine. Sophie de Grouchy is an interesting perspective to include and Mme Élisabeth at least makes a change from Antoinette? And though the execution is among the worst (no pun intended) Charlotte Corday’s inclusion makes sense as she is famous for doing one of the only things a lay audience has unfortunately heard of in association with the Revolution.

 Reine Audu is actually an excellent choice, both pertinent and original. Credit where credit is due. Manon Roland and Pauline Léon are not bad choices either in theory, but given the overlap with Marge Piercy’s book, if you’re going to do a worse job, why bother? The inclusion of Sophie de Grouchy, while, again, not a bad choice, also kind of makes this comparison inevitable, as another of Piercy’s POV characters was Condorcet.

 But Émilie de Sainte-Amaranthe? I’m not saying you couldn’t write an historically grounded and plausible text from her point of view, but her inclusion was an early tip-off that this was going to be a book that makes lurid and probably apocryphal anecdotes its bread and butter.

 The absolute worst choice was to make Pauline Léon only exist — at best — as a foil to Charlotte Corday. (It turns out to be worse than that, actually. She’s less of a foil than a faire-valoir.)

Still, why does no one write a novel about Simone and Catherine Évrard (poor Simone is reduced to “Marat’s mistress” here, not just by Charlotte Corday, which is understandable, but also by Pauline Léon) or Louise Kéralio or the Fernig sisters or Nanine Vallain or Rosalie Jullien or Jeanne Odo or hell, why not one of the dozens of less famous women who voted on the constitution of 1793 or joined the army or petitioned the Convention or taught in the new public schools. Many of them aren’t as well-documented, but isn’t that what fiction is for?

Let’s try to be nice for a minute

There are things that work about this book and while the result is pretty bad, I think the authors’ intentions were good. Like, who could object to the dedication, in the abstract?

This novel is dedicated to the women who fight, to the women who stand on principle. It is an homage to the women who refuse to back down even in the face of repression, slander, and death. History is replete with you, even if we are not taught that, and the present moment is full of you—brave, determined, and laudable.

It’s how they go about trying to illustrate it that’s the problem, and we’ll get to that.

For now, let me reiterate that while I’m not a fan of the “all perspectives are equally valid” school of history or fiction — or its variant, “all *women*’s perspectives are equally valid” — and there are other characters I would have chosen first, it absolutely would have been possible to write something good with this cast of characters (minus making Charlotte Corday and Pauline Léon share a section).

The parts where the characters deal with their interpersonal relationships and grapple with misogyny are mostly fine — I say mostly, because as we’ll see, the political slant given to that misogyny is not without its problems. These are the parts that are obviously based on the authors’ personal experience and as such they ring true, if not always to an 18th century mentality, at least to that lived experience.

Finally, there are occasionally notes that are hit just fine from an historical perspective as well. The author of the section on Mme Élisabeth doesn’t shy away from making her a persistent advocate of violently repressing the Revolution. Manon Roland corresponds pretty well to the picture that emerges from her memoirs even if the author of her section does seem to agree with her that she was the voice of reason to the point of giving her “reasonable” opinions she didn’t actually hold.

I should also note that while the literary quality is not great, it’s not trying to be great literature and in any case, on that point at least, I’m not sure I could do better.

Ok, that’s enough being nice. Tune in next time for all the things that don’t work.

[yakumtsaki]

Alright you guys, sorry for the delay, I’ve had to restart this post 20 fucking times because my changes weren’t being saved in the draft and then I kept getting the ‘upload failed’ error. In case you don’t remember wtf is going on you might wanna re-read the last update (I certainly had to) which is apparently from JUNE 2018. Jfc I suck so hard. Now this was gonna be really long but tumblr wouldn’t post it so I’m breaking it up in 3 parts, part 2 to be posted tomorrow. For those that don’t feel like reading back, general recap of the last couple updates:

Jojo cheated on Wyatt with Max Flexor and my solution to that marital crisis was to adopt our first dog ever, a puppy hilariously named Maxx.

The puppy grew up to be an asshole and is constantly beating up the cats, who have turned into giant pussies (no pun intended) and are losing every fight to him despite the fact they’re named after Mortal Kombat characters. They’re a fucking disgrace to Alegra’s/Victor’s/Ronroneo’s memory and I haven’t settled on a cat heir yet because they both suck.

Jojo is perma miserable, I don’t even remember how much money away from his 100k LTW, and still not a werewolf despite my pathologically persistent attempts to make him friends with the wolf.

Fucking useless Wyatt didn’t get promoted while Komei was alive providing us with his 100 townie friends, we spent 20 updates befriending every rando that crossed our lot to secure his promotion, and then finally on the day he was supposed to become Captain Hero, Wyatt got, of course, fired and is now on track to take longer to complete his literal career based LTW than Komei took to get 6 pets on the top of their careers.

Absolutely everyone hates noogie addict Shajar, she got a Kylo Ren makeover, and we still don’t know what her sexual orientation is thanks to her ridiculous fitness/fatness turn ons and cleanliness turn off.

Golden child/10 nice points freakshow Cyneswith grew up, rolled romance with the most disturbing turn-ons/offs possible (grey hair/mechanical & charisma turn off) and the 20 simultaneous lovers LTW.

Wulf grew up into a kid, got an Amadeus makeover, is officially a Wyatt clone and the only member of this family I don’t completely hate yet.

Now I’d like to begin the first Union post in more than a year by requesting you do me a solid and lower your expectations for this thing as far down as humanly possible. Like really try to recreate the Jules Verne classic “Journey to the Center of the Earth” with your expectations here, because my brain is so fucking fried that there’s a 20% chance I randomly start citing sources at some point during this post. This grad school crap has seriously been the worst trade deal in the history of trade deals, maybe ever. And speaking of bad trade deals, let’s get this update rolling with the man, the myth, the legend, the husband who managed to make Komei look like a dreamboat in comparison..

..Wyatt fucking Union, née Monif. It’s been a long time, but I’m not gonna lie to you Wyatt, not nearly long enough. Looking good man, just one small question, where the fuck are your eyebrows?

-You àccidéntally deléted thém, imbécilé, et I cannôt exprèss my irritatiόn prόperly becausé I hàve non eyebrôws!

Did your selective French accent get thicker this past year or is it just me?

-It géts thickér whén je suis distrésséd, givé moi mon eyebrôws bàcc!!!

No can do, brother. Actually can do, but I think the Mona Lisa look is working for you, and more importantly I still hate you, so I’m just gonna hardcore ignore you for the rest of this post if that’s ok. Talk to me when you finally get promoted, aka never the way this shit is going.

-Non! NON! MON EYEBROWS!

It’s been lovely catching up.

Jojό I mean Jojo, goddammit Wyatt, is spending most of his time building robots in the mausoleum (sweet hipster band name alert)..

..giving financial advice in Shajar’s room (inb4 what’s the difference between the mausoleum and Shajar’s room)..

..building evil snowmen alone in the middle of the night, like all mentally healthy middle aged men with 3 kids are wont to do..

..and getting the piss harassed out of him by the cat ghosts in the bathroom (sweet hipster band name alert #2). How is this like the fourth time this happens in the exact same spot, will you just stop autonomously cleaning the bathroom after midnight? It’s obviously where the cats hang out, give it the fuck up already.

-I’m actively TRYING TO DIE you absolute moron, what does a guy have to do to get killed around here?

Yea can’t say that I blame you but not happening, you can commit suicide by Ghost Alegra after the kids fuck off to college, ok? I promise.

-Oh like you promised me being heir was a route worth pursuing??

Um obviously you too need to go back and re-read your own life story, because I spent the entirety of our “““cherished””” time together telling you heirship is a shitty gig at generation 2. And then to top it off you went and married Wyatt to ensure maximum shittiness, so there you go, fucking enjoy. God I am so sick of both of you losers and we’re only 5 pics in. Let’s check in with your spawn, I’m sure they can’t possibly be more annoying than their parents-

-oh right, I forgot, this is the generation with 10/10/9 active points where the party never stops. Cyneswith are you somehow twerking to classical music?

-How else am I gonna attract all those hot senior citizens per my grey hair turn on and 20 lovers LTW?

Ok great yea I see how this is gonna go, you’re trying to entice people into voting you for heir based on how torturous playing this fucked up LTW is gonna be for me, well forget it, my readers are intellectuals and completely above such petty entertainment. (istg mofos, don’t even think about it, i already did Komei’s 5 pets career shit, i will burn this place to the ground if you saddle me with Cyneswith banging the elderly for 30 years)

-No need to worry your stupid little head, I will beat Cyneswith for HEIR just like I beat her HAIR up daily! HAHA!

Shajar no offense but you’re a fucking war crime of a sim, nearly everyone who’s ever met you hates you including your parents, and the fact that you’re the alternative here is really not helping my situation in any way. Also how the fuck are you gonna be heir when the only thing you seem to be attracted to is giving noogies, you’re like one week away from college and I still don’t even know if you’re str8 or gay or bi or w/e the fuck you are. You have Jojo’s personality combined with..

..yes exactly, DANIEL’S SOCIAL ABILITIES. I mean I was joking with the whole ‘Shajar’s the spawn of Satan’ thing, but this combo of traits was clearly drawn up in Hell’s boardroom.

ANYWAY. It’s a snowy Sunday morning, and anyone who has been a teen knows what that means:

Time to go clubbing! Man I remember being like 15, waking up on a freezing Sunday morning and my mom making me a cup of hot chocolate before I drove off to the club. Those were the days.

-Uh, Shaj, when did you learn how to drive?

-Don’t be stupid, Cyneswith, people don’t need to ‘learn’ how to drive.

-They absolutely do, actually.

-Well what can I tell you, the dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.

-Here we are, safe and sound! Celebratory noogie!

-YOU RAN OVER 9 PEOPLE

-How many times to I have to explain this to you, Apartment Life townies are not people.

Can’t argue with that logic. Let’s just go in and find out what Shajar’s sexual orientation is once and for all so I can spend the rest of this update aggressively promoting Wulf’s candidacy.

Now I consider ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ one of the dumbest sayings there is, but even I have to concede that this particular picture truly is worth a thousand words. Quick poll, what is more horrifying, Shajar’s literal Joker face or Cyneswith, whom I’ve never seen read a book ever, autonomously pulling one out in the middle of the dance floor, in what I can only assume is an attempt to attract old perverts with the schoolgirl routine?

And I know what some of you are thinking, you’re like ‘bro, you’re just reaching to make a bad joke bro, Cyneswith is just a sweet nice introvert and not like other girls, she doesn’t feel comfortable in the club’, well to that let me reply with another picture that is worth a thousand words:

Yea that’s right, on the first minute of our first time out WE RUN INTO THAT ONE ELDER TOWNIE THAT HAS WRINKLE MAKE UP ON. GODDAMMIT CYNESWITH

Do you guys remember how Jojo was obsessed with Stephen Tinker as a teen? Are you seeing the connection here?? Those kids have literally inherited the worst possible traits from both their parents turned up to 11, it’s fucking unreal.  

Right after I get over Wrinkle’s presence I turn around and what do I see, those 2, who have never had a non-noogie physical interaction, autonomously doing the family kiss thing. I didn’t even catch it on time because I was loling irl, we came out here so these assholes can find age-appropriate partners, and instead they’re kissing each other. Seems about right with this family, and clearly Striped Scarf’s dumb ass ships it.

-They look so much alike, it’s meant to be!

Yes, and they even share the same last name! Talk about written in the stars.

Thankfully Abhijeet is here to save us from incest by perving on Cyneswith. GTFO ABHIJEET. Anyone like ‘bro townies just autonomously come to greet your sims on community lots regardless of age, stop calling them perverts’, see you in about 5 pics down.  

I try to have Shajar chat up Striped Scarf and suffice it to say Shaj ~stole her heart~ and presumably put it on this stick to wave around.

NO. CYNESWITH NO. I’m seriously having déjà vu of all the times I was like ‘NO. JOJO NO’, jfc.

Shajar is unsurprisingly exhibiting no interest in socializing with anyone around her, instead she’s trying every activity this terribly lit place has to offer, and she looks demented while doing it:

I’m feeling a primal urge to photoshop Darth Vader’s melted helmet on the bowling ball here, someone please remind me to do it for the heir vote photoshoot.

-HA. SUCK IT DENISE JACQUET

That’s Denise Jacquet?! I can’t tell who anyone is for shit anymore. The default replacements are a scourge upon premade brands, I’m getting rid of them pronto. Speaking of scourges, where the hell is your sister?

-Who cares?

I wanna say ‘me’ but we both know that’s a lie.

Oh ok, THERE SHE IS.

-So you see Cyneswith, just because something is technically ‘illegal’, doesn’t mean it’s morally wrong-

Yea yea fascinating stuff, now get out of the hot tub or I will fucking neuter you, I don’t know if a eunuch mod already exists for medieval games but I will make one if it doesn’t.

Here, Cyneswith, drink some water, have a nice G-rated convo with your sister about violins and stop pissing me off. 

-First of all this is straight vodka.

Great.

-Secondly Shajar is talking about Mozart’s coprophilia.

-I sure am.

Amazing. Well, I guess it’s at times like these when you need to look inside your heart and truly ask yourself, what did you expect from Jojo’s children.

ABHIJEET ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME DID YOU EVEN HEAR ME TALK ABOUT CASTRATION

-Ha, I went home and put on my most elderly-looking formal wear!

-I hate to see you go but I love to watch you leave Ab <3

CYNESWITH SHUT UP. I can’t believe you people are actually making me miss Gunther’s teenage whoring, at least he kept it age appropriate.

-Is some random lady pressing her breasts against my head?

She most certainly is, Shajar, because it is now crystal clear that this bowling alley doubles as the site of annual perv townie convention and we walked right into it-

-and it’s also clear we have serious issues and are enjoying ourselves. Shaj I legit don’t know what to tell you, this is the first time you get along with someone right away and it just had to be the adult with the bad haircut and the flasher’s trench coat???

-You’re damn right it did.

Alright then, I’m officially going to nope out of this situation, safe in the knowledge you’re a noogiesexual and nothing will actually happen with this freak, so I’ll focus on Cyneswith instead who is much more of a loose canon. 

Here Cyn, talk to this guy, who I’m 90% sure is the same guy your father rejected in favor of stalking Stephen Tinker when he was your age.

-Ohhhh, he’s dreamy!

Omg really?? Halleluj-

-oh never mind, you were of course referring to adult ass Brandon Lillard. I do like that our townies have recurring roles each generation, we should make rejecting Blondie a rite of passage in this family. We should also officially gtfo because this is happening:

-Um, now that I’m looking at you in harsher lighting, it’s gonna be a no from me dawg. 

Oh, thank the fucking lord.

-Let’s celebrate the fact we didn’t get hopelessly obsessed with any adults here by doing the traditional Dance of Normality!

-We beat Dad’s genes, we beat Dad’s genes!

-We’re normal!

Yes, and we’re definitely showing it. Can we please leave now so I can make sure I’ve uninstalled Inteenminator and turn off free will? 

-Nop! Venue change!

-Got-out-of-the-car celebratory noogie!

-Made-it-to-the-door celebratory noogie!

Shajar you unironically have a noogie addiction, I’m not kidding in the slightest, you need to see a doctor.

Great, great, not another teen in sight and to top it off Denise followed us here to ensure maximum elder presence. I feel comfortable officially declaring this day a complete waste of time.

God, the vintage pink dress and the pink alcohol combo is some straight up current era Taylor Swift nonsense. That’s it, we’re outta here, back home where no one is lurking, waiting to strike at us-

-SOPHIE NOOOOOOOOOOOO💔💔💔💔💔

-The Lord is my shepherd.

NO HE ISN’T EVERYONE KNOWS YOU CAN’T HERD CATS PLEASE DON’T DIE

-Nop, I’m over it. Goodbye heathens, it’s been nice, hope you don’t find your paradise. 

UGH SOPHIE, my beloved Westboro lunatic, the last gangsta generation 1 cat we had.. I can’t believe you’re gone and all I’m left with is stupid Goro and D’vorah who can’t even beat up the fucking dog. This is truly painful.

Yes, pets, I agree, Kaylynn is completely to blame for Sophie dying of old age. The time has now come to decide on a cat heir-

-and since Goro ran away like a little bitch after Sophie’s death despite the fact he didn’t even like her, he’s automatically disqualified and will be going off to live on Melody and Daniel’s farm once returned to us. Congratulations to D’vorah I guess, on being the least terrible of two terrible options. 

On the topic of terrible heir options, Cyn has non-stop wants to go on dates and have her first kiss and all that crap, and since our Sunday morning clubbing was a bust we invite over the matchmaker.

-Hello there young Union, I see your house has been upgraded since I was last here.

Oh right we haven’t required your services since Daniel was a teen and we lived in a trailer, well we are flush with cash now!

-Hopefully your payment reflects that.

It will!! Just please give us someone good, I can’t deal with single teen Cyn for one more second.

-Oh my, what a beautiful BLANK PIECE OF PAPER.

WHAT!? NO THAT’S 5K IT’S JUST A SNOW GLITCH 

-What do I look like to you, a money thawing service?

Does such a service.. exist??

-It does not, so I have to go home and use a hairdryer on this!

Just come inside and we’ll give you non-frozen money!

-No, no, you’ll get what you paid for..

-Have a magical time!

...

.........

......................

Lakshmi this was so fucking evil that I almost want to age you down and see if you and Shajar hit it off. 

-As if, the whole neighborhood knows what you did to Komei.

Helped him achieve his insane 6-pets-career LTW?

-Turned him into a servant while your sim was lounging around all day!

Oh yea I did do that. But Wyatt was also a townie and he does literally nothing, Jojo is the servant now!

-Only because Wyatt is too fucking stupid to do things! Word has gotten out, no townie will ever marry in this family again unless they’re brain dead, so it’s Wyatts only for you from now on, sister!

Well this has been a complete fucking disaster. It was great seeing you again, Lakshmi, thanks for the dream date with the adult farting machine, 5k well-spent.

Pretty sure it was you bro, and yes, how about we don’t do that again.

Wyatt has brought over Amanda from work! (Aka Victoria’s only friend and subsequent lesbian lover, who is really pretty and is definitely getting married in at some point, preferably after the brown hair genes have been weakened so we can go back to being gingers.)  

-Wow Shajar, your grandmother, God rest her soul, mentioned you were her favorite and now I can see why! Loving the Kylo Ren look!

-Is someone being genuinely nice to me?! What is happening?

-Yes, please stop being nice to her, Amanda, we don’t want her getting used to it.

Jojo istg.

-Cyneswith dear, tell Amanda all about how much money your grandmother left you so she can stop being nice to Shajar. 

-Soooo much money, Miss Amanda!

-Ah, what a polite child I’ve single-handedly raised.

-Now, Cyneswith, you really need to get back on the dating scene so you have ample time to find the perfect spouse and continue our line, since you’re clearly the only one of my children that is remotely heir material. 

-Dad, Shajar and Wulf are right next to you.

-Oh they are? I’m wearing my special contact lenses that make those disappointments invisible to me, but even better, they need to hear this. Shajar is a noogiesexual and thus incapable of reproduction, and Wulf is not even a Union, I mean have you seen that kid? Wyatt reproduced by himself like the amoeba he is. Now, your grandmother-

-YOU MENTIONED ME 3 TIMES AND HERE I AM

OH FUCK VICTORIA, deleting the default replacements gave you base game hair!!!!

-That’s the part you’re scared by, not my Beetlejuicesque entrance?

There’s literally nothing scarier than your ghost sporting this haircut for all eternity, I’m re-downloading that default immediately. 

-Oh mom, so good to see you! Let me just hug my beloved child, Shijer-

-Shajar, dad.

-SHAJAR, let me hug Shajar, like I do all the time. 

-I’m glad to see you’re not picking favorites among your children like I did, the way I treated David-

-Daniel, mom.

-DANIEL, is the one thing I’ve truly been regretting in the afterlife. That and not skinning Marisa Bendett alive when I had the chance. 

-Well, as you can see by Shajar’s totally normal and not at all shocked reaction to my hug, I am a wonderful, fair, and emotionally available father. 

(Bruh this freaked me out so much when it happened, I mean I KNOW it’s an animation glitch but I was convinced my sims had become sentient for a good while after)

-Is your grandmother’s ghost still on the premises?

-Yup. 

-When will this nightmare end, paying attention to you is the worst. 

-Ok she’s gone.

-FINALLY. Now it’s back to the crypt for you, and don’t you dare go complain to her urn!

-Ah, Stephen, Stephen, my life is crap and I can’t even🎵

And with the knowledge you have composed a theme song for Stephen Tinker, part 1 of the Union comeback update is concluded. Will Shajar’s sexual orientation reveal itself? Will Cyneswith find true love? Will Jojo become a werewolf? Will Wulf continue to be the only dignified member of this family? Will D’vorah have kittens? Will Wyatt do literally anything worth mentioning? Tune in for parts 2 & 3 to find out, unfollow button on the upper right corner for those who need it. 

[welllpthisishappening]

Carol of the [Wedding] Bells

It all happens fairly quickly and he doesn’t remember much of it, which, really, seems fairly unfair from where Killian is sitting. Or, laying. Technically. He’s still laying in bed. With Emma next to him. And matching rings on either one of their fingers. On Christmas Eve. In Vegas.

Rating: Like a pretty solid T Word Count: Just under 8K. The prompts, they’re getting longer. Let’s all act super surprised. AN: So, in an effort to make things look a bit nicer, I’m going to post the Festive Fic Prompt a Thon stories on their own, outside of the asks. Today’s prompt from a lovely anon is: "we accidentally got married in vegas oops.” We’ve got pining, we’ve got friends to lovers, we’ve got opinionated Ariel, we’ve got thoughts on the Rat King in the Nutcracker.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

-------

His head is going to snap in half.

He kind of hopes it does. It will presumably be more comfortable than whatever is happening behind his right eye, a dull throb and pounding that times up far too closely with his pulse, making Killian’s stomach heave and his mouth is very dry.

He’s not entirely sure where he is.

It’s not very warm.

That is...surprising.

The whole schtick of this place is its warmth. A dry heat and whatnot. He swallows, feeling like his mouth is full of cotton balls with a tongue that is questionably large, blinking against the light streaming in through unfamiliar curtains and—

Bouncing off the band of metal sitting on his finger.

Maybe his head has already cracked. Maybe he’s cracked.

In a psychological sense.

Killian blinks. Once, twice, three times, but the metal doesn’t move and the pain behind his eye appears to be drifting down his spine and he’s so goddamn cold because the other person draped across the majority of the bed has stolen nearly all the blankets.

There’s a bit of fabric clinging to his left heel.

“Holy fu—” he breathes, the rest of the word getting caught in a throat that suddenly feels as if it’s collapsing in on himself.

He can hear his heart pounding against his rib cage, another noise his head does not appreciate and his eyes are starting to water.

He’d blinked enough already. He assumes he’s physically incapable now.

Because now things are starting to piece together, even through the fog and the metaphorical cotton balls, smiles and laughter and far too much alcohol, missed flights and East coast snowstorms, changed plans and new plans and—

Emma mumbles something in her sleep.

So, maybe he’ll just die here.

That would probably be easier to deal with.

“Swan,” Killian says, but his voice doesn’t even sound like him. It scratches its way out of his throat, rough and maybe still a little drunk and...married.

To Emma Swan. Presumably.

God, he really can’t remember.

That is...disappointing.

“Swan,” he repeats, and it takes more than a moment to flip over, another twist of his stomach and clench of his jaw, and Emma makes more noise. Less disappointing. Endearing, even. This is a problem. A bad problem. The worst problem. “Swan, c’mon, love—”

Killian reaches his hand out, lets the pads of his fingers drift over the curve of her elbow, even when it’s still covered by blankets with an astoundingly high thread count. He’s going to choke on his tongue.

It’s growing.

He’s positive.

Taking up far too much real estate in his mouth, a biological defense mechanism because love has always seemed to roll right off that same tongue when Emma Swan is involved, but now it sounds far too big and much too heavy, and Killian cannot think about both his tongue and Emma Swan in the same sentence.

Not when he’s— “Why are you talking to me?” Emma grumbles. He laughs. He doesn’t mean to, but that’s apparently par for the course of the last twelve hours and at some point he’s going to promise that this is all Will’s fault.

And global warming.

If it hadn’t been snowing in New York and Boston, then everyone else would have been able to get to Las Vegas. For Christmas. As planned.

Mary Margaret’s plan, really. There was a schedule and we’ve never done this before and that had been reason enough for everyone to buy plane tickets and book hotels and Emma had called Killian almost immediately to ask do you think we can bribe a hotel clerk to put us in rooms next to each other. Which had almost led to his heart bruising his ribs.

What with all the faster-than-normal beating and being in love with Emma Swan and whatever.

Whatever.

Emma Swan. His wife.

Holy fuck.

“Seriously your voice is so loud,” Emma continues. “Are they doing construction outside or something? It’s too early for that.” “I have no idea what time it is, actually.”

“It’s probably not construction, is it?” “No, I don’t think so.”

“But...you’re here. Yeah?” Killian hums, pointedly ignoring the flicker of hope that appears in the back of his brain at those particular words in that particular order. As if she’d want that.

As if she’d want— They’re friends.

They’re...best friends. He knows things about her. She knows things about him. Good things, not so good things, things they’ve shared together, quiet moments and easy smiles, the growing sense that it’s just a bit easier to breathe around Emma Swan than any other human being on the planet.

They text. They FaceTime. On a schedule. One that Killian would argue is far better than Mary Margaret’s Christmas in Vegas extravaganza. He and Emma have known each other forever, have settled into their roles in the friendship group; the tag-alongs. The extra pairs, third wheels and sad ones with no designated other and this is really Will’s fault. He was supposed to get to Vegas before Mary Margaret and David.

“Here, Swan,” Killian whispers when he realizes Emma is still waiting on an answer.

He needs to find his phone.

He needs to Google things.

“Ok, good. That’s good, just—go back to sleep, ok?”

Her lips barely move when she speaks, burrowing further into the cocoon of blankets she’s created for herself, hair a riotous mess on multiple pillows and the smudges of black in the corners of her eyes make it obvious that neither one of them did much more than collapse into bed the night before.

They’re still wearing clothes.

So, that’s something.

Killian licks his lips. He’s not sure when he started breathing out of his mouth, but he’s suddenly all too aware of it, like every inhale is a particular challenge and he briefly wonders if she can feel whatever it is he’s feeling because the pinch that appears between her brows is rather sudden.

“Swan, Emma, it’s a—” Her eyes fly open, a blazing gaze that Killian swears cuts him right down the middle and stitches him back together. All at the same time.

“Wait,” she snaps. “You’re here.” “Yuh huh.” “In my room. This hotel room.” “Yup.” “And a bed.” “Also true.” “What are you—” “—I, uh,” Killian cuts in, and that’s probably not the best course of action. He bites back the urge to make another golf-related pun. To himself. Emma hasn’t blinked yet. “What do you remember about last night?” She shrugs, lower lip jutted out slightly. He’s got to stop staring at her lips. “I don’t—we were...did we come up with a song to go with the slot machine?” “Yuh huh.”

“Seriously, what is your deal right now? That’s—I mean, we were drunk, but—” Emma stops so abruptly Killian is fairly certain the world has also stopped spinning for a second. Until her hand jerks forward, as if she’s going to swat at his shoulder like it’s any other morning and any other day and he bites down on the side of his tongue. It’s bleeding.

The whole thing is oddly poetic in an entirely depressing sort of way.

Because Emma’s eyes bugs. Her jaw drops. Her exhale is impossibly loud.

“What is that?” Emma exclaims, jumping up and taking the blankets with her. She sways when she gets to her feet, gritting her teeth, and Killian reaches out on something like instinct.

She hisses.

The light glints off his ring again, casting weird shadows across Emma’s face and the dress she’s wearing and she’s still wearing a dress. It’s not white. It’s red and good and great and Killian feels some of the tension that had lingered between his shoulders dissipate as soon as his eyes sweep across her.

This is bad.

And not—

No, bad. Horrible, terrible, an absolute mistake.

Emma runs a hand over her face, fingers moving to pinch the bridge of her nose as she tries to catch her breath. Killian can still taste blood in his mouth. “Ok,” she says, all forced calm, “so, uh—we made up the jingle, song thing and then—” “—Jingle implies that it was an advertisement for the slot machines, doesn’t it?” “Oh my God, you’re making jokes.” Killian nods. “Yeah, a few.” “They’re not funny.” “Has that ever been the case, though?” One side of her mouth tilts up. “I hate you.” “That seems reasonable, all things considered.”

Emma huffs, tugging on the end of her hair like she does when she’s nervous and Killian doesn’t want her to be nervous around him, but he also didn’t expect to wake up married to the best friend he’s spent years pining for, so. Maybe nothing makes sense anymore.

“This is real?” Of all the questions Emma could have asked, standing barefoot in her own hotel room, with, Killian assumes, her own fairly awful hangover, that is not the one he expected to hear.

He expected more shouting.

If he’s being honest.

He nods again, slower that time. “Yeah, I think so.” “Ok, so, uh—” She clicks her teeth, more than once, as if she’s trying to work out some sort of residual energy and that dress is incredibly distracting. Being in love with her is incredibly distracting. “Did we win money last night?” “Quite a bit, if memory serves.” “And does it? Serve?” “Comes and goes in waves,” Killian admits, propping himself up on his elbows. Emma’s mouth does something else. “Scarlet called, do you remember that part?” “To tell us that he was stuck at JFK with Ruby and Belle?” “Yeah. And David and Mary Margaret couldn’t get out of Storybrooke—” “—Well, that’s because the entire town probably has like two pounds of road salt available, so—” “—Four pounds, maybe.” “The jokes,” Emma groans, but there’s not really any frustration to the words and that’s always been the case. The problem, maybe. It’s all too easy.

With her.

And them.

As a unit.

Killian’s eyes flicker to his ring. “Anyway. Scarlett called, gave a progress report on the great Nor’easter of 2019, Mary Margaret might have shed a few tears over her schedule and—” “—Wait until she finds out what we did,” Emma mutters.

The tension returns. Tenfold. It sinks under Killian’s skin and wraps around every one of his bones, slinks through his veins and settles between muscle fibers, threatening to push him into the mattress.

A muscle in Emma’s jaw jumps. ‘I just—” she starts, both hands waving in front of her. “Well, it’s not exactly like getting—”

That muscle is going to fly out of her face. That wasn’t on Mary Margaret’s schedule either. Emma flushes when she can’t finish the sentence, tugging both of her lips behind her teeth. Killian tries not to lift his eyebrows.

It doesn’t work.

He knows as soon as Emma sighs.

“So,” she continues pointedly, “we got the phone call, decided to—” “—Take in the sights of the strip. That’s a verbatim quote by you.” “God, did we start drinking here?” Killian points a finger towards the mini-bar, door still half-open and most of the shelves empty. “Context clues.” “And that led to the casino and the slots and then we won, so…” “I believe the term celebration was used several times.” Emma hums noncommittally, color still dotting her cheeks even when she does her best to bore her eyes into the tiny bit of carpet between her feet. And Killian holds his breath.

He counts to ten. Twenty. Forty-seven.

Backwards, too.

Because the memories keep settling into place, quick flashes of moments and earnest conversation, roaming hands and smiles that would put even the most rhinestone-covered outfit to shame.

Her hand had been very warm in his all night.

And there’d been—

He wishes he didn’t know how soft Emma’s lips were when he kissed her.

At least not like that.

“Right, right,” Emma mumbles. “And, uh—Chapel of the Bells?” “There was a Christmas joke involved there.” “Oh my God, by you or me?” “I honestly can’t remember.” Emma makes a noise previously never heard by human ears. It leaves her whole body bent in half and Killian’s heart shattering in his chest, far too much emotion for a drunken-fueled elopement, but he’s still having a very hard time coming to terms with the dress and the way she keeps twisting strands of hair around her finger and—

He’s already spent too much time thinking about this.

It seems exceptionally unfair that it ended up like this.

“How did we get a license? Don’t you have to have a license in Vegas or is that just for responsible cities with real rules?” “It’s a pretty scathing review of Las Vegas,” Killian says with half a grin. “We looked up that place, didn’t we? The Bell place.” “Oh call it the Bell place from now on, please.” She glares. “The jokes have got to stop. This is—ok, so the Bell place had packages. That’s...I remember that. We went in and we signed things and I had flowers. Like...roses, did you pick those out?” He’s the one blushing now, a heat in his cheeks and lingering at the base of his spine. Whatever inhale Killian takes does not do much to assuage the tightening in his lungs. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I wanted you to have something nice.”

It’s not an admission, per se.

It’s a fact, really.

But Emma’s eyes flicker up and he would swear in front of a variety of judges that there’s a hint of emotion on the edge, her own brand of want that he’s coveted for far longer than he’s willing to admit.

“And now we’re….” “Yuh huh,” Killian repeats, not able to say the actual word. So, he’s really a giant coward is what he is.

“How do we not be that?” It’s for the best that his heart has already cracked because the rest of him feels like it’s falling off in rather large hunks and that’s a disgusting thought, but Killian can still taste blood in his mouth and Emma won’t meet his gaze anymore and—

HIs phone is ringing somewhere.

“Do you need to get that?” Emma asks, soft enough that he can barely hear her. Killian blinks. Multiple times. Again.

“No, that’s—” “—You should probably get your phone, Killian. It’s, um...I mean we need to figure this out, right?” He makes a noise, is only aware that he nods when the muscles in his neck ache with the movement. Emma squeezes her eyes closed. “Because,” she continues, “it’s just a drunken thing. Yeah? That’s—I bet it happens to people all the time. This is like Vegas’ slogan.” “Drunk things brought about by delayed flights and the Christmas spirit?”

Emma’s lips twitch. “That’s verbatim too, huh?” “Something like that.” HIs phone stops ringing. And immediately starts again.

“Get that,” Emma repeats. “I’m, uh—why did we come back here, though?” “You were very certain you had the best sheets in the entire hotel.” “They’re stupid soft, aren’t they?” “I wouldn’t know, you stole all of them in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sorry.” And he can hear the apology for what it is, far more than bedding or questionably cold internal body temperature. For everything.

A mistake neither one of them wanted to make for entirely different reasons.

Killian stands up slowly, careful when he steps into Emma’s space and he’s at least eighty-two percent positive the sun is doing this reflecting thing on purpose. He ignores it, lets his head drop half an inch until his forehead is nearly resting on hers and his heart has made a miraculous recovery, hammering away in his chest like it’s trying to prove a point and—

She turns her head when his fingers graze her cheek, eyes fluttering shut.

“We’ll fix it, Swan,” Killian promises, the words like acid on his tongue. He’s really being the most dramatic groom.

She hums, a quick nod and hint of a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

And, really, it’s stupid.

It’s idiotic and dumb and wrong, on some sort of fundamental level, but Killian’s moving before he’s even processed any of those words and Emma doesn’t do anything more than exhale softly as son as his lips brush over the crown of her head.

So, points.

Or whatever.

His phone vibrates off the table a few feet away.

By the time Killian reaches his phone Ariel has called fourteen times, which seems a little— “Excessive,” he says, but that only gets him a screech-like sound and he’s not sure how much more of this his body can take.

As a whole.

“Are you kidding me?” “Say words.” “These are words,” Ariel sneers. She’s pacing. He can hear the floor creaking in what he can only imagine is her living room or bedroom and the specifics don’t really matter because she’s far too preoccupied with yelling at him to be concerned with the structural integrity of her house. “These are very—”

“—Opinionated words?” Killian suggests.

“You told me.” “Wait, what?” “Oh not so high and mighty now, are we?” “Ariel, I really do not have time for this. I’ve got to look shit up and—” “—You know it’s Christmas Eve, right? You probably won’t be able to talk to a lawyer today. Or tomorrow for that matter.”

His legs lock, glancing down to make sure his stomach has not actually fallen on the floor. No such luck. That would have been a good excuse for getting off the phone.

“Got you there, don’t I?” “Are you playing games, right now?” “No,” Ariel says, but the way her laugh clings to her voice makes Killian wonder all sorts of things he shouldn’t. If only because they make his blood run a bit cold. Or, colder. He still hasn’t really recovered from the blanket theft.

“Are you?” she adds.

Killian’s going to bite his tongue in half by the end of the day.

Maybe the end of the morning.

“Did I call you last night?” he asks softly, ducking further into the corner like that will stop his voice from traveling across the room.

Emma’s on the phone too.

“Several times,” Ariel replies, not bothering to disguise her laugh anymore. “Each one got progressively more excited. It was honestly almost nice.” “Almost?” “Almost. Because, uh—did you really actually do it?” He’s frozen. Stuck. Stock-still in the corner with the shadow and his own regret and he’s already lost track of the number of times he’s looked at his ring.

Killian’s got to stop thinking of it like that.

It’s far too possessive.

“Your silence is deafening,” Ariel murmurs.

“Shut up.” “The honeymoon’s over, huh?”

“Seriously, shut up.”

“Killian,” Ariel says, voice going placating. He narrows his eyes at open air. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Right now? No.”

“You might want to reexamine your priorities.”

“Oh, don’t be a dick. I’m worried about you.”

“Me? Why?”

The breadth of Ariels’ reactionary noises would be impressive in any other situation. As it is, they’re mostly just annoying and Killian needs to take a shower. And down a fistful of Ibuprofen.

“You’re really kidding me, aren’t you?” Ariel challenges. “Oh my God, that’s—how long would you say you’ve been madly in love with your best friend?”

Silence. It’s not his first choice, but his tongue is doing that thing again and Emma’s voice is getting sharper on the other side of the room.

Ariel hums. “It’s so obvious. Even before the elopement. I mean—I was not joking about the messages. You should probably make sure you didn’t take out ad space in whatever the major Las Vegas newspaper is.”

“The Las Vegas Review Journal.” “God, you’re such a dweeb.” “Was this the worry?”

“You love that girl,” Ariel says matter of factly. “And you have forever. And it’s—she is so ridiculously into you—” “—What?” Killian growls, hand going tight enough around his phone that he’s worried he’s going to snap it in half. That might not be the worst thing in the world.

“People do not just marry their best friends.” “There was a lot of alcohol involved.” “What’s that saying about drunk thoughts and actions?” His eyes flicker towards Emma, swallowing back his retort because he wants, wants, wants, with every single fiber of his being and every reason why he hasn’t taken his ring off yet and—

“Silence,” Ariel mutters. “You should tell her at some point that you’d like to date her while you’re married.” “We’re not staying married.” “That’s stupid.” “That’s practical.” “When is romance practical?” “Ariel.” “Killian,” she says, and he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. It hurts. “You really did sound happy last night.” “You’re getting sentimental on me.” “You’re a martyr, you know that?” “Nah,” he objects. “It’s just—” “—Oh say, it’s complicated, please.” “It is.” Ariel clicks her tongue. “Sure it is. Seriously, you may want to double check on the newspaper ads. And other voicemails. From both of your phones.” He’s going to say something. It will be scathing and it will get the smile he’s sure is taking up most of the space on Ariel’s face to disappear, but then Emma is walking towards him, nerves practically rolling off her in waves. “I, uh—I called Mary Margaret last night.” “Told you,” Ariel yells. Killian snarls into the phone. She cackles.

Emma scrunches her nose. “So, she’s called me like forty-seven times. They’re still trying to get to Logan and apparently Scarlet did get on a flight. Ruby yelled and Belle pleaded and it was a whole thing, so they’re on their way here and—” “—They’re probably bringing gifts,” Ariel shouts.

“Is that Ariel?” Killian hums. “She’s very bored on Christmas break. Mind gone soft and so now she’s just determined to do permanent damage to my hearing and—” “—You are a dick,” Ariel says, making sure to pause between each word. For emphasis.

“Did you call Ariel?” Emma asks.

“Something about good news and it traveling fast.” She lets out a strangled sound between gritted teeth, nose still scrunched and far more attractive than any nose has any right to be. “Keep that in mind because Mary Margaret in all her overprotective wonder passed our tidings of great joy—” “—Look who’s making jokes now.” “She told Regina.”

Killian curses.

“Who was,” Emma continues, “as judgmental as you’d expect her to be, but also full of legal advice and promises that an annulment isn’t just possible, but is exactly what we should be doing and—are you ok?” “Hmmm?” “You’re doing that thing with your face.” “I have no face thing.” “Killian.” “Swan.” “Didn’t we do this before?” “Oh my God, how we were you not already married?” Ariel cries. Killian hangs up on her, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. It buzzes immediately.

“Where’s the inevitable but in this string of instructions?” Killian asks.

Emma smiles. Honest. Real. A little nervous, still, but something almost close to the expression Killian has started to consider his and that’s insane. He’s insane.

God, they’re married.

They are married.

He’s not sure he doesn’t want to be.

“Mind reader.” “Regina wouldn’t be able to make it easy.” “I’m not sure if it’s her or national holidays and our timing,” Emma shrugs. “But, uh—well, she said that we talk to lawyer, figure out the right reason for the annulment and then it shouldn’t take more than two weeks. We just—need it to not be Christmas.” “Meaning?” “Meaning our friends are on their way and we won’t be able to do much about this,” she nods towards his hand, hanging limply at his side, “until December twenty-sixth.” “Right.” “The face.” “No face, love,” Killian says, another slip of the tongue and he’s got to stop. That seems harder than not being in love with her.

Emma quirks an eyebrow. “Mary Margaret said they should be here tonight. But that leaves us—” “—A schedule for today?” “The Nutcracker.” “A ballet?” Emma nods. “And she thought Scarlet would agree to go to that?” “I don’t think he did. There are only four tickets and she’s already sold hers and David’s, so it’s just—” “—Us.” “Us,” Emma repeats.

Killian takes a deep breath, forcing a smile. It doesn’t do much to convince Emma, he knows, but his phone is making noise and his heart is doing its best hummingbird impression.

She hasn’t taken her ring off.

He dimly remembers picking out rings.

With her.

They are married.

“So,” Emma says, “if you want to get ready, then—maybe we could get some breakfast or something?” “Yeah?” “Sounds like you’re double checking that I want to.” “I mean—” “—We’ll fix it,” she cuts in. “But there’s nothing we can really do now and if I don’t shower soon, I may go insane. Killian barks out a laugh. “That’s fair. I’ll meet you—” “—Back here?” “Ok.” “Ok.”

Approximately 12:30 a.m. Christmas Eve

“That one.” “Yeah?” “Is this you double checking?” Emma asks, glancing over her shoulder and there’s something about that exact shade of green in her eyes that has Killian leaning forward, catching her lips with his. They’re definitely in the double-digits, kiss-wise now. He’s not all that inclined to stop, a rush that moves through both of his arms and settles in the base of his heels every single time it happens, like it’s grounding him and sending him into orbit at exactly the same time.

It’s better than he thought it would be.

The way her head tilts and that soft sound she makes, like she’s breathing out any sense of worry or fear, just trying to inhale him instead, light scratches of her nails when her fingers find their way into his hair.

That keeps happening.

He curls an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.

It leaves them impossibly close, like they’re trying to occupy the same few inches, or maybe just take up a bit more space in each other’s lives and Killian swears his head spins as soon as he feels her tongue brush his.

And the words bubble. They threaten. They rise up the back of his throat, feelings and desire and some rational part of him knows he should say them before they do this, but this seems to be happening and it kind of feels like a roller coaster.

Terrifying and exciting and he hopes he doesn’t lose his sunglasses when they flip upside down.

It’s admittedly a slightly jumbled metaphor.

But.

Then Emma is kissing him and the chapel worker coughs and she might giggle. He hoards the sound away. For later.

Forever.

“That one,” Emma repeats, tapping on the glass case it’s not much more than a thin band of white gold, but it could be her band of white gold and—

“Perfect,” Killian says.

From: Scarlet_Will@yahoo.com To: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com Subject: AHAHAHAHAHAHA

AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA

IDIOT.

From: sherrif@storybrooke.gov To: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com Subject: [Empty]

If you mess this up, I may scream. God, you’re an idiot. Did you at least tell her you love her yet?

From: Scarlet_Will@yahoo.com To: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com CC: sherrif@storybrooke.gov

Subject: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

David says you didn’t tell her you love her yet?????

Seriously, do you have a brain cell????? Like. One????

From: sherrif@storybrooke.gov To: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com Scarlet_Will@yahoo.com Subject: Re: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

Braincell is one word, isn’t it?

From: Scarlet_Will@yahoo.com To: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com sherrif@storybrooke.gov Subject: Re: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

Are you….are you kidding me?

From: Killian.Jones@JonesShipping.com To: Scarlet_Will@yahoo.com sherrif@storybrooke.gov Subject: Re: AHAHAHAHAHAHA PART TWO

Did you both pay for in-flight wifi to do this?

From: Will@yahoo.com To: sherrif@storybrooke.gov Subject: The Idiot

I don’t think he told her he loved her.

From: sherrif@storybrooke.gov To: Will@yahoo.com Subject: Re: The Idiot

Idiot.

He keeps glancing at her.

It’s not all that covert, despite Killian’s best efforts. And, really, he refuses to admit that it’s even remotely his fault, because Emma keeps making quiet sounds that catch his attention, eyes wide whenever a ballerina does something particularly impressive and he’s not sure she’s blinked the entire second act.

He’s cataloguing her reactions.

In a way that isn’t nearly as creepy as it sounds.

In...drunkenly married his best friend on Christmas Eve and can’t unmarry his best friend because of legal bullshit and might be falling a bit more in love with that same best friend while she watches The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies.

He thinks that’s what this is.

Like ninety-six percent positive.

“You’re missing everything,” Emma mumbles out one side of her mouth.

“No, I’m not.” “If you stare at me any harder, you’re going to drill a hole into the side of my head.” “You’d look weird then.” She muffles her laugh with her hand, sliding further into her seat, but then her eyebrows are flying up her forehead and he can still hear the exact way she gasps when even more dancers appear on stage, a sea of color and swelling music and—

Killian grabs her hand.

Instinct. More than instinct. Head over heels in love with her.

Any of those excuses work, really.

And Emma doesn’t pull her hand away, doesn’t flinch or do anything except lace her fingers around Killian’s, thumb brushing the back of his palm.

Her eyes don’t leave the stage.

Her hand doesn’t leave his.

He genuinely doesn’t remember how Clara got back to her house.

Magic, he assumes. Something about Christmas and—

“Mary Margaret is going to be so disappointed she didn’t see that,” Emma breathes as soon as the curtain falls, head snapping towards Killian. Her eyes are bright again, an excitement there that doesn’t match up with the nerves of the last few hours, but he assumes it might just be more magic, or some kind of something that is inherently them and the power of friendship.

Or, whatever.

He kind of hates that last part. “That was,” Emma says, “Just—God, that was so...pretty.” He grins.

“Oh, don’t make fun.” “I’m not,” Killian objects. “It was very pretty.” She clicks her tongue, thinks he’s teasing her, but it might be the most honest thing he’s said all day. Idiot, Idiot. Idiot. “You didn’t even watch any of it. You laughed at the Rat King.” “Well, that was kind of funny.” “They were threatening!” “I’m sure if I got shrunk down to the size of a toy, I would also think a rat wearing a crown was a threat. And Uncle Drosselmeyer was—” “—Let’s not talk about Uncle Drosselmeyer.” “Because he’s a giant creep?” Emma mutters something that sounds like bah humbug under her breath, standing up to starting moving towards an exit. Her thumb taps against Killian’s. “You’re mixing references, love.” She squeezes his hand.

He thinks. He doesn’t want to imagine that.

But he’s also getting very greedy and he hadn’t taken his ring off and she’s wearing a different dress. Blue this time.

He might give Uncle Drosselmeyer a run for his creep-type money. There’s a joke about slot machines in there, Killian is sure.

“So,” Emma says when they reach the lobby, “what do we do now?” “What else was on Mary Margaret’s schedule?” “I don’t know actually, um—probably dinner, but they all land around seven anyway and—” “—You don’t want to eat without them?” “That’s not a secret me avoiding you thing.” “No?” Killian asks, and he hopes she doesn’t hear the added emotion behind both letters. That would be embarrassing.

More than everything else.

He probably shouldn’t have spent an entire ballet matinee staring at her.

“No,” Emma echoes. She tugs on the front of his jacket, like will make the words ring truer. He’s admittedly staring at her still, though. So.

“You want to play slots again?”

Killian presses his tongue to the inside of his mouth, a flutter of nerves in the pit of his stomach. “A dangerous game, don’t you think?” “We were good at it.” “I don’t know if you can be good at slots, Swan. That’s just—luck and spin ratio and—” “—Oh my God, say spin ratio again please.” “I’m serious.” “I know, so am I.”

He considers that for a moment—lets the sound of her voice settle in the darker corners of his brain, the places only Emma is really aware of, lost moments and could-have-been and Killian is breathing out of his mouth again, but for as fucked up as this whole thing is and will be for the next forty-eight hours, existing in the same space as her has been as easy as ever.

Maybe better.

With white-gold shine added in.

“We’re going to have to get more coins.” “We’re capable of doing that.” “You don’t want to try blackjack or something?” Emma shakes her head. “Nah, the house is always going to wind up screwing you at all those table games and I don’t know how to count cards.” “Is that a requirement?” “Hollywood would suggest it is.” Killian chuckles, the desire to kiss her senseless rushing up his spine. As if that’s not his constant state of being. “Plus,” Emma adds, rocking forward until her head bumps his collarbone, “the slots are more fun with their lights and showmanship and it’s not quite so—” “—So what?” “Serious?” She asks it like she’s not sure she actually wanted to say the word and Killian’s answering inhale is far too sharp, his nod far too brusque. “Right,” he says, and he’d let the analogy go on for too long anyway. “You want to walk to a casino, or—” “—Yeah, that’s fine.” “Cool. Let’s go.”

Approximately 10 p.m., December 23rd

The lights are very loud.

Casinos by their very nature seem very loud. There are people and more people, roulette wheels and sound effects. Drink orders and music playing, shouting and cheering and booing, as if the cards give a fuck about human emotions and Killian’s feeling almost too existential with Emma plastered to his front, demanding more coins for the slot machine they’ve claimed as they’re own.

They win.

They keep winning.

It makes more noise.

And then—

“I like you,” Emma announces, spinning on the spot and her arms are draped over his shoulders and— “Yeah?” “Is this you double checking?” “Something like that,” Killian mumbles. His vision swims, half convinced this is a dream he’s had more than once. “Yeah.” “That was the answer, then?” “Yeah.” “A little more loquacious, love.”

Emma lets out a shaky laugh, color rising in her cheeks and the side of her neck, shuddering slightly when Killian tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. And it all kind of—

“I’d really like to kiss you,” he whispers. “Do it, then.”

He does.

They don’t win.

It seems almost too heavy-handed, an unnecessary message from the universe that they can’t have nice things or simple things and this isn’t either one of those things, but Killian found himself hoping somewhere during the curtain call of the Nutcracker and he’s starting to wonder if they can get their money back from the Chapel of the Bells. He should make a list of everyone he has to call.

They will all be monumentally depressing phone calls.

And Emma keeps sighing, his jacket hanging heavy on her shoulders because it’s Las Vegas, but she’s constantly cold and he’s nothing if not a glutton for punishment. She stuffs another coin into a machine that’s different than the one they played last night and the signs have got to stop. Killian is going to scream.

“Ah, shit,” Emma hisses, kicking a frustrated leg out when the machine shows three different fruits. “That’s—it’s garbage.” “Scathing.” “I’m losing all your money.” “Eh, some of it is yours.” “Is it?” “Mmhm, you didn’t want to carry your wallet and I took some of your cash.” Killian shrugs when Emma gapes at him. “We don’t really have much left, honestly.”

“God, that is so sad.” “Scarlet owes us drinks.” “How do you figure?” “I told him sixteen times he should have gotten on an earlier flight, but—” “—He’s a stubborn ass?” “That, exactly.” Emma chuckles, a little more watery than Killian would like it to be, but he also assumes most casinos are used to crying. Just in general. He needs to stop giving the casino a personality. “He thought it’d be cheaper to fly closer to the holiday. And flying makes him nervous, so—” “—No way.” “Did you not know that?” “No. Although I bet Ruby mocked him mercilessly for that the entire flight.” “What would you bet?” She smiles, teeth finding her lower lip like she’s worried the action is too big. For them. And this moment.

Of complete and utter awkwardness.

Someone wants to use their machine.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Killian growls, an arm around Emma’s waist when he pulls her away. The woman, her coin bucket jangling noisily when she plops onto the plastic seat, grimaces at them, but she doesn’t actually speak and—“Let’s play a different game, love,” he says.

They don’t.

Killian didn’t really expect them to, what with their decreasing funds and a ring on his hand that seems determined to pull him into the Earth and he’s got to say something. He needs to say everything, but saying anything is suddenly the biggest challenge in the world and it is so goddamn loud.

Emma says something anyway.

“I’m sorry.” Killian’s shoulders sag. “What? For...what do you have to be—” “—Is that a joke?” “I’m out of jokes, I think.”

“This isn’t normal.” “No, but—” “—There are no buts here? We got married!” “I was there, Swan.” “Where you? Really? Because we’re just acting like it’s nothing and—” “—What would you rather do?”

It’s another big question. Far too big. Epically big. God, he hopes he doesn’t have to talk to Ariel for a week. She’s going to be insufferable. “Do you honestly not remember how this went?” He can feel his eyebrows lower, confusion rattling down his spine. Emma looks close to distraught. “I just—this made sense. Last night and even before last night and—” She drags both her hands down her cheeks, leaving streaks in her wake and Killian is not breathing. “I asked you to kiss me, Killian! That was—it was all me and—” “—Stop that.” “What?” “We’re going in circles, I think.” “I don’t understand.” “Are you under some impression that I don’t want to kiss you? Constantly?” “What?” “Emma, love, you’ve got to say something else.”

Her whole body sags. She wins. “I don’t—” she stammers, fingers curling around the back of her neck and the chain there and something in the back of his brain startles at that, not used to seeing the metal or the light imprint it leaves on her skin. “You can’t double up on nicknames like that, it’s cheating.” “That’s just your name.” “Yeah, but you’ve got your own thing, don’t you?” “Is that you double checking?” “It might be,” she admits, and there wasn’t that much space between them, but she rocks forward anyway, the toe of her shoes brushing Killian’s. “I—I don’t really remember how we got to the chapel.” “Neither do I, honestly.” “So, no idea who asked who, then?” “Maybe some hope.” The words fall out of him. It feels that way, at least. Part admission, part want, again, Emma’s eyes going wide enough to do damage and Killian doesn’t think. It’s too loud for that, anyway.

He ducks his head, swallowing down his groan when Emma steps on his foot. It’s easy to do that when he’s kissing her instead. His hands find her waist, holding on like he’s battling some kind of romantic tide and he’s barely cognizant of Emma’s eyes fluttering shut before her fingers curl around the front of his shirt, tugging him forward. Killian tilts his head, lets himself fall into a rhythm, far easier than anything else he’s done and if he’s keeping with the water puns, it feels like cresting the surface of a particular strong wave.

That he’d be all too content to drown in.

Emma pushes up again, lets her fingers card through the hair at the back of his neck and he can’t stop moving his own hands, desperate to blaze some kind of path that he’ll think about for the rest of forever.

The word bounces around his brain, leaves bruises and brands and another word that’s inherently more positive than that and— “Heyo, what are we doing here?” Killian is going to commit murder on the first floor of the Bellagio.

Andy Garcia’s character from Ocean’s Eleven will be pissed off.

And the whole lot of them are still holding their luggage, coats draped over arms and matching looks of surprise on their faces. Or so Killian assumes. He’s still staring at Emma, watching the dismay cloud her gaze.

She swallows.

“I’m going to get some air,” Emma announces, not bothering to hand Killian back his jacket. He doesn’t ask for it.

Mary Margaret mutters something undoubtedly encouraging, Ruby’s hand over mouth and Belle swatting at Will while he continues to laugh uproariously. David looks at Killian, stuck to the spot with his heart crumbling and his stomach on a different floor and he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to—

Something hits him.

Not literally. Metaphorically.

Memory...y.

“Did you tell her you love her?” David asks knowingly, and Killian doesn’t nod or shake his head, just kind of twists his neck because— “I’ll be right back.” He runs.

Approximately four in the morning, Christmas Eve

They got married.

Married.

To each other.

Killian’s whole body is thrumming, excitement mixing with everything he’s ever felt for Emma Swan and the questionable amount of alcohol either one of them has ingested. They haven’t taken their clothes off, which he’s sure he’ll be disappointed by eventually, but for now he’s content to lay there, staring up at the ceiling with his wife curled against his side, fingers tracing idle patterns over her arm.

He’s fairly certain she’s asleep.

It’s really why he says what he does. “I love you, Emma.” She doesn’t still, so much as she takes a deep breath, Killian hoping and wanting and—“I love you too, Killian.”

She hasn’t made it very far.

And he shouldn’t take much joy from that, but Killian’s desperate and greedy and he skids to a stop in front of a fountain that isn’t doing fountain things yet. He supposes it’s only a matter of time.

It’s another clunky metaphor.

“Hi,” Killian breathes, Emma’s lips curling up even when she tugs on the chain around her neck. He realizes what’s on it.

Her ring.

He’s glad he didn’t waste time killing Scarlett. It’d be hard to profess his love from jail.

“If I apologize again are you going to freak out?” “Undoubtedly,” Killian nods.

“That’s dumb.” “Your apology? Yes.”

Emma huffs, the ring falling over the front of her dress and the side of his jacket zipper and that kind of messes with his head a little. “This is insane.”

“Unorthodox.” “They all saw us making out in the casino.” “I’d imagine a lot of people did,” Killian reasons, dropping in front of her. “The degenerates come out in droves on national holidays, you know.”

“What happened to being out of jokes?” “It’s a defense mechanism.” “From me?”

She whispers the question, trepidation and nerves and Killian hopes he doesn’t fall over when he lifts his hand. His balance is better sober, though. “I didn’t want to—” “—Marry me?” He’s not holding his breath, so whatever sound he makes is absurd, leaving his forehead resting on Emma’s and her fingers brushing over the side of his jaw, familiar and not and normal and unexpected and absolutely goddamn perfect.

In an unorthodox sort of way.

“Say that again.” “You first.” “God, you’re stubborn, you know that,” he mutters, and Emma smiles, a kiss between his eyebrows. “I—ok, you want to be honest? Let’s be honest. That’s how Christmas works, right?” “Something about naughty and nice and rats.” “No rats, Swan.” “Nutcracker princes?” “Look who’s making jokes now,” Killian grins. He noses at her cheek, like some dam of emotional upheaval has been broken and he can’t stop touching her if he tries. He doesn’t try.

“You didn’t take it off.” “What?” “Your, uh—” Emma says, “your wedding ring. You haven’t—God, I keep looking at it. You’re sure it’s not a magnet?” “Not that I’m aware of, no.” “Weird.” “The weirdest.” “Why didn’t you take it off?”

Killian takes a deep breath, not as nervous as he probably should be because this is the moment and he’s almost surprised they don’t have a larger audience. Mary Margaret might be hiding behind a bush.

“I didn’t want to,” he says. Strictly speaking he wishes he said he more. He wishes there were some ridiculously romantic speech with adjectives and adverbs and every promise he’s ever made to himself when it comes to Emma, but that’s the important part and she’s kissing him.

He can feel her smile against his mouth.

And that’s enough.

By a long shot.

Gambling puns.

Emma pulls him up when she stands, Killian’s palm flat on her back and her fingers tracing as much of him as she can, rocking back and forth until they find a rhythm that might just be them and—

They both yelp when the fountain goes off behind them.

He nearly falls over her. She kicks him in the ankle. They laugh. Loudly. And he’d been right about Mary Margaret.

They’re all there, another round of smiles and practically giddy laughter, hands in the air and shouts of triumph that sound suspiciously like winning the jackpot.

Killian feels that way.

“I didn’t want to,” he repeats, soft enough that only Emma can hear. “I just wanted—” “—Me?” “You, Swan. From the very start. For as long as I can remember. And it’s—you want to go on a date or something?” “Honestly?” “No jokes.” She leans back, eyes wide and as hopeful as he’s ever wanted them to be. About him. And them. Collectively. “I’d like to go on several dates. That end with less clothing. I was really upset about all the clothing last night.” “We can probably work on that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Killian nods. “And I—well, we don’t have to stay this—” “—No, no, that’s...I mean, it’s not the worst thing in the world.” “High praise.” “Something like that,” she agrees. “Just, you know...maybe we can date while we’re—” “—Married,” Killian finishes.

“That’s the first time you’ve said that.” “Why do you know that?” “As if you didn’t.” He kisses her again. He can’t help it. Scarlet whistles. And they do go to dinner eventually, but then Killian’s tugging Emma down a hallway, a mouth against her neck and her fingers working buttons and—

It’s even colder the next morning, a distinct lack of clothing and bedding, but there’s a body against his and a small smile on her face and he lets his eyes close again, hopeful for whatever else they may want together.

Approximately 5:15 p.m. April 17th

He asks her.

For real that time.

It’s sooner than he plans on, but they’ve been married for months and Emma smiles when she kisses him.

He figures that’s the response.

[wee-guy]

                                 Why did you climb the mountain?

A rant sketch inspired by @insertdisc5​ post that I just reblogged. I haven’t been feeling great tonight and it’s always sat with me that these children climbed a big ass mountain without adult supervision. Especially Frisk. 

Below the cut is some headcannons for a kinda mental health AU? Idk, it was therapeutic to write.

It makes me think of a sort of AU were MC/reader purposefully goes to the mountain because of the rumours and obviously isn’t successful but meets a bunch of monsters who know why they came to the mountain and want to help.

Classic Sans: knows what it’s like to feel hopeless, to not want to get out of bed, how some things become so difficult to achieve. Knows what it’s like to have to hide how you feel, be happy and funny to make sure others don’t worry. If you need to do the thing, he will do the thing with you being “helpful” with his puns. He’s always there with soft encouragement and always praises the small things. Will probably make you those star stickers, “you got out of bed!” “you brushed your teeth!” “you managed social interaction!” “you didn’t cry today!”. Is interested in what you want to do in education and/or work. Will help you plan and work towards whatever that is. He knows some folk. 

Classic Papyrus: obviously is your personal cheer squad. Knows just how to motivate you but if it isn’t working and it’s a bad day knows when to calm down and let you take things at your own pace. Tell him your deepest desires, your biggest dreams, no matter how unattainable or silly it seems. You want to be an astronaut? You need to be physically healthy, go to school to get good grades and do training to achieve that? Pffft, that’s only three things, you can totally do that! Teaches you how to hold onto a dream and keep back the bad thoughts that say you can’t do it. You’ll show them! Will cook and bake with you while making some idle chatter. Afterwards will sit with you and watch MTT or something you’re currently interested in cuddled under a blanket.

Fell Sans (Red): the worst kept secret is that he is a softie. Will chill out with you and give you as much physical touch as you’re comfortable with. Little thumb strokes, hair strokes, hip bumps, squeezes and full on “you are now my personal squish, now chill out and watch the tv show”. Is your protector, there behind you to make sure no one walks over you or just there as silent encouragement when you need to do scary adult things. Knows what it’s like to have manic lows were the sadness is energetic and wants out. Knows how hard it is to stay strong when you need to be supported. Is there for you when this happens, even if he just silently holds you.

Fell Papyrus (Edge): you are the only one he is soft and gentle to. You know what that means? You are worthy of the terrible Papyrus! These other humans are merely jealous of your brilliance! Actual fashion icon who encourages you to express yourself however you want. Cut or dye your hair? Edge is there critiquing cuts and colours and of course approving of your choices. Your style is very much worthy of the terrible Papyrus’s approval. Humans are staring? Yes, how could they not? You look amazing! And the commoners are weak to resisting such style! Will absolutely call you by your preferred pronouns or name without question, although all skeles will do so too. Teaches you to be comfortable with yourself and that you are worth your own existence. 

Swap Sans (Blue): Another very energetic cheer squad! Preaches the importance of routine and activities. Won’t push you with exercise if you aren’t into that, gentle jogs or walks or swimming, anything calming and enjoyable. After all, what’s the point if you don’t enjoy it! Will help you figure out what the best times are you to do things, are you an early bird or a night owl? When do you get hungry? Do you have medication? When do you need to take them? He makes a very cool schedule with reminders on your phone so you don’t forget. Is very interested in your hyperfixations and is eager to learn all about it! Info dump your little heart out! Blue won’t judge and is 9/10 more likely to want to become involved too! He secretly knows what it’s like to not be respected for being yourself, whether that be for the things you love or how you look. He’s very well aware of what other monsters see him as. But! He will show you how the magnificent Sans achieves what he wants, does what he wants all the while being true to himself!

Swap Papyrus (Stretch): Another chill boy. He’s always there for you if you need to chill, talk or be distracted. No, literally. He always seems to be close to you wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, without actually moving at all...Is not at all a therapist but will listen to you when you need to talk or vent or explain something you love or have just learned. Will go with you to any doctors appointments or therapy sessions and be there for you, slouched down in his chair. Pull up a beanbag, pal, tell him all about it. Very good at distracting you with music or games or some sweet treats. A rock of a skeleton boy. Knows what it’s like to be so overwhelmed by your feelings being trapped inside you that you loose interest in things and become numb. Will show you coping mechanisms he learned himself and will always never let you forget that he is always there for you.

SwapFell Sans (Blackberry): This is a very smart boy. He clawed his way up to royal guard status without the usual violence, he doesn’t need to. Is an expert and obsessed with cheating the system and getting clever sneaky payback. Any trouble and he has it sorted, he’s both better and worse than a Karen. Will talk to a manager, teacher, professional and come out the victor. That person who bullied you? Strangely bolts whenever you are in their proximity ... Teaches you what you can do to help yourself in certain situations and how to come across confident in yourself even when you’re not. Somehow knows everything about everyone and is always doing things like reminding you that your medication is running low, you need to book another doctors appointment, even tells you that that thing you were eyeing up is much cheaper elsewhere and he’s already ordered it for you so don’t worry about it. His literal moto is “you don’t need to worry about it anymore, I’ll handle it.” But he knows when to slow down and teach you how to do things yourself. He is also a master at pet names. Darling? Sweetheart? Love? Baby? He’ll find out what you prefer and use it to his advantage, and you’ll love it. Knows how things can build and build and how sometimes the littlest thing can be the domino effect that makes everything crash. Shows you how to prioritise and take it one task at a time. 

Swapfell Papyrus (Russ): Just...a sweet boy. A little nasty, but sweet. Why do you sometimes have the urge to protect him and then suddenly feel submissive to his protection? Is a firm believer in therapy through action. You like art? He’s found this little group where you just be calm and do art and maybe talk about your feeling, lets both go. Is music your thing? Here, if you’re sad how about you press all the low keys at once? BOOOOOAAAAAMMMMM. Writing? Writing how you feel is very important to both understand yourself and how you’re feeling, to be able to reflect and point out things that triggered you and also be able to show a professional symptoms and explain how you feel without having to strain to remember. But you can also write for the pure enjoyment of words and the movement of your pen or the rhythmic click of your keyboard. Will help you with prompts and inspirations. Will never judge you for using a fandom or interest to help you get through this. Will definitely show you some of his own stuff. Knows how lonely you can feel even when surrounded by people, even when it doesn’t make sense to feel lonely or sad. Teaches you that it’s ok to feel these emotions but shows you when you need to stop in order not to become consumed by it. 

Horror Sans (Mars...?): Is deeply knowledgeable about trauma. He had a long road recovering from his. His trauma might make you feel stupid for your feelings but he will shut that down immediately. His broken leg doesn’t make your broken arm any less painful. Will be able to understand how you feel about your trauma and how that has affected you. He’s very careful to put down boundaries so neither of you trigger the other. He’s your mental health buddy, someone close who’s going through the same thing that you can talk to and know that you are fully understood. You can ask questions to help understand yourself and your own journey. Will show you how to focus and enjoy small things. Believes that people are either water people or earth people. Does the sound and sight of water make you calm? Just the rhythmic movement and sound drift you away while you both pick up cool looking rocks and smooth sea glass and sometimes even a shell! Or do you like big grassy parks or forests you can walk to your hearts content and just breathe? You both pick up some cool leaves to press between a book, take some pictures of plants and trees and sunsets. Whenever you need a break, whether you realise or not, he will whisk you away to just bask in silence for a while. A big cuddler, he has a blanket nest, hop on in and have a nap. 

Horror Papyrus (Sweetie): Knows deeply how hard it is to adapt sometimes, and how your adapting to situations can hurt you later. Knows what it’s like to be judged by how you look, especially if there are things you need to hide. Helps you with Edge’s quest, especially with clothes. He’s very good at finding unique objects that no one else has. Often comes back from thrift and charity shops with a few things he think’s you’ll like. Will cuddle up with you and listen to how you feel about yourself and the way you look. Helps you come to terms with yourself, accept yourself. Always has a compliment for you, building it up from small things so you can learn to believe and accept them. Knows ways to help you if you sometimes dissociate and especially if it’s triggered by photos or mirrors. If you need to go to the dentist or the doctor for operations or procedures, he’s right there with you holding your hand. He himself has some very cool braces for his teeth, some funky glasses and some support of his posture. Loves to teach you how to solve puzzles and will sit behind you and point out words he finds in the word searches. A very good bonding buddy. Also, he always has snacks, he is a snack mom. Sometimes he even slips food and water into your bag and pockets. 

[chillyravenart]

You mentioned you might do a post on the outfits you hated the most? Not to pole the bear too much but I would love to hear your opinion! I love talking costumes on the show.

Ok I hope you’re ready, because I was largely very unimpressed with a lot of the outfits on the show- several of these are truly terrible, and several are just too repetitive and boring, make of that what you will. Whilst I’m glad we didn’t get typical medieval reenactment attire (and skimpy hose lmao) and I am appreciative of the unique twist they tried to give the clothing on GoT, a lot of it was very lacklustre and boring and should have stayed as curtains or sofa fabric.

A wise man once said, “Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab.” Unfortunately we got a LOT of drab.

 Again this is just my personal opinion, if anyone liked any of these outfits, I’m glad you could find some joy from all the misery. Its going to be a long post so I’ve added a ‘read more’ break, but I doubt it will work because Tumblr likes torturing us. Right, off we trot!

1. I have to mention this one first because I fucking hated it so much lmao. Basic, dull, blue on blue, awful heavy cape for the climate, plain boring sick of it haha I won’t linger, I have a lot to get through.

2. I’m going to bunch these all together because these dresses were all awful. When I was in Year 8 we had a Design & Textiles class and I remember sewing something equally misshapen and sack-like. long story short, it ended up in the bin. What the fuck was that neckline, lord it turned my stomach. (This ghastly neckline will make several reappearances, rest assured).

3. Same goes for Catelyn, her dresses were drab and dire (no pun intended) and the neckline made me want to kill myself. She just looked like a frumpy old school teacher, not the wife of the Warden of the North. ( I did like the fur detail on the sleeves of the first dress, however the main body of the dress itself is very dull)

4. Shit dresses seemed to be a trend for the Tully sisters, and my God, Lysa’s were no better. I expected better from the Arryn seamstresses. What is it with the heavy collars and same fucking drapey arms???

5. Really wasn’t a fan of Arya’s “on the run” outfit, it looked moldy and vile and I know she’s meant to be an impoverished urchin but I’d rather it was a plain tunic/jerkin combo that this rotten mess. And that fucking awful neckline again.

6. Ok so Margaery had some overall nice outfits, but what was this fucking catastrophe? Was Olenna Tyrell away from home the day they commissioned this tragedy? She looked like a lampshade- or as @naomimakesart put it a ‘soda-can’.

7. This deserved a separate post because after leaving the South to head up North, Sansa clearly couldn’t find a decent dress designer, and I don’t blame her. It’s the North remember? Her wedding dress was a cross between an anaemic peanut and a marshmallow, the neckline, the sleeves- vomitous! And her Winterfell dress was no better. The Boltons probably had shit tailors.

8. Look I know Jon was in the middle of a war but that’s no excuse to wear a ratty old surcoat nicked off a decaying corpse. No excuse. You are the Warden of the North Jonathan! 

9. Let’s do Dany again. I’ve said time and time again that if anyone deserved to be dressed in silken grandeur with embellishments and veils and jewels and intricate bodices, then it was Daenerys fucking Targaryen, but instead we got this plain, curtain-like shroud. Why is the material so heavy and thick AND UNADORNED???? Boring boring boring, yawn, next.

10. Did they seriously lack for creativity when it came to Dany? Why were all her outfits cut from the same cloth/template? Why did she have massive shoulder pads like an 80s businesswoman? Why did they dress her in the drab habit of a nun???? Why can I upholster my sofa in that same fucking fabric, are DFS in breach of copyright here????? So boring, so homogeneous, so fucking disappointing. Not to mention the pukesome hemline and dreary shade of charcoal- where was the pitch black and vivid scarlet combo I dreamt of???? Oh but it had red detailing- bitch where???? Can’t see a thing without a magnifying glass!

11. I’m not done, you all asked for this haha. It pains me to dredge up this memory, especially when I’ve spent every moment since season 7 aired trying to expunge it from my mind. What. In. The. Name. Of. Fuck. Was. This. Shit? I’m not even going to talk about the casting choices or the wig, I won’t, you can’t make me, but why in Aegon’s name was he wearing an old potato sack and she a Forever 21 2017 summer collection dress the colour of snot? Someone explain this to me right this minute. And what is that wrapped all around it? Did someone make that from papier-mâché??? HEINOUS.

12. The Sand Snakes. Oh the Sand Snakes. Poor girls. Done so so so dirty it makes a wartime latrine look sanitary. What the fuck were they wearing? Where were the elaborate outfits Oberyn’s daughters dressed in (bar Obara ok)???? What is this mess????

13. Erm so I know Euron was a bit of a joke but I didn’t expect him to dress like a washed-up Alice Cooper fanboy. Then again none of the Greyjoys had decent outfits and travelling all around the world surely didn’t improve Euron’s dress sense either. Next!

14. Now I know people loved Dany’s fur coat, however I was not one of those people. Fine, I was willing to endure it the first time, notwithstanding the fact that she was swamped in it yet again and it’s a good thing Em is adorable and gorgeous otherwise she would have looked like an albino hamster, but why in heaven’s name was the design recycled so often and so unvaried? Furry stripes and shoulder pads folks! Oh adding red to the stripes was a great touch was it? Groundbreaking! It all looks the same, in fact the striped leather coat looked like the fur one after it had been scalded and plucked. Yes I said what I said.

15. I don’t usually rant but lately, I’ve felt the need to get things off my chest. And so I have to add this monstrosity. The hair looks like someone coiled an old hemp rope and pinned it to her head, and the dress, good god the dress is so fucking ugly???? Easily the worst thing Cersei’s ever worn, good thing her gowns improved in the later seasons because holy shit this dress was as grim as the execution itself.

16. Last but not least, this leather coat was ugly and I hated it. So glad we never saw it again after season 1. I’ll add here that the men were all given the same jerkin/surcoat combo with pants and boots and it became very boring after a while. No variance, no style. The only ones with swag were Joff and Oberyn, and dare I say it even Littlefinger’s coats were better than the recycled swill we got with the others.

And that concludes this shitshow. I know we’ve been slating D&D’s writing and the shit plot and awful direction the show took but the costumes were always so underwhelming for me. I expected colour and variety and texture from a fantasy/pseudo-medieval setting, not my grandma’s curtains. And the black emo phase was just laughable, but clearly it reflected the deep sense of mourning and tragedy that befitted the end of this memorable show. Sigh. Thank you for bearing with me. I’ve left LOADS of outfits out FYI but you get the gist haha.

[mysterious-prophetess]

Top Five Academic and Publishing Scandals of the last Decade

So, I’ve seen people do stuff like this, a round up of sorts and the 2010′s were an insane decade to be alive.

So, I thought I’d compile my personal favorite publishing and academic scandals

Note: This will concern only things that were actually published or a scandal to do with Academia. The Rose Christo incident with the infamous fanfic didn’t have the biography make it to print so it’s right here as a Dishonorable Mention. No sources, because this was a home-grown tumblr disaster (much like Dashcon). 

So, 

#5 That Book that Used Scammy Tactics to Become a Best Seller Before Anyone Ever Even Read It.

Remember that time when Handbook for Mortals used shady tactics to make it look like it was selling better in pre-sales than it actually was? I barely remembered it, but then as I was adding in our Dishonorable Mention, I suddenly had the thought of “remember that...” so here it is at #5 since this book was actually published, and it was allegedly terrible. It has 3 stars on Amazon, but with its past, I can’t even trust that.

I didn’t read it. I had, and still have, better things to do than to read subpar fantasy that tried to be the next Hunger Games/Harry Potter/Divergent. 

It turns out, if you have wealthy enough collaborators, or people who know how to game the system by which the NYT Bestsellers’ List operates, you too can buy and cheat your way onto that list with a terribly written book like these guys.

What’s even more ridiculous was there were already talks of a movie version and this unknown writer turned out to be, surprise, an actress too! And guess who’d be playing her own main character in the movie? The author! So, once this was unraveled as being a bulk-book-buying-cheat-tactic-to-get-on-the-NY Times-Bestseller-List, they lost their rank and were completely off the list. The movie is also toast, I think, since it would have come out in 2018. We’re now in 2020.

(x) (xx) (xxx) (xxxx)

#4: That time Bethesda Plagiarized Dungeons and Dragons.

That’s right folks. Bethesda, who cannot catch a break after their hilariously disastrous launch of their ongoing garbage fire, Fallout 76, were in trouble whenever they released a TTRPG module for an Elder Scrolls game that was suspiciously like a previously released Dungeons and Dragons adventure...because it was very much ripped off from the D&D book.  

There were articles highlighting just how they did this and how blatant it was. 

Some articles would do a side-by-side of huge chunks of the text and, yikes, that’s some obvious copy-pasting.

Suffice to say, they yanked this e-book down ASAP. (x) (xx) (xxx) (xxxx)

#3 That Time a Youtuber Turned Professional Games Media Editor Plagiarized for Most of His Career and Only Got Caught After He Plagiarized the Wrong Person on a Very Public Platform

So, yeah. There was a review last year for a game called Dead Cells (published by Motion Twin). On July 24, 2018 a smaller Youtube channel called Boomstick gaming would upload their review to the game. Then August 6th, IGN’s Nintendo editor would post “his” review up and Deadite from Boomstick Gaming, who was actually a fan of IGN, noticed a lot of eerie similarities between the reviews. He did a side-by-side video comparison (here) and it looks like a case of barely even changing the words around after copying someone else’s homework. As an English major, this is a clear-cut case of plagiarism. IGN agreed too, as did most of the internet. This reviewer had fans who still believe in him even after he’s been proven a plagiarist but, no accounting for taste am I right? And this would have been the end of it....had he just accepted his fate and just slunk off into the dark recesses of the internet. 

But, then he had to provoke both Jason Schrier of Kotaku AND the Internet in a now deleted non-apology video to “looking as hard as you’re able, you won’t find anything.”

Yeah. That didn’t end well for him. So, people went digging and found a shitton of evidence he was a serial plagiarist. No shock to me, because plagiarism is never something a plagiarist ever does just “once.” He’d ripped off his fellow IGN reviewers as well as forum posts and articles from other publications. He also plagiarized a resume template. Now, when you use one of those, you’re SUPPOSED to mimic the style, put place your own information, right? Well, he didn’t even do that.

Link to YongYea, a youtuber who covered the topic in depth. He has his videos on the topic in a playlist. (x)

#2 The Professor Who P-Hacked His Results to Pieces

Now if you don’t know or remember who Professor Brian Wansink is, he’s a former faculty member at Cornell who rose to fame with his papers on nutrition and people’s eating habits. I’m still not entirely sure how a guy whose degrees were not in nutrition OR psychology ended up being the face of this field that seemed to have a lot more to do with nutrition and psychology, but here we are. His degrees were, in fact, a B.S. in business administration from Wayne State College, an M.A. in  journalism and mass communication from Drake University, and a PhD in Marketing-Consumer behavior- from Stanford. In a move that one might call pure hubris or just complete and total social ignorance, he made a blog post that started to bring eyes on his work. Thanks to the efforts of other scientists (Like the Skeptical Scientist) and Heathers and Brown as well as the computer programs GRIM and GRIMMER, it was found the man who was cited over 200,000 times was a fraud. As of now 17 papers have been retracted and 15 have been corrected. He is no longer employed at all by Cornell, resigning a disgrace to his field and his former place of work.

The only reason he managed to get so big was he was able to make his so-called science digestible for the masses and able to give his works palatable titles. Ok, I’m done with the food puns. He was a superstar (even worked with the previous first lady on her health initiatives), which is why his fall is also meteoric. This is why you don’t torture your data into false positives, folks. Also, he’d target science journals that weren’t as prestigious and therefore wouldn’t have as rigorous a peer-editing process, allegedly. 

His actions have brought thousands of papers into jeopardy and destabilized his whole entire field because nothing he did was reproducible and that’s already a huge problem in science. 

(x) (xx) (xxx) (xxxx) (X) (XX)

And.... now for the worst Academic Scandal of the 2010′s....

#1 The College Admission’s Scandal

Because despite Wasink’s damage to his field (because now there are literally thousands of papers who cited him in jeopardy), and two separate cases of Plagiarists on this list, I really can’t help but feel this has to be one of the biggest College/Academia scandals of ALL TIME. Sure, it’s old news now but I’m recapping it because that’s what this list is for. So, A bunch of wealthy people who wanted their children to go to prestigious universities wanted a guarantee that just buying a new wing for the library/science buildings/etc wouldn’t get them. You know, the normal way the super rich buy their children’s ways into schools. Instead, they went to this guy Singer whose group masqueraded as a charity (and that’s what got their asses nailed) and facilitated bribery, cheating, and deception. They caught one of these parents who’d gotten their children in with Singer’s plans for a different crime, and he offered to squeal on Singer and his plot for leniency with his other charges.

Singer’s plan usually involved bribing coaches to get these undeserving students recruited for sports teams (and therefore displacing an actual athlete who should have gotten their spot) as well as having people alter SAT scores and other deceptive actions. 

It’s unknown if, at this time, any of these children of the 34 charged parents, actually managed to graduate with degrees from any of these institutions. However, those that had any of these students have to now decide what to do with them since these admissions are now verifiably fraudulent. Some are going to whole-sale kick them out or “cancel their admission” and others aren’t speaking up, and one has already decided the student gets to stay. Because they might not have known what their parents did, and its possible for the ones whose parents DIDN’T have them fake athleticism to not know what their mom and dad did. Hell, even most of the fake athletes might not have known thanks to reports of photo shopping their faces onto uniformed bodies. I do not know if any of these children were in on what their parents did, thought I suspect some might have been, but that’s merely speculation on my part. At the end of the day, it’s up to each affected university to carry out what they wish to do next.

The fact they made donations to a fake charity (and therefore skirted the tax man) are the reason they’re REALLY in deep shit. You don’t deny the IRS its money or the IRS will come for your blood. Just ask the ghost of Al Capone. 

(x) (xx) (xxx)

So those are my top 5 Publishing and Academic Scandals of the past Decade. 

[kinfriday]

Wandering Hops: Disappointments

Growing up in the deserts of West Texas gave me a special appreciation for the ocean, and temperatures below 115 degrees.  Our summers got so hot, I became convinced that heat was one of our chief exports to hell. No matter where you are, it seemed like  it was always hotter somewhere in Texas. 

However, being on the beach does not make you immune from the sun. I learned that living in Southern California, but at least the breeze coming off the Pacific is cool, and makes the days bearable. 

Even down in Corpus Christi, Tx  near the Gulf of Mexico, eight hours from where I grew up, the air was so thick with humidity you could cut slices of it out of the air, and save it for later. Which made it a dubious respite at best and a “living in the worlds largest dryer vent simulator” at worst. 

Does it sound like I’m complaining? Maybe I’m just venting. I’ve apparently built up some steam about this topic. 

Ok, there’s our terrible pun allotment for this blog post… Moving on.

To summarize, the ocean has always held a type of special allure to me. 

For one, any large expanse of sparkling blue water was a rarity in my life, and for two, the sight of the Atlantic was associated in my mind with a one time summer trip to Disney World when I was six, and visiting my Mom’s side of the family in the North East. We’d go to the “Shore” (bonus points for you if that tells you the state) and spend a few days enjoying the colder waters, enjoying our respite from the desert sun. 

Yet my entire life, up until I was 26, I had never ventured further west than Albuquerque. The Pacific was a mystery to me. The first time I saw it, was from the dirty window of an eighteen wheeler, hauling freight while in driver training. Far off down the street was a horizon of shimmering blue, during a spring-like November day in Los Angeles. 

The traffic had been hell, the parking worse (my vehicle was 70ft long, tip to tip) but suddenly, all of my problems lifted. 

There it was, off in the horizon, the big blue water of the west. Fabled in song and story. 

The Pacific Ocean. 

It is a treasured memory, and has stuck with me, even though I ended up living in Southern California with my then fiance, and now husband. Ironically, in many ways, the Ocean is a desert in its own right. Nothing truly lives only on the surface amongst its waves.  In fact, most  life there is out of sight, far below the water line. Yet the climate, and it’s beauty is so radically different from anything I had ever really known, outside of a few moments from my youth. 

And, amidst the wonder, the grind of daily life, and all those memories, I somehow had yet to visit the Pacific Ocean here in my home state of Washington. 

In short, I decided it was high time to fix that. 

The North Head Discovery trail is a there-and-back hike rated as moderate difficulty. Its challenge arises mainly from its mileage, and the slight increase in elevation at its end. My hiking app gave me maps which combine it with the Cape Disappointment Lighthouse trail, giving it an elevation challenge. 

I set out from the parking lot of a resort that donates parking space for trail goers. The trail itself was wide and paved, nothing like what I was accustomed to. A discovery trail is different from your normal hiking trail, in that it focuses on historical and/or scientific curiosities in the area.  It’s not just an adventure, it’s a field trip, and for a history buff, this made it especially appealing. You see, Lewis and Clark were there, in 1805. Strewn along the straight, southern path are tiny diversions leading to monuments, and statues, detailing their journeys, and pages from their journals describing events they encountered on the very ground you are walking upon connecting you to their time. 

There are gateway arches over the entrance to each parking lot you cross that in proud, bold numbers, proclaiming 1805 showing the  pride the community takes in their current history. 

The focus is mainly upon the expedition itself, and the local flora and fauna, but there is one placard detailing a limited history of the Chinook, the indigenous people that called that area home before they were ultimately, and unfairly displaced off their land by America’s dream of manifest destiny. 

In this, I found the trail especially lacking. To know more of this people, and their history, while venturing on the shorelines where they once lived, thrived, and built their society would have served as a fitting counterpoint to the Lewis and Clark Expedition which ultimately functioned as a herald of the end to their way of life.  

Overall, this feeling of imbalance greatly stuck with me as I veered south after my first quarter mile. I was now easily able to hear the roar of the waves, smell the ocean, and feel the cool breeze but I still could not see it. An endless sea of dune grass instead, like the world’s largest shag carpet, stretched out before me as I moved along the easy, wide path, wondering when I would get my chance. 

At half a mile in, I couldn’t take it anymore, and diverted down a side trail, heading sharply west. Breaking over the sand dune, and there it was in all of its majesty

I stood there, and took it all in. Here I was, well over 1500 miles from where I had first seen it, and yet, this was the same patch of big blue water. The enormity of it boggled my mind, and caused me to take a deep breath, if only to recenter myself, as I pondered the vastness of the machinery of the Earth. 

Still, I was not there to stare, not there to have a day playing upon the beach. I was there to hike a trail, and make miles. Taking one last look, I turned back towards my task, and got to work, stopping at a convenient bench to knock the sand out of my shoes. 

Soon, the ocean disappeared behind the dunes, and I was back amongst the grassy expanse, cooled by the breeze and all the while being baked by the sun; heading south at a constant, rhythmic pace. 

It got meditative. There wasn’t much to do, and there wasn’t much to see besides occasional informational placards and monuments, which sometimes broke me out of my forward moving stupor, and other times, failed to arouse my interest. The first hour passed, and then, about half way through my second, I came to an inescapable realization. 

I was bored. 

In the hiking community, watching videos, I’ve heard the term “type two fun.” Type Two fun is something that is fun after the fact. You look back on the memory of its accomplishment fondly, even though at the time you were, uncomfortable, overworked, bored, or any number of mildly to severely unpleasant feelings. 

As I plodded along it seemed to me that, save for a few moments, this hike was going to be full of the type two fun, and I found myself disheartened. Stopping in my tracks just over four miles in I looked back the way I came as questions danced through my mind. 

Should I go home? Give up? Call it an early day? Did I really want to complete this trail, or was I content with saying I tried, and it wasn’t for me? 

The decision grew heavier, as I looked forward towards my goals. When I hike the PCT in 2020, I know there will be times when I’m bored, and when I just don’t want to hike. I might be sore, or just fed up, and as I pondered, it became apparent to me that giving up, was a habit, as was perseverance. If I quit today because I was bored, or uninterested, it was going to be that much easier to quit next time… when the workout got hard, or the trail challenging, or when the sentence wouldn’t come for my novel. 

That simply wouldn’t do, so, turning back towards the south, I dug in, kicked on my audio book, and enjoyed the scenery I did have, putting away my expectations. 

I’ll be honest, there were times when the trail seemed to drag by with all the rapidity of a snail on ketamine but I set a goal for myself to clear as quickly as I could to work on my pacing. 

With a goal in mind, and a good audiobook pouring from my headset, another hour passed, as a small mountain came into view, and suddenly, there was a full beach to my right with the ocean pounding against the waves. 

Here before me was a profound type of liminal space. Not just ocean and shore, but ocean, shore and forest all meeting in one collision of juxtaposed beauty. Breaking out of the dune grass, there was an entirely new vista before me now, as the trail tilted up, carrying me forward, and providing me with some elevation challenge, until I crossed one parking lot, then another, and came upon an old lighthouse perched at its top, with a sweeping view of the Pacific before me. 

It was an experience I would have never had, if I had turned back. Enjoying my reward, snapping a few pictures for posterity, I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and turned around for the  7.5 mile journey back to my truck, happy that I had stayed on the trail. 

[iambuckyrogers]

Promises

Summary: You made a promise to yourself to not succumb to your boss’s charm. How will you cope when you realise you're falling for him?

Word Count: 2340

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Warnings: panic attack, angst, some swear words, it ends happily I swear

Authors Note: This was for @petersshirts  1k challenge. It was struggling a bit with a good storyline for this prompt but thanks to a shitty date I went on recently and my terminally unrequited crush I came up with this beauty. Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated xx

Prompt: “I’m done. I’m done trying so hard only for you to never look in my direction.”

* * * * *

When you took the job as Tony Stark’s assistant you made a promise to yourself, that you wouldn’t fall for the playboy’s charm. You had done quite well in the first few months, keeping all correspondence strictly professional, never acknowledging his occasional flirtatious remarks or engaging in functions that weren’t work-related. It had all gone downhill quickly when one morning Friday sent you an urgent message calling you to Tony’s workshop. She hadn’t elaborated on what the problem was, so you went in expecting the absolute worst. Due to Tony’s notorious disdain towards personal safety, you expected him to have been injured by some sort of explosion or an invention gone wrong. What you were met with certainly wasn’t what you thought you’d see. Instead, you found Tony curled up in the foetal position at the foot of his workbench. His face was buried into his knees as he rocked himself back and forth, body shaking uncontrollably. You approached him cautiously, an outstretched hand brushing him gently on the shoulder as you settled yourself on the floor next to him.

“Tony, it’s Y/N,” you whispered, “are you ok?” You didn’t really expect a response, it was more to just let him know that you were there for him. He slowly uncurled himself and looked at you with red-rimmed eyes, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks. His breathing was shallow and rapid, sweat beaded along his forehead. You had never seen him look so vulnerable and it broke your heart. You reached out and took one of his hands in yours, resting your fingers on his pulse point you felt the manic beating of his heart.

“Tony, I’m going to need you to take some deep breaths with me, okay?” you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, “Just like that Tony. Do the next one with me,” You took another breath, this time Tony followed your lead. He took in a shaky breath, held it for a few seconds before letting it out again.

“Okay just a couple more,” you reassured him. He closed his eyes and continued to breathe deeply, each breath coming easier than the last. Gradually, his heart rate returned to normal, you squeezed his hand gently before pulling away.

“How do you feel now, Tone?” you asked. He took another deep breath and opened his eyes but looked anywhere but at you.

“Better thanks,” he replied shortly, pulling himself to his feet and quickly busying himself with the mess of tools that littered his workbench.

“Do you know what triggered your anxiety?” Tony’s shoulders tensed. He turned from his bench to face you, his face unreadable.

“No, I’m fine,” he murmured, more as a question than a statement, “you can go now.” He dismissed you with a wave of his hand and turned back to focus on his work. Not wanting to upset him any further you hurried out of his workshop and went back to your own work.

Since that day, your mission to keep your feelings towards your boss strictly professional got infinitely harder. Seeing a different side of Tony changed the way you saw him. You caught a glimpse of the softer, more sensitive side to the usual extravagant, cocky man that you were so used to dealing with and you wanted to get to know him more. Each interaction with him left your heart beating just a little faster, your hands a bit clammy and heart not quite filled. The only issue was, since that day Tony seemed to be going out of his way to avoid you. He spent as much time as he could locked away in his workshop and when he did emerge he kept any dealings with you very short and succinct. You were starting to go mad, torn between wanting Tony’s attention and wanting to punch him in his stupid face. Your best friend, Y/F/N, wasn’t oblivious to your struggles.

“Come on Y/N, just give it a try,” Y/F/N implored waving the phone in front of your face.

“Fine,” you groaned snatching the phone out of their hand. They had been trying for weeks to get you to sign up for tinder and you’d reached your wits end, giving in if only to shut them up for five minutes. You went about setting up your profile, adding a few decent pictures of yourself but you were stumped for what to write in the bio.

“Just write whatever you feel is right,” your friend suggested. So you did just that, settling for one of the cringiest pick up lines you could find on the internet.

“Hey how does this sound? Are you french? Because Eiffel for you,” you choke out through giggles. Your friend shakes their head and laughs softly.

“Man, that’s so bad.”

“I know, that’s the point.” You had no intention of actually pursuing anyone on tinder so hopefully, the terrible pun would turn any potential suitors off.

“Now start swiping!” your friend snatched the phone out of your hand and swiped right on everyone they came across.

“Woah no don’t do that!” you shouted wrestling them for the phone.

“A match!” they cheered triumphantly causing you to stop your assault.

“Really?!”

“Yep and look at this, they’ve already messaged!” your friend held the phone out to you and sure enough on the screen was a message from a guy named Martin.

Martin: Do you like raisins?

“What the hell?” your fingers hovered over the keyboard thinking of how you could reply to such an odd message. Eventually, you typed your response.

Y/N: Not overly fond but i do enjoy wine

Within seconds Martin replied.

Martin: Well how would you feel about a date?

“Wow this guy is smooth,” you laughed to your friend.

“See it’s not that bad,” they chided to which you stuck out your tongue.

You kept talking to Martin. He was a surprisingly decent guy, he always messaged to see how your day was, he’d tell you bad jokes if you were feeling down and he never once sent you an unsolicited dick pic! Things were going pretty well for you and Martin but you still couldn’t get Tony truly out of your head. It was hard when you saw him almost every day, each time was like a punch to the gut reminding you of what you couldn’t have. You thought about quitting but the pay was amazing and besides, you were really good at your job and doubted that they would let you go without a fight. After a few weeks of talking to Martin, you finally set a date. You were going to meet him at an Italian restaurant in downtown New York. After finishing up your errands for the day you returned to your quarters in the compound. Another perk of being Tony’s assistant, you never knew when he’d need you, so you were on call 24/7 and got to live at the Avengers compound. You had decided to wear the new cocktail dress that you had gotten for your birthday. It was a little red, off the shoulder number that hugged your figure perfectly and accentuated your best features. You finished off your look with silver hoop earrings, a pearl bracelet and silver heels. You applied your make up and pulled your hair up into a loose bun, giving yourself one last look in the mirror before hurrying out to the awaiting uber. You walk past the common room where you spot Tony nursing a bottle of Jack Daniels and bag of popcorn, watching a David Attenborough documentary about the Great Barrier Reef. You kept your head down and walked quickly, heels clicking obnoxiously on the tiled floor.

“Hey Y/N where are you going?” he slurred, pausing the tv and leaning over the back of the couch to watch you as you hurried past.

“On a date, Mr Stark,” you explained stopping in your tracks but not turning around to face him.

“Oh,” he sighed turning back around and flicking the tv on again. You took a deep breath and continued through the compound out to the driveway where the uber was waiting, ready to take you to Martin.

The driver pulled up outside the restaurant, you thanked him and emerged into the chill of the evening air. You were a few minutes early so you decided to wait inside where it was warmer.

“Table for one?” the waiter asked once you entered the restaurant.

“Two actually,” you corrected him, “my date is coming later.” The waiter nodded, picked up 2 menus and gestured for you to follow him. He seated you at a cosy window booth, overlooking a grassy park filled with people enjoying the evening. He poured you a glass of water and silently returned to his post at the door. You checked your phone quickly for the time, it was 6:00 so Martin should be arriving soon.

Ten minutes passed, then 15 which quickly turned to 20 and there was no sign of Martin. He hadn’t even messaged you to say he was going to be late. Frustrated and annoyed you waved the waiter over and got some more breadsticks and a bottle of red wine. You poured yourself a glass and waited some more. An hour ticked past and still no Martin. You had finished the wine and had eaten enough breadsticks to feed a small army. You were upset and mad all at the same time, a tsunami of emotions wreaking havoc on your brain. You decided that it was time to leave, you paid for your meal and tipped the waiter handsomely for fetching you so many breadsticks. It wasn’t long before your uber arrived and you were en route back to the compound.

With your heels in your hand, you stumbled through the compound towards your room. Everything was quiet and dark, you walked with your arms out, feeling around like you were blindfolded and trying to find the piñata at a birthday party. Your arms connected with something hard just moments before you kicked your toe into it.

“Fucking shit,” you swore hopping around on your uninjured foot.

“Y/N?” someone whispered causing you to drop your shoes to the floor with a loud crash. “Friday turn on the lights please.” The lights burst to life, you had to shield your eyes from the sudden intrusion. When your eyes had adjusted you looked around to get your bearings. You had walked into the wall right next to the doorway that you were looking for which lead to your room. The voice you had heard was Tony’s, he was in the same position as you had left him only this time the Jack Daniels bottle was empty and he was surrounded by empty food wrappers.

“What’s up darlin’, you look like crap,” Tony garbled looking you up and down.

“Yeah well I feel like crap too,” you sniffed wiping away the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes.

“Don’t cry sweetheart it can’t be that bad. What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” you choked out, a fresh wave of sadness hitting you like a brick wall. You walked over and slumped onto the couch, tears streaming down your face.

“Want to talk about it?” he whispered moving closer to you.

“Well, that makes a change,” you scoffed moving back so that there was distance between you once again.

“What do you mean?” he asked, taken aback by your tone.

"You’re part of the problem. I’m done. I’m done trying so hard only for you to never look in my direction. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks and I know it. Christ, I even went on a stupid tinder date to try and get you off of my mind only for it to bite me in the ass. I’m sick and tired of being so hopelessly in love with you,” you gasped having realised what you just said, “I’m sorry,” you sobbed into your hands, wishing that your tears could wash away all of the pain you felt inside. You felt a gentle hand brush along your shoulder.

“Hey Y/N, it’s ok,” Tony reassured you, “because I feel the exact same way. I’m an idiot, after you helped me in the lab I freaked out. I’ve lost so many people who’ve cared about me and I couldn’t stand losing you. I thought that the only way to keep you safe was to push you away but clearly that hasn’t helped either you or I. Please forgive me.” You looked into Tony’s eyes, searching for some kind of hint that he was joking, that it was all an elaborate prank but all you found there was the love and admiration that he felt for you.

“God we’re stupid,” you laughed softly as Tony wiped a few stray tears from your cheeks.

“What a pair we are,” he laughed tears of his own pooling in his eyes. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear before gently cupping your face in his calloused hand. His eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips and back up again as he slowly brought your faces closer together. Your eyes fluttered shut when he finally pressed his lips to yours. Time seemed to slow as you kissed, a single moment of passion stretched out to infinity. You wound your hands into Tony’s hair, pulling him in closer. You gasped as he nipped at your bottom lip allowing him to sweep his tongue into your mouth. He tasted of whisky and smelt like home, he was everything you had imagined and more. You pulled back and rested your forehead against his, needing a chance to catch your breath. You had not just broken your promise of not falling for the playboy’s charm, you had completely and utterly destroyed it, like a tree in a wood chopper there was no going back. Not that you would want to anyway.  

[zdbztumble]

Translation Time! - “Gotta Catch Ya Later!”

DISCLAIMER: These translations come from a Facebook group that has posted clips of the original Japanese versions of certain episodes with French subtitles. I am not fluent in French, but between what I do know and research aides, I’m moderately confident in these translations; any spots I feel particularly troubled by will be noted. While the subtitles I’m using were written for the Japanese version of these episodes, that still means that this is a translation of the Japanese version by way of another language.

With all that said - let’s take a look at a few key scenes from “Gotta Catch Ya Later!”

(Two more things before we get started: One, if there’s ever a need to go through GCYL again for any reason - trivia, screenshots, to open a wormhole into a parallel universe where magic is real and death has been conquered - someone else can do it. This damn episode tugs at my heartstrings more than any kids show has a right to do to someone less than a year away from 30.

Two: what little of Pokemon I’ve had a chance to see in Japanese, I prefer in Japanese, but this episode is an exception. Mayumi Iizuka’s performance is fine, but I think Rachel Lillis, throughout the episode, has a more broken and vulnerable quality that fits the writing extremely well. I also prefer the song and montage 4Kids came up with; while it is nice that the original version looks back at Misty’s entire time on the show, it’s her separation from Ash that forms the emotional core of her arc in this episode, and I think having a montage that focuses in on that aspect is ultimately more appropriate.)

SCENE: Misty gets the call.

English:

DAISY: Where have yo been, Misty? We’ve been trying to reach you. I was afraid it’d be too late. MISTY: Everything OK? DAISY: TA-DA! Tickets for a trip around the world! I came in third in a beauty competition, and I’m able to bring...two others! MISTY: Huh? DAISY: We, um, kind of figured you wouldn’t be that interested in coming along anyway, so you can cover for us at the Cerulean Gym while we’re seeing the world! MISTY: Hey, hold on a minute! DAISY: We’ll be back before long! MISTY: What just happened...? BROCK: She deserved to win that trip around the world! ASH: They’re lucky. MISTY: Well, I’m not! Why should I be the one who has to go work at the Gym!? ASH: But Misty, it’s only while they’re gone. MISTY: That’s true...

Original:

SAKURA: Kasumi, it’s about time! I thought you wouldn’t get the message in time. KASUMI: What’s happening? SAKURA: TA-DA! These are tickets to go around the world! We just won them in the lottery! And they’re valid for the whole family! We didn’t think you’d be interested, Kasumi, so until our return, we’re counting on you to watch the Hanada Gym! KASUMI: Wait a second - ! SAKURA: Alright, we’re going! KASUMI: She...she hung up!? TAKESHI: What luck! A tour of the world! SATOSHI: I’m jealous! KASUMI: I don’t feel jealous at all! Why is it me who has to watch the Gym!? SATOSHI: I don’t see what’s wrong with that. KASUMI: But...

ANY DIFFERENCES? Misty’s sisters win their tickets in a lottery in the original, not a beauty contest. The dub implied that Misty’s departure from the series might be temporary by adding in the line about how she’ll only be watching the Gym until her sisters get back; in the original, there was no qualifier. And in the original, this scene sets up the next one by having Ash already acting cavalier about Misty’s departure while she’s upset and uncertain about it.

SCENE: Ash gets a clue.

English:

ASH: That’s great! You finally got your bike back! Now you’ll get home fast. MISTY: Whoopty-doo. ASH: Why are you so grouchy? MISTY: I’m not grouchy! Why don’t you just leave me alone!? PIKACHU: Pika! ASH: Uh, Misty? That was weird. What’s wrong? BROCK: I get the feeling that maybe she wanted to keep on traveling with us. ASH: Oh, really?

Original:

SATOSHI: That's great Kasumi! With that [the bike] you'll be able to quickly get home to Hanada! KASUMI: You really don't understand anything! SATOSHI: Why are you angry? KASUMI: Satoshi, you don't understand how I feel! SATOSHI: Kasumi! ...What's she talking about? TAKSHI: Kasumi might not want to stop traveling with us. (Satoshi’s expression falls)

ANY DIFFERENCES? Misty flat-out tells Ash that he doesn’t get it.

SCENE: The walk.

English:

MISTY: I can’t believe how Ash could talk to me like that after all we’ve been through...like it means nothing to him. The worst part...he isn’t even sad about us having to split up...

Original:

KASUMI: Satoshi...we've traveled together until now...it looks like he doesn't care...couldn't he be a little sad?

ANY DIFFERENCES? Not really.

SCENE: “Your bike’s there.”

English:

ASH: You were great, Misty. MISTY: Thanks. I feel a lot better now. ASH: It was awesome, watching you battle like that. MISTY: Thank you, Ash. That’s sweet. And thanks for always being a good friend to me. ASH: Yeah, sure! Misty? MISTY: Yeah? ASH: Your bike’s there. MISTY: Oh... ASH: You’re...in a hurry, right?

Original:

SATOSHI: You did it, Kasumi! KASUMI: Yeah, I feel better now! SATOSHI: Your battle was very impressive! KASUMI: Thank you, Satoshi...to have allowed me to travel with you. SAOTSHI: It's me who should be thanking you! ...Um... KASUMI: What? SATOSHI: Your bike...you're in a hurry, right?" 

ANY DIFFERENCES? Misty thanks Ash for letting her travel with him, instead of for being a good friend to her as she does in the dub. On the other hand, Ash says that he’s the one who should be thanking Misty in the original.

SCENE: Lead-in to the montage

English:

MISTY: So Ash - don’t forget your morning rituals. Take a bath and brush your teeth. ASH: I’ll remember. MISTY: And make sure that Pikachu doesn’t eat too much. PIKACHU: Pikachu! MISTY: And now Brock, try not to get too distracted by all the girls. BROCK: (Laughs) MISTY: One more thing... ASH: That’s enough! MISTY: It’s just something that I feel I need to tell you... ASH: Alright. MISTY: Just keep on...doing your best... ASH: Uh, what do you mean? MISTY: Well, you know...without me there...

Original:

KASUMI: Satoshi, remember to wash your face in the morning! SATOSHI: OK. KASUMI: Pikachu, don't eat too much! PIKACHI: Pikachu! KASUMI: Takeshi, stop being a fool around the pretty Trainers you meet! TAKESHI: Hey! KASUMI: And... SATOSHI: Alright, that's enough. KASUMI: If I don't say it, no one will! SATOSHI: OK, OK! KASUMI: It's just...weird... SATOSHI: Kasumi? KASUMI: If I'm not here...

ANY DIFFERENCES? The end of the conversation is a little less focused; the dub used it as a lead-in to their song “Misty Most of All,” which is a terrible pun that makes my eyes tear up every goddamn time.

SCENE: Aftermath of the montage

English:

MISTY: It’s ‘cause of this bike that I met Ash. Togepi, it was a coincidence that you and I met too. ASH: Our wasn’t coincidence. I don’t believe it can be just a coincidence that I met you, out of all people. MISTY: What do you mean, Ash? ASH: I guess what I mean is, even though that happened, I think that we were meant to meet and become friends! BROCK: Me too. We’ve been through so much together on our travels, I’d say we’re best friends now! MISTY: You mean it, Brock? We’re really best friends? ...Yeah!

Original:

KASUMI: If I'd had this bike, nothing would have happened. Togepi, it's by chance that we met. SATOSHI: It wasn't chance. The fact we met couldn't be due to chance! KASUMI: What are you saying? SATOSHI: After all the adventures we've gone through - we became best friends that day! TAKESHI: And these three best friends have traveled together so far! KASUMI: Three best friends?

ANY DIFFERENCES? Not really.

SCENE: Final good-byes

English:

MISTY: Guess I’ll be going this way. ASH: Yeah. MISTY: Take care, Ash. ASH: Mmm-hmm. You too, Misty. MISTY: Will I...see you again? ASH: You will - I swear! BROCK: HOLD EVERYTHING! ASH: What’s gotten into you, Brock? BROCK: Actually, I also have to go back home right away. I got an e-mail saying I had to go back and take care of some errands and stuff, and I almost forgot. ASH: How could you forget something like that? BROCK: Ah, I’m not sure exactly. MISTY: Maybe because you didn’t want to leave? BROCK: Probably. MISTY: I know, Brock. I understand. (Transition) BROCK: Well, I guess this is where we all split up. MISTY: Are you sure you’ll be OK without me, Ash? ASH: I’ll be fine. BROCK: See ya, then. MISTY: Buh-bye... ASH: So long...Misty, thank you...and Brock, I know there’s no way I could’ve ever - BROCK: ...Go on. MISTY: If you have something to say, Ash, then say it. BROCK: Yeah, we’re all ears. ASH: WHA!? Why you creeping up on me like that!? BROCK: Sorry. I forgot to give this to you. ASH: Uh...? BROCK: Something to eat. A lunch-box picnic. With matching cutlery! MISTY: And this - makes it easier to carry. ASH: Misty...you guys... MISTY: Here. ASH: (Tearing up) I guess you guys should go now, huh? MISTY: OK. Take care. BROCK: We’ll miss you. MISTY: Well, Ash Ketchum - finally, I know how you feel about me. BROCK: It must be the onion making my eyes water... ASH: Thank you, Misty - and Brock - I’ll miss you!

Original:

KASUMI: Well, I'm going this way. Take care of yourself. SATOSHI: You too, Kasumi. KASUMI: We'll see each other again?" (NOTE: The subtitles have this down as a statement, but the performance suggests a question; I went with the performance.) SATOSHI: One day, I'm sure! TAKESHI: AAAAAUUUGH! I JUST REMEMBERED! SATOSHI: What’s up with you, Takeshi? TAKESHI: I actually have to go home, too. With all this, I forgot that I had received a letter from my father asking me to come home. SATOSHI: Why didn't you say so before!? TAKESHI: I'd forgotten about it. KASUMI: You managed to forget something like that!? TAKESHI: Perhaps. KASUMI: I see. I understand, Takeshi. (Transition) TAKESHI: Alright Satoshi, we're going. KASUMI: I won't be here to worry about you anymore. SATOSHI: I'll be fine, I tell you. TAKESHI: See you soon! KASUMI: Goodbye! SATOSHI: Thank you, Kasumi...Takeshi...because you were there, I... TAKESHI: You...? KASUMI: If you have something to say, it's now or never. TAKESHI: We're here, we're listening. SATOSHI: You haven't left yet!? TAKESHI: I forgot to give you this. A bento box you can eat, and the cutlery to go with it. KASUMI: Take this to pack it in. SATOSHI: Kasumi...Takeshi... KASUMI: Here. SATOSHI: ...Go on, get going, both of you! KASUMI: See you, Satoshi! TAKESHI: Take care. KASUMI: I understand how you feel, Satoshi. (NOTE: This line could either mean the same thing as the dub - in other words, “I understand how you feel about me” - or it could have a more general meaning of “I understand how you’re feeling about us splitting up.” It isn’t clear, from context or from performance, which is the case. If I had to guess, I’d say the latter is the safer bet, given what the other two say as they go on their separate paths.) TAKESHI: I put too many onions in the onigiri... SATOSHI: Thank you, Kasumi...Takeshi...thank you!

ANY DIFFERENCES? Not really, but if you ever watch this scene in Japanese, be prepared to feel it; Rica Matsumoto sounds as if she actually broke down crying on that final line.)

[thedeadishscribe]

Sidestep/Ortega

My Fallen Hero fic is, more or less, finally done! It features my Sidestep, Rysen Adri, and his thoughts on post game Fallen Hero: Rebirth. I seem to be doing a lot of post games.

I’m probably gonna post this to ao3 later because formatting is a bitch.

Please, enjoy!

Love, the dead dude

Julia had asked a fair question—what did that kiss mean?

I’m not sure myself, all I knew is that hearing the name Rysen was sweeter than I cared to admit. Was that even my name anymore? Again, not sure. What the hell, exactly, was going on in my life? Ortega, John, Mortum, The Rangers. Ouroboros. The new name I had chosen. The thought came to me at the party, the classic description of a serpent devouring its own tail, often used to signify the cycles of the universe and the process of rebirth—and it felt right at the time—but it felt positively wonderful in the afterglow of the gala. Fitting as can be really. Reborn, baptized in flame, smoke, and blood. Definitely several bruises and broken bones. Hopefully no corpses.

An odd sentiment for a demon of Los Diablos.

          First I had considered ‘Mindflayer’, but it wasn’t exactly me, as menacing a choice as it would have been. ‘Demon’ would have been too cheesy, too on the nose. Can’t really remember what made me think of it, but it simply fit. Even now I savor it on my tongue. Ouroboros. That one news station somehow fucked it up into ‘aurabeesknees’, but they’re in the minority so I guess I can let them off the hook. May have to pay a visit at a later date, however.

          Her and I text, call, all the things kids do nowadays. I hate that I can’t get enough. Of her laugh, her smile, the damn way she seductively wiggles her eyebrows to make me blush. Fuck, I hate admitting I blush too. I’m supposed to be a damn villain, not an anime protagonist. Speaking of which, I haven’t checked up on that lately. Like at all. Been too busy with villainy things. Anime can be villainous, right? We all know the ones. Not gonna name names though, that wouldn’t be fair.

          Just skirting around my problems now though, as per usual. I keep meaning to bring up how I’ve changed (minus the specific details, of course), to say something, and yet every time I choke and bring out my classic comedic deflection bullshit instead. I’m almost entirely positive Ortega can see through that, she’s just gotten… more subtle and less brash. Well, ‘less brash’ isn’t a good way to put it. ‘More selective in her bullrushing’ is more apt. Selective dumbassery is still dumbassery. I should know, I started my own little dumbass enterprise, may as well make a sign to post around the city. I can see it now, ‘Dumbass Incorporated seeking henchs now, will provide free lunch, health, and dental’. That’ll really draw them in. You don’t see many villains offering dental anymore. Could be a real selling point for when I want to expand.

          Truth be told, I’m a fan of the whole angels and demons trope we’re playing out. Sure, being a hero is nice and all, but being bad simply feels so good. Clichés? As many as you want. Monologues? Not recommended, but certainly entertaining. The utter sense of power? Fantastic. Maniacal cackling? My favorite part. No really, there’s nothing like a good laugh over the beaten forms of your enemies.

Beaten.

          That’s right, I had beaten Julia… no, Charge, to a pulp. Herald first though, and then Lady Argent not quite as much. There’s a sense of guilt around the first two mentioned. Argent not so much. It felt good in the moment to finally feel an equal to that massive shadow that loomed over me, coddled me, treated me as glass. It felt so good to beat down that perfect picture of a hero with his own vanity in front of his adoring fans, the new guy that got everything I didn’t. Yet, I mangled the woman that I, well, I dare not use the word. Then after learning that Herald wasn’t just a fan of Sidestep, but that Sidestep was his idol? His hero (pardon the pun)? I didn’t think it would hit me this hard but Jesus-fucking-Christ. Just another person I let down. No. No, not me. Sidestep. Sidestep let him down. Ouroboros simply fought him. That’s all. No more, no less.

          Of course, that feels like a lie, though at the same time, it doesn’t? It was difficult enough trying to distinguish Rysen from John sometimes—if Rysen even truly existed anymore—but now I have to differentiate three personas. Four if you included Sidestep, but they are firmly dead and gone. The exhibit, or rather lack thereof, is proof enough of that. I wonder how Ortega feels about it. Angry that someone defiled the memory of the former hero? Motivated for pay back? Does she not care? That would almost feel the worst, and I don’t know why, and I hate it.

God, I can hear her words now, ‘Don’t say you hate things so much, it’ll make you ugly on the inside’. Well guess-fucking-what, Julia. I’m ugly on the inside now. Or have I always been? Everything’s kind of a blur since Heartbreak, which is a long time. Seven years now, more like seven and a half. Yet it all felt like nothing. A bittersweet blob of memory, oddly enough. Incredibly bittersweet.

Should I ask her out on a date? She had promised one. Would that be going too far, however? Too close? Too prone to liability? I’m already in the position, what’s the threat of a little more tragedy in the already turbulent storm? Villains thrive on tragedy, right? Why am I asking so many questions? Too many already.

Fuck it, I’m gonna ask her. Not over the phone, that seems a tad disingenuous. When she asked me to the gala she asked me to meet in person, I should do the same. I’m sure as hell not going to the Rangers HQ. Don’t want to give myself away, let alone the fact that I’d feel like I was asking Steel if Ortega was home and if I could talk to her as if he were her dad. ‘Excuse me, Mr.Chen, is Julia home?’. As team leader was he the dad of the troop? Herald’s the baby and Argent the angsty teen, so definitely. Dear gods, Steel’s a father. Devils help us all. He certainly has the glare down.

I still miss him oddly enough. Not enough to give up my life of crime and don Sidestep’s mask once more. Hell no. I’m not even sure if it’s still in one piece. I’m not sure I want to know.

          Would I do it for Ortega though? As much as I’d love to help, I can’t, I just can’t. Y’know, aside from being a villain now and all, I just… couldn’t. The thought of feeling that thin nanomesh over my form alone made me want to chuck my skin like a meatbag alias. I guess in my position it really is a meatbag alias that I can toss aside whenever I so wish. Rysen and John. I often wonder what would happen if I just decided to live in John full time. What would happen if Rysen were to die while I were inhabiting John’s body. Would I—my consciousness that is—die? Would I just be stuck in a head blind body for the rest of said body’s life? Become him in every sense of the word. I don’t see why not, not that I’m seriously considering it or anything. Though the thought of resigning to a life of underworld business alongside Doctor Mortum isn’t half bad. Not one bit.

          Sometimes dating Mortum as John and trying to respark the old flame with Ortega as Rysen at the same time feels wrong, feels weird, but then I remember that Ortega was flirting with both John and Rysen at the same time, so I guess that totally excuses bad behavior. Definitely. I mean, she’s the master of flings, or at least was. It’s an interesting debate if nothing else. When I’m playing John, I’m still me and yet not. I’m john. John’s even developed his own mannerisms and behaviors, things Rysen would never do or wouldn’t even think of. I suppose this is like how superheroes have their hero and civilian identities. Both are just as real, right? And functionally they’re different people. This is way too much like way too many science-fiction pieces on the self and personal identity. I take ghost in the shell to an entirely other, meaty level

          But boy oh boy, Los Dioblos, hold onto your pants; you’ve heard of the double identity, I now present the triple identity! Groundbreaking, truly. Worn down, tired and retired telepath. Villain representative who just wants to keep his boss happy, hoping to get his cake and eat it too. Then finally the villain himself, Ouroboros, mastermind behind the impossibly elaborate plans. Ok, no one knows Ouroboros is a he, but that’s a good thing. The longer they’re all guessing, the better. I thought balancing Rysen and John was difficult, but Rysen, John, and Ouroboros? Son of a bitch, I didn’t know one person could get this tired. Thank the universe for coffee. Lots of cream lots of sugar preferred, but I’m not too terribly picky in a pinch, I already buy the cheap shit as is. Cheap ol’ Rysen. Yep. That’s me.

I keep talking about all these different identities, and yet I keep coming back to Rysen. Rysen. Rysen. Fuckin’ Rysen. I’m beginning to grow tired of the name. After… everything, I fully expected to shove off that particular shell of a man when I made my debut. I was apparently wrong. He keeps coming after me like a damn ghost. Ortega coming back into the mix certainly didn’t help, any chance of falling off the map died with her recognizing me in the diner. Oh well, I suppose, no plan survives first contact. I should really be surprised it didn’t all snag sooner. A lot sooner. Oh, but what a snag. That jawline, those lips, and gods above, those biceps.

She gives excellent hugs. Yep. That’s definitely what I like about them. The only thing.

          It was only recently that I realized a good memory I often draw upon—one of my few good memories—was that of Ortega kissing me after a particularly hard fight. She almost always initiated, and one time she even used her sparkles to shock my own lips ever so gently. I miss that sensation, funny enough, even if it was only the once. And, despite the fact that she always looked at me like I was fragile, she gave me this look like I was wanted. Like I belonged. Another thing I hate to admit, but I belong in her arms.

Fuck, what am I thinking? I shouldn’t allow myself to think like that, and yet such was the tendency of any good snag.

One other thing I hate to admit to myself—I love her. Son of a bitch, I always loved her, and I regret never telling her.

          I don’t think I could work up the courage to tell her though. Not then, not now, not ever. Aside from not being able to afford it, I don’t have the guts. Attacking a gala with some of Los Diablos’ richest and finest? No problem, just give me some time to plan. Facing a woman significantly larger than me on a date, looking at me with a sweetness in her eye? Nah nah nah nah nah. No way. Can’t do it. I’m weak, absolutely weak. Positively weak.

I hate myself.

          Julia doesn’t want me talking like that, she already made me promise to see a shrink, but she’s not here, inside my head walking down the street to get a cup of sweet, sweet addiction. She can’t dictate my self-talk. Except myself no one can. I doubt it will change any time soon, therapy or no. I hope the couch is comfy enough though. They always look comfy in the movies and on tv. Teary eyed tortured souls letting out their deepest secrets to some stranger taking notes on their entire life. Ew. Probably won’t tell them about the whole villain thing. I wouldn’t go at all and lie about it if I knew Julia would keep tabs on me and make sure I went. She’d probably drag me there herself. She always did care like that.

Oh well, she won’t leave me alone; but that’s a good thing, right? Because damn, what a kiss.

[deadpoet117]

Ohoho

It’s finally “done”! My Fallen Hero Sidestep fic! This take place between Rebirth and Retribution I haven’t played the alpha/beta pls don’t spoil or be angry. I might post it on my ao3 in the relative future because formatting is a bitch and I don’t feel like it.

Enjoy!

Julia had asked a fair question—what did that kiss mean?

I’m not sure myself, all I knew is that hearing the name Rysen was sweeter than I cared to admit. Was that even my name anymore? Again, not sure. What the hell, exactly, was going on in my life? Ortega, John, Mortum, The Rangers. Ouroboros. The new name I had chosen. The thought came to me at the party, the classic description of a serpent devouring its own tail, often used to signify the cycles of the universe and the process of rebirth—and it felt right at the time—but it felt positively wonderful in the afterglow of the gala. Fitting as can be really. Reborn, baptized in flame, smoke, and blood. Definitely several bruises and broken bones. Hopefully no corpses.

An odd sentiment for a demon of Los Diablos.

          First I had considered ‘Mindflayer’, but it wasn’t exactly me, as menacing a choice as it would have been. ‘Demon’ would have been too cheesy, too on the nose. Can’t really remember what made me think of it, but it simply fit. Even now I savor it on my tongue. Ouroboros. That one news station somehow fucked it up into ‘aurabeesknees’, but they’re in the minority so I guess I can let them off the hook. May have to pay a visit at a later date, however.

          Her and I text, call, all the things kids do nowadays. I hate that I can’t get enough. Of her laugh, her smile, the damn way she seductively wiggles her eyebrows to make me blush. Fuck, I hate admitting I blush too. I’m supposed to be a damn villain, not an anime protagonist. Speaking of which, I haven’t checked up on that lately. Like at all. Been too busy with villainy things. Anime can be villainous, right? We all know the ones. Not gonna name names though, that wouldn’t be fair.

          Just skirting around my problems now though, as per usual. I keep meaning to bring up how I’ve changed (minus the specific details, of course), to say something, and yet every time I choke and bring out my classic comedic deflection bullshit instead. I’m almost entirely positive Ortega can see through that, she’s just gotten… more subtle and less brash. Well, ‘less brash’ isn’t a good way to put it. ‘More selective in her bullrushing’ is more apt. Selective dumbassery is still dumbassery. I should know, I started my own little dumbass enterprise, may as well make a sign to post around the city. I can see it now, ‘Dumbass Incorporated seeking henchs now, will provide free lunch, health, and dental’. That’ll really draw them in. You don’t see many villains offering dental anymore. Could be a real selling point for when I want to expand.

          Truth be told, I’m a fan of the whole angels and demons trope we’re playing out. Sure, being a hero is nice and all, but being bad simply feels so good. Clichés? As many as you want. Monologues? Not recommended, but certainly entertaining. The utter sense of power? Fantastic. Maniacal cackling? My favorite part. No really, there’s nothing like a good laugh over the beaten forms of your enemies.

Beaten.

          That’s right, I had beaten Julia… no, Charge, to a pulp. Herald first though, and then Lady Argent not quite as much. There’s a sense of guilt around the first two mentioned. Argent not so much. It felt good in the moment to finally feel an equal to that massive shadow that loomed over me, coddled me, treated me as glass. It felt so good to beat down that perfect picture of a hero with his own vanity in front of his adoring fans, the new guy that got everything I didn’t. Yet, I mangled the woman that I, well, I dare not use the word. Then after learning that Herald wasn’t just a fan of Sidestep, but that Sidestep was his idol? His hero (pardon the pun)? I didn’t think it would hit me this hard but Jesus-fucking-Christ. Just another person I let down. No. No, not me. Sidestep. Sidestep let him down. Ouroboros simply fought him. That’s all. No more, no less.

          Of course, that feels like a lie, though at the same time, it doesn’t? It was difficult enough trying to distinguish Rysen from John sometimes—if Rysen even truly existed anymore—but now I have to differentiate three personas. Four if you included Sidestep, but they are firmly dead and gone. The exhibit, or rather lack thereof, is proof enough of that. I wonder how Ortega feels about it. Angry that someone defiled the memory of the former hero? Motivated for pay back? Does she not care? That would almost feel the worst, and I don’t know why, and I hate it.

God, I can hear her words now, ‘Don’t say you hate things so much, it’ll make you ugly on the inside’. Well guess-fucking-what, Julia. I’m ugly on the inside now. Or have I always been? Everything’s kind of a blur since Heartbreak, which is a long time. Seven years now, more like seven and a half. Yet it all felt like nothing. A bittersweet blob of memory, oddly enough. Incredibly bittersweet.

Should I ask her out on a date? She had promised one. Would that be going too far, however? Too close? Too prone to liability? I’m already in the position, what’s the threat of a little more tragedy in the already turbulent storm? Villains thrive on tragedy, right? Why am I asking so many questions? Too many already.

Fuck it, I’m gonna ask her. Not over the phone, that seems a tad disingenuous. When she asked me to the gala she asked me to meet in person, I should do the same. I’m sure as hell not going to the Rangers HQ. Don’t want to give myself away, let alone the fact that I’d feel like I was asking Steel if Ortega was home and if I could talk to her as if he were her dad. ‘Excuse me, Mr.Chen, is Julia home?’. As team leader was he the dad of the troop? Herald’s the baby and Argent the angsty teen, so definitely. Dear gods, Steel’s a father. Devils help us all. He certainly has the glare down.

I still miss him oddly enough. Not enough to give up my life of crime and don Sidestep’s mask once more. Hell no. I’m not even sure if it’s still in one piece. I’m not sure I want to know.

          Would I do it for Ortega though? As much as I’d love to help, I can’t, I just can’t. Y’know, aside from being a villain now and all, I just… couldn’t. The thought of feeling that thin nanomesh over my form alone made me want to chuck my skin like a meatbag alias. I guess in my position it really is a meatbag alias that I can toss aside whenever I so wish. Rysen and John. I often wonder what would happen if I just decided to live in John full time. What would happen if Rysen were to die while I were inhabiting John’s body. Would I—my consciousness that is—die? Would I just be stuck in a head blind body for the rest of said body’s life? Become him in every sense of the word. I don’t see why not, not that I’m seriously considering it or anything. Though the thought of resigning to a life of underworld business alongside Doctor Mortum isn’t half bad. Not one bit.

          Sometimes dating Mortum as John and trying to respark the old flame with Ortega as Rysen at the same time feels wrong, feels weird, but then I remember that Ortega was flirting with both John and Rysen at the same time, so I guess that totally excuses bad behavior. Definitely. I mean, she’s the master of flings, or at least was. It’s an interesting debate if nothing else. When I’m playing John, I’m still me and yet not. I’m john. John’s even developed his own mannerisms and behaviors, things Rysen would never do or wouldn’t even think of. I suppose this is like how superheroes have their hero and civilian identities. Both are just as real, right? And functionally they’re different people. This is way too much like way too many science-fiction pieces on the self and personal identity. I take ghost in the shell to an entirely other, meaty level

          But boy oh boy, Los Dioblos, hold onto your pants; you’ve heard of the double identity, I now present the triple identity! Groundbreaking, truly. Worn down, tired and retired telepath. Villain representative who just wants to keep his boss happy, hoping to get his cake and eat it too. Then finally the villain himself, Ouroboros, mastermind behind the impossibly elaborate plans. Ok, no one knows Ouroboros is a he, but that’s a good thing. The longer they’re all guessing, the better. I thought balancing Rysen and John was difficult, but Rysen, John, and Ouroboros? Son of a bitch, I didn’t know one person could get this tired. Thank the universe for coffee. Lots of cream lots of sugar preferred, but I’m not too terribly picky in a pinch, I already buy the cheap shit as is. Cheap ol’ Rysen. Yep. That’s me.

I keep talking about all these different identities, and yet I keep coming back to Rysen. Rysen. Rysen. Fuckin’ Rysen. I’m beginning to grow tired of the name. After… everything, I fully expected to shove off that particular shell of a man when I made my debut. I was apparently wrong. He keeps coming after me like a damn ghost. Ortega coming back into the mix certainly didn’t help, any chance of falling off the map died with her recognizing me in the diner. Oh well, I suppose, no plan survives first contact. I should really be surprised it didn’t all snag sooner. A lot sooner. Oh, but what a snag. That jawline, those lips, and gods above, those biceps.

She gives excellent hugs. Yep. That’s definitely what I like about them. The only thing.

          It was only recently that I realized a good memory I often draw upon—one of my few good memories—was that of Ortega kissing me after a particularly hard fight. She almost always initiated, and one time she even used her sparkles to shock my own lips ever so gently. I miss that sensation, funny enough, even if it was only the once. And, despite the fact that she always looked at me like I was fragile, she gave me this look like I was wanted. Like I belonged. Another thing I hate to admit, but I belong in her arms.

Fuck, what am I thinking? I shouldn’t allow myself to think like that, and yet such was the tendency of any good snag.

One other thing I hate to admit to myself—I love her. Son of a bitch, I always loved her, and I regret never telling her.

          I don’t think I could work up the courage to tell her though. Not then, not now, not ever. Aside from not being able to afford it, I don’t have the guts. Attacking a gala with some of Los Diablos’ richest and finest? No problem, just give me some time to plan. Facing a woman significantly larger than me on a date, looking at me with a sweetness in her eye? Nah nah nah nah nah. No way. Can’t do it. I’m weak, absolutely weak. Positively weak.

I hate myself.

          Julia doesn’t want me talking like that, she already made me promise to see a shrink, but she’s not here, inside my head walking down the street to get a cup of sweet, sweet addiction. She can’t dictate my self-talk. Except myself no one can. I doubt it will change any time soon, therapy or no. I hope the couch is comfy enough though. They always look comfy in the movies and on tv. Teary eyed tortured souls letting out their deepest secrets to some stranger taking notes on their entire life. Ew. Probably won’t tell them about the whole villain thing. I wouldn’t go at all and lie about it if I knew Julia would keep tabs on me and make sure I went. She’d probably drag me there herself. She always did care like that.

Oh well, she won’t leave me alone; but that’s a good thing, right? Because damn, what a kiss.

[gellirole]

Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, what are your OCs’ names? And like, what’s their story? Just wondering

AHha ok sO i have like a million ocs so this might be a kinda long post, sorry in advance :’)

Ok sO this is dusty, hes called that because i dont remember.

anyway, so he works in an office suspended in a void, it’s very pink, anyway. he kinda sucks at his job, and sucks at having a likeable personality, so he gets fired, so yeah he and a random person who died have to go on a paperwork adventure to save random persons soul, and other stuff. im very bad at writingthings down but its in the form of a terrible unfinished rpg maker game with options to subtweet ur boss so i, yeah idk he sucks. but i like him so. 

CH riS ok so THIS is the worst universe and simultaneously the one with most  characters. It’s GUESS its like,..,. a basic urban fantasy setting. BUT its not like ,.,.., idk its not like omg we have to fight god its morelike omg we have to go fix a computer at xyz but this hotel totally has a ghost in it. i dont know i m very sorry

But anyway, the cast. i m so sorry

i dont have any drawings i like of her so  a messy blob is here, this is corey, shes a shapeshifter andshe does stuff. idk shes very wip bbut thats universal. Uh personality shes like: 💪😎💪

this guys uh hhes hes a demon stuck possessing this guy. it’s not ideal for anyone and by the time they figure out how to remove him theyre all buddies. so whoops. also rubbish doodle again. anyway theres more to this one but idk. i like this one a 

these ones r a mildly chaotic immortal vampire couple who dont know what to do anymore. they also let a vry broke vine star live in their  house i think that was canon i can’t remember. this whole thing is a mess

hector is my twitter bot who isnt rlly an oc but i count him as canon. his latest tweet was 

 “Selkies are just straight up slapped me and that i do this vampire in the end, maybe the dark to be rude.“

 hes not very coherent! but he has said readable things in the past. like “Poor werewolves they suck.“

oh this is a mermay corey actually i forgot 

this post is so long already im so sorry

hRghsO im in themiddle of changing thsi guys name because it doesnt make sense anymore as a pun because i- anyway so i had one oc then i split that oc into two so now i need to change his nameso anyway. he works at a  knock off starbucks with another ocI rlly like both of them and need to reboot them. i think if i ever make a webcomic theyd be good mcs.

alright there are way more characters in this universe but i either dont have designs or am rebooting them :’) or forgot.

sam+alex

sam is 💪😠🙃💪 n i love her

and alex is the physical embodiment of a keyboard smash

oh alex is also dead but hes ok. thats a terrible drawing of him yikes

I have a lot more ocs and general universes but this post is very long already :’)

like s o many more im i  need to write things down more

[paperclipninja]

Younger post-ep ramble 5x12

Ok, we made it, we’re here. Now proudly donning my ‘I survived Younger Season 5’ commemorative t-shirt, there were moments in the lead up when I thought the anticipation for ‘Lizability’ might actually be the end of me. But nope, managed to survive that and then, miraculously, survive the finale itself (though there were a couple of parts that had me teetering, can you say FOUNTAIN SCENE). As always, I have many thoughts and feelings, all of which I will lay out in this final episode ramble for the season. So switch out your night driving glasses for your reading ones, there is a lot to unpack.

Straight off the bat we get my favourite terrible person, Cheryl Sussman. Taking Liza on the tour of Plaza, she does her best to try and remind us why we should hate her by talking up her company while dissing our beloved Empirical (her calling it a floundering family publishing house felt akin to when you’re snarky about your own family but if someone else says a bad word, HELL NO). But then, as she’s complimenting Liza on her work at Millennial and Liza once again points out she didn’t do it on her own, Cheryl comes out with ‘now’s not the time to hide your light under a bushel’. So now my feelings are confused. I know Cheryl is a bad egg (oh yes, I am HERE for the Chick(y) puns) but her unabashed directness means that she also sees Liza’s talent and won’t let her credit all the success to Kelsey and you get the sense that she might actually be legitimately valued in her own right in this workplace (not to mention Cheryl outright saying that theirs is not an ageist company).

Cue the offer to run her own imprint with the most cringe worthy name a marketing team ever spent ages coming up with. It’s so bad it’s great (I could just hear someone from marketing saying, “I know, let’s put the ‘y’ in brackets for…wait for it…the y chromosome so that it’s clear we’re not just an imprint for women” and the team all high fiving each other before cracking open a bottle of sparkling rose that was left over from the Christmas party). Of course no matter how peachy it’s all sounding, we know that the fact Cheryl knows about Liza’s relationship with Charles is going to be used against her at some point, so any confused feelings are quickly quashed when Cheryl throws her own pun into the mix, that this Chick(y) is ready to hatch, and struts off. Ugh, she’s the worst. I love her.

Back at Empirical, Kelsey is blindsided by the news that there is a Captiol Letters party being hosted in Washington that she knows nothing about. Zane enjoys every moment of questioning Kelsey in front of her colleagues and Kelsey’s attempt to save face by telling Charles she’s heading there leads to a conversation I was hoping would happen this season. I suspected that Charles knew there was something going on between Jake and Kelsey and Kelsey and Zane. Peter Hermann is really such a remarkable actor because in the eps leading up this one, during each interaction with Jake or Zane about the book, and even last episode when Kelsey squeezed Zane’s cheeks at the cabaret show, a contemplative expression flashed across Charles’ face as he was piecing together these separate interactions and conversations. Him confronting Kelsey about her relationship with Jake, and also indicating that he knew she and Zane had something going on, was what I needed. It was ensuring she was held accountable as well as an opportunity to make her aware of Zane’s actions in refusing to poach the book.

While we’re in Charles’ office, I’d like to touch on a scene that I really loved and that was the Charles, Kelsey and Liza moment talking about what’s going to happen, following Charles’ meeting with Quinn. Admittedly, Kelsey not understanding what Charles initially says raises some questions about her business acumen, but the conversation between the three of them once the news of Millennial becoming the flagship brand is revealed was the first time I’ve seen them talk together like this (and I really enjoyed seeing Kelsey and Liza’s disbelief and elation). Liza pointing out she’s been perpetuating fraud and that both of them are complicit and the glance Charles shot at Kelsey, Kelsey saying in front of Charles that Liza can’t leave, that she can’t do this without her, it’s like these three are bound by the shared secret and their care of Liza and I felt like I caught a glimpse of the potential for the three of them to hang out. I’m not suggesting that Charles and Kelsey are suddenly going to have a blossoming friendship, rather that Charles being out for drinks or the like with the gang, a notion that I’m dying to see but can’t quite wrap my head around, suddenly became plausible and possible in this moment for me.

The most striking part of this scene was the way both Liza and Charles changed the moment Kelsey left the room. You could see them both relax into the comfort of just the two of them, the way Liza says, ‘you know I’m right’ immediately readjusted the power dynamic to that of two equals and transitioned the conversation to one between partners rather than colleagues. Liza reminds Charles of her desire for a career and his smile when she says that by leaving they’ll have ‘us’ was a sweet bonus. Charles trusting Liza’s judgement about Kelsey and talking through his next steps with her further reinforced that he values and respects her opinion and guidance. The one thing this scene absolutely solidified for me was how much I would give (read: A LOT) to see these two team up and become a publishing power couple, seriously, I know that won’t ever happen on Younger but I would be all over that and am already picturing a good cop/bad cop nerdish negotiation scenario and yes, take my money, I’m here for it.

Speaking of negotiations, our billionaire friend Quinn reappeared this week and I thoroughly enjoyed hearing her actually conducting business and talking about putting together a group of investors etc. Don’t get me wrong, in her lunch meeting with Charles the flirt was on as she told him she wants to put her money where her passion is, but I liked her assertiveness around having a specific strategy for saving Empirical. I love this character, she is like the good witch version of Cheryl Sussman (I think. I want her to be good so I’m sticking with this until I see otherwise). And I especially loved her after the conversation with Liza. Quinn and Liza together = yes please. I want them to become friends or at least have some kind of relationship where they go out for drinks together or SOMETHING, because Quinn in business mode not accepting any of Liza’s reasons for leaving Millennial and not relenting until Liza came straight out with the truth….YES! This moment was so so good. From Quinn’s reaction (a shout out to the expression on Laura Benanti’s face in that moment) and Liza saying that the optics aren’t good now that Quinn knows, to Quinn’s response that the optics aren’t good either for firing someone who’s fighting against ageism then offering to celebrate it, it was such a glorious unfolding of events. Of course Quinn goes straight to how it can be beneficial for business and I LOVE that Liza shoots back with the fact it’s good for Claw. And possibly my favourite part of this scene, when Quinn feigns that she never even thought of that, Liza throws chapter 4 straight back at her and Quinn says see, you already know I’m not going to let you go and this kind of intelligent, witty back and forth between two women who clearly respect one another is what I want to see Liza have in her friendships. Make this happen Darren.

The other person I need Liza to be going out for drinks with is Diana and this was reinforced by their interaction the morning in the office when Diana believes the relationship with Enzo may be over. I love that Liza can tell something is wrong and when she asks, Diana tells her rather than shuts her out. Oh how far these two have come! Diana’s hurt is so deep and real and Liza’s attempt to console her with ‘even when you know it won’t work, it’s still hard when it doesn’t’ (which of course is very applicable to Liza’s current conundrum) does not fall on deaf ears, despite Diana’s stone faced request for espresso. The cause of this angst is of course the fallout of the Fatburg Five conversation in Enzo’s new apartment the night before. A few weeks ago I was convinced that there would be a Diana/Enzo (what are we calling them? Enzana? Dizo?) proposal, but that idea took a back seat considering the big move to the big smoke and I’m cool with that considering the events that unfolded between Dizo (maybe?) this ep. 

Diana’s first reaction to Enzo’s big news, that she’s proud of him, was lovely but that quickly spiralled downward as the Fatberg Five scenario was outlined and Diana lost it (‘alliteration is just my Achilles’ -  same Diana, same). Diana laughing at duty, omg, seeing her be so juvenile and giggly was bizarre and hilarious, but juxtaposed with Enzo wanting to be taken seriously and feeling like Diana thinks he’s ridiculous was heartbreaking. So this scene was just an emotional washing machine really. What it did pave the way for though, was a panicked Diana fleeing the office upon seeing the Fatberg Fracas breaking news shouting, ‘nobody flush anything!’ in a way only Younger could pull off, before arriving at the scene to declare that she’s his girlfriend and barging through the barricade. Diana Trout in that gorgeous coat and that necklace hugging a sewage soaked Enzo as her relief radiated from my screen will forever be etched in my mind. I mean, if clubbing eels to death wasn’t enough of an indication of her feelings for this man, cupping his face as she stood there with actual shit on hers certainly is. This is a woman in love and I’m moving my Enzana (feeling it or nay?) proposal prediction to season 6.

Speaking of predictions, in lieu of a proposal, I had thought we might get an ‘I love you’ moment between Diana and Enzo but instead that (well, sort of that) came from the last place I was expecting, Zane. When Kelsey confronted him about not poaching Jake’s book feeling all affronted, because she seems to think that people only ever do anything to get one over her or undermine her (I have had issues with Kelsey this season and I won’t unload those here, but seriously, she needs some introspection and maybe some help with that insecurity), and Zane dropped the ‘because I was in love you’ line I was very much in the WTF??? camp. I’ve only just started getting to know you Zane, I’m not ready for that kind of declaration! Kelsey’s response, that ‘you don’t say that to someone in the past tense for the first time unless you’re trying to make them feel like an asshole’ was pretty astute, because I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he was trying to do. I realise I sound way harsh here, but other than enjoying their professional competitiveness, I have little to no investment in their relationship outside the workplace, so for others this may have been a bigger moment than to me. I did like that it brought home the fact that Kelsey’s actions do have ramifications and that it’s not always about winning, as Zane pointed out (I also liked that he knew about the new structure and says that he talks to Charles too, it was a nice reminder that he is her equal. Well, was). My favourite moment between Zane and Kelsey this episode was when he quit and Kelsey realised he already has another job (I SO want it to be heading up Chick(y)), the way he flashed that smile as the elevator doors closed was a pretty boss move and one heck of a way to exit. Game on between these two next season.

I appreciated that Josh and Maggie’s conversation opened with Maggie apologising for Malkie asking for his seed over dessert, as only Maggie could. It provided a nice bridge and showed that the events of ‘Lizability’ followed straight on from the last episode. I do enjoy Josh and Maggie’s friendship and Josh saying that for Maggie, he would have gone through with the donation, was such a sweet moment. It’s moments like this that remind me how much I like Josh as a character, when this sensitive, loving and kind side of him is on display. Josh and Lauren’s is another friendship I so thoroughly enjoy (as you may recall, I just love Lauren in general) and her response to Josh’s deliberation about impending fatherhood when Josh suggested talking it out over some tacos, ‘adorable, but no’, lead to the calling of the cacao mother, a concept so absurd that it should have provided a giant lol but instead provided a poignant and rather beautiful sequence. Now I feel like I need to provide a huge disclaimer here, so please bear with me.  I am on Team Charles until the cows come home and I will be the first to jump on the float leading the Charliza parade when these two get their HEA, however I try to watch and ramble about these episodes as objectively as possible, which believe it or not, sometimes takes numerous re-watches (it’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it…actually, they probably don’t but whatever) just so I can distance myself from my own shipper bias. While I don’t condone or like the way Josh has behaved towards Liza on countless occasions and I have made it known that the love triangle trope is one that I am tired of and needs to die, I am still invested in Josh’s character being revived and given his own life and happiness. Which brings us to THE dream sequence.

The crafting of this scene and the follow up comments to Lauren and later Maggie, are so brilliantly ambiguous and while on one hand the intention (to provide a crutch to the limping corner of the triangle, ugh) drives me nuts, the brilliance comes from the fact that I can also see this scene as closing the triangle off. This is undeniably a gift to the Team Josh fans, a chance to see their ultimate hope for the show realised and you know what, after this season, if I was a fan of that pairing I’d be beside myself with happiness to be given such an image, except for the baby part. Because no matter whether I was a shipper, a casual viewer or was just here for Diana’s necklaces (I mean let’s be real, who isn’t?) as someone who is invested in all the characters and actually saw and heard the very clear articulation by Liza on numerous occasions that she does NOT want another baby, I cannot accept that the writers would ever push that point again. I have to have faith that the writers would never support the persistence of changing a woman’s mind over something so significant and reduce her choice to something that can be altered through some misguided notion of romance. And that includes raising a baby with Josh that isn’t hers and I swear to god, if I see the argument again that if Liza is with Charles she’d be a step-parent so it’s the same, I would ask you to kindly spend time with a new baby vs. a 7 and 5 year old who also have a mother they live with half the time, because one of these things is not like the other. Ok, now that’s out of my system, back to my point…

While in one way the dream sequence ignites hope for those who feared Josh’s tattoo cover up signalled the end of his feelings for Liza, to me it is simultaneously sad and moving. The reality is, the two things that Josh wants are mutually exclusive and he knows that. Lauren and Josh’s, ‘did you get your answer?’, ‘Yeah I think I did’ exchange was laced with enough ambiguity to leave Josh shippers beside themselves and Charles shippers, well, beside themselves. There is enough room here to inject your own interpretation and bend it to suit your desire for this show, which, regardless of how you feel about the outcome as far as a pairing goes, is brilliant writing and execution. So what is my interpretation? The follow up conversation with Maggie (Josh’s ‘I cacao-ed about it’ was so fab), in which Josh says that he’s decided that when he does have a kid, he wants it to be his kid and wants it to be with somebody he really loves, cements for me that Josh and Liza’s future will be one of platonic love and support. I’m not suggesting that they’ll be parked in that space any time soon, I’m optimistic not deluded, and as much as it pains me, they clearly want to draw out this illusion of a triangle for as long as possible.

There’s a very good chance I’m over-analysing (who, me?!) and I’m clearly projecting my own hope onto this, but Josh doesn’t say he wants to raise a child with someone he loves, he wants to have that child with them. And as we know, that door has closed for Liza. So back to my point about Josh knowing that he cannot have a child with Liza, that those two pieces, child and Liza, cannot go together. To me, he is confirming in his conversation to Maggie that his answer to Lauren’s question is in fact, that the piece he is sure of is the child. So I see this dream signifying that Josh’s desire for a child is unwavering and his desire to find someone he loves the way he loves/loved Liza to share that with is ignited; that Liza appearing in that dream represented the kind of love he wants to have with and for the person he has children with.

Then of course Lauren’s hysterical scream and declaration that ‘the cacao mother, we called her and she is here’ led to the most predicted ‘surprise’ of the finale, pregnant Clare at the door. I know some people are saying that maybe it’s not Josh’s baby but why would she be there if it wasn’t? The only reason would be if their divorce wasn’t finalised, but I feel like that would be a cop out (not to mention, what person would fly when they’re about 5 minutes away from popping out a baby to just catch up with the ex or sign some papers? Puh-lease). When Clare and Josh were together in season 4 I actually thought they were a great match. I mean, I was a bit ‘meh’ on her character, but they seemed to work well, had common interests and I was up for seeing where that would go. So I am very curious to see how this plays out next season.

Now I find myself at one of my most favourite scenes of the entire series of Younger. Last ep I was on fire and this ep I was reduced to a puddle of emotions, so grab a mop and bucket, this swoon-fest is about to get real. Charles and Liza strolling through the park at night near the fountain, SWEET LAWD this scene is more than I ever imagined in my wildest dreams. First of all, we have been transported to a time and place where Charles has fallen out of the classics section of a bookstore and stepped straight from his horse and carriage with rolled up sleeves to become the narrator of his own love story. As he paints Liza and us the picture of how their romance will unfold, the way these two bounce off one another is effortless and playful, there is such ease in their banter. Liza screwing up her face, in response to Charles’ assurance that the two protagonists of his tale do not share a secret past, led to her jovially taking aim with a whole lot of the criticism that has been levelled at Charles on social media from time to time, ‘hmm, well, he’s a little stuffy, recently divorced, will they have any chemistry? Is he fun?’ (and can we please talk about the Charles Brooks facial expressions during this?? ARGHHHH) and no jokes I AM DYING at how meta this is. Seriously. DYING. The fact that Charles gets a right of reply and simply but firmly states, ‘well, she’ll just have to find out for herself’. This is EVERYTHING.

Then this scene takes it up a notch, with Liza prompting a page turn by adding her own offering, ‘let’s say she says ‘yes’. They go to dinner, and…’ Charles becomes so animated and alive in this moment, with the look on his face as he responds, ‘maybe they click’ leading to commencement of melting into a puddle stage 1. He brings the story to life in all its third person narrative glory, through the vivid imagery and tender delivery of, ‘maybe he can hold her hand at the office, and in the street, everywhere. The way he has wanted to do, for as long as he can remember’ and it’s nothing short of sublime (time of death: now) and LIZA I’M GONNA THROW YOUR DAMN PHONE IN THAT FREAKING FOUNTAIN SO HELP ME WOMAN. Though I do love that Charles asks, ‘is she going to get that?’ to which Liza replies, ‘she’d rather not’.

But what I love even more is that when asked if everything’s alright, Liza says ‘of course not’, shows Charles the messages from Cheryl and he then pulls out his own pun in response to all those chick(y) emoji’s with, ‘you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs’. It takes a special kind of person to be able to bring wordplay and an idiom together with such precision to provide actual encouragement relevant to a given situation, but Charles Brooks is that person. And Liza’s initial laugh in appreciation is only amplified by Charles adding, ‘it’s Hamlet’ and I just can’t with these two, honestly. I initially thought that the Hamlet reference was purely to be absurd, but as some astute people pointed out, the musical ‘Something Rotten!’ contains both Shakespeare and the song ‘Make an Omelette’, so I have no doubt this was a nod to that and the fact that Christian Borle (who you may remember as Don Ridley in eps 4 and 5 this season, as well as being Sutton Foster’s ex-husband) was the star of this musical, I am going to be sweeping up the fragments of fourth wall that shattered in this scene for days.

Liza must of course then go and break those eggs and provide us all with a good dose of second-hand awkwardness as she arrives at the Chick(y) party, discovers she’s the guest of honour (we were all with her as she muttered ‘Oh God’ at spotting the peep of chicks awaiting her arrival) and gets to tell Cheryl, who is gulping wine while yelling ‘did you bring the contract?’ that actually no, she won’t be taking the job after all. Angry Cheryl is angry and it’s not long before we discover the ramifications of Liza turning down the role.

When Quinn greets Charles with ‘we have a problem’, you just know that it’s not to do with acceptable font sizes in the workplace. As Quinn shows Charles the blind item claiming that he is having a torrid affair with a 27 year old assistant, we all know exactly what Cheryl decided to do following Liza’s rejection and I tell you what, the vindictiveness exceeded even my expectations. Firstly, Cheryl knows that Liza is not 27 so putting that in the blind item can only be to bring Charles into disrepute and oust Liza to anyone who knows her as a 27 year old and secondly, Cheryl emails this to the investors whose money Empirical is relying on for survival. That’s right, Cheryl Sussman is willing to topple an entire company because she’s butt hurt that someone rejected a job she offered them. In this moment, she has achieved legit super-villain status and I love-hate her even more.

As Quinn confirms with Charles that this is in fact true, the reality of him having an affair with an assistant in his office, despite it being consensual, cannot be spun in any way that makes it not controversial (and I need to comment that I loved Charles saying ‘Liza is not 27, as you know’ - it was a little snippet that let us know that Liza told him she revealed the truth to Quinn, that she and Charles continue to talk openly and honestly with one another). Knowing that as the public face of the company the investors will pull out after this revelation, Charles’ decision to step down is him doing what he has to in order for the company to survive and I cannot tell you how happy I am that this decision was driven by the business, not his relationship with Liza. Yes, the decision is a consequence of the relationship, but that is something he is willingly a part of, it is not Liza’s lie about her age that has caused the issue. And I’m not meaning to diminish the idea that some people have that this was some kind of purely romantic gesture, but he really did not have a choice in that moment but to remove himself from scrutiny if Empirical/Millennial was to continue to operate. And I’m glad. The pressure on the relationship and on Liza had this been a sacrifice made purely for her or them would be so enormous and no doubt lead to serious problems down the track.

When Charles and Quinn announce the news about Millennial becoming the flagship brand and Kelsey’s promotion to Publisher, Diana’s look summed it up really. It’s ok Diana, it’s not just you, Kelsey in that role is flat out bonkers, but on the flipside, if Millennial is now the main brand it does sort of make sense that she take the lead. I have no doubt that Charles’ questions to Liza over the past couple of episodes about Kelsey’s ability to run Millennial will play out next season, just as the fact Liza is there would have factored into Charles feeling comfortable suggesting Kelsey take on the role in the first place. When Charles’ new role is announced, the way he looks at Liza in that moment, as though he is reminding himself why this will be all worth it, omg. puddle. me.

Diana isn’t buying it and I wonder if she thinks Kelsey and Quinn set this up, her disbelief that Charles would accept being put out to pasture serves to enlighten Liza about what actually just went down (oh Liza, you sweet innocent unicorn you). Diana definitely notices Liza’s reaction and her running out of the office, I feel like surely Charles and Liza’s relationship, at the very least, will need to come out pretty quickly next season and at this stage, Diana being left in dark about Liza’s age feels a bit off too. I know that Diana’s role won’t really change at work, but I just really dislike that she doesn’t fully understand the whole context around her and the reasons for these changes taking place.  

As Charles is walking away from the office he’s shaking his head, as though he hasn’t had any time to process any of it and is in disbelief at what just happened and the fact it’s real. This is probably not unreasonable considering that this enormous change has occurred within the space of about a day it would seem, so you know, the uprooting of all you’ve known for the majority of your adult life is bound to require some processing.

Which brings us, of course, to the final scene of the season. Liza discovering that Quinn was going to pull the investment because she found out about the relationship leads to Liza’s despair that ‘this isn’t a good thing, this is your life’, to which Charles reassures her that ‘it was, but maybe it’s time for a new one’. With her (puddle). Oh and his kids. As Charles asserts that he has everything he wants, you can see Liza scrutinising his face to see whether he is telling the truth or trying to put her at ease, so when he adds, ‘I’m happy’, she exhales, realising that this really is what he wants. Their shared moment of realisation that this is it, accompanied by her small laugh of disbelief and relief before she adds, ‘then so am I’, transposes their relationship from the place of longing and one day, where it has resided until now, to the world Charles described in the story he told beside the fountain; a place where they can hold hands in the street, everywhere. In that moment they look at one another as if to say, we’re finally here.

As Charles reaches out to caress her face it’s as though he’s bridging that gap between where they were and where they now find themselves. Seeing them kiss in broad daylight in the middle of the park, I realised that despite all their wonderful, beautiful moments since being together, the secrecy has been emphasised by the evening rendezvous or stolen stairway kisses and the impact of the daylight to highlight their relationship being brought out into the open is significant. When Charles outstretched his hand and took Liza’s I’m not gonna lie, I shed a tear. I was suddenly so struck with emotion in that moment, yes, because the dream outlined in the story earlier in the episode was realised, but it also felt like the culmination of every time that Charles and Liza almost were but weren’t, their seasons of un-synchronized passion and desire all building to this moment when they could take one another’s hand. And as they walked, hand in hand, the only sure thing being that they are finally together, the uncertainty of everything else suddenly dawns on them.

Their expressions in those final seconds are not of regret or remorse to me. They are of two people who have had zero time to process any of the events and upheaval that have occurred in the past 24 hours. Only moments earlier Charles was donning a similar look of contemplation before he was intercepted by Liza. Liza has only just heard the news that Charles is stepping down and she and Kelsey will be running Millennial. Walking hand in hand, in the comfort of each other’s company, they are able to begin working through the events and ramifications and what that means for each of them. Their desire for this to work is unwavering, I believe that they both had expected it to transpire quite differently and so, of course, they will now readjust and navigate this new normal. Together.

[howtohero]

Lying To Your Parents

As a superhero you’re going to have to be mysterious, cryptic, oblique, and all around secretive a good deal of the time. Basically every time someone turns on the news near you you’re probably going to find out about some crisis that requires your immediate attention so you’re going to have to get good at coming up with excuses. As I’m sure all you longtime readers know, we’ve been putting together a good list of excuses that will allow you to duck out of any social event unquestioned at a moment’s notice. But coming up with a lie is the easy part. The hard part is reconciling your desire to be the epitome of good with the fact that you’re constantly deceiving everybody around you. 

Lying to the people around you can take quite the emotional toll on heroes, especially young ones who find themselves having to lie to their parents. Your parents have given you everything you have. You wouldn’t be the person you are today without them. You wouldn’t even be alive if it weren’t for them. And now you’re going to spit in their faces everyday with your lies and tricks and deceptions. Some son/daughter/unholy spawn you turned out to be. I’m sure your parents would be really proud. Honestly, why are you even lying to your parents anyway. Your parents could be a huge asset in your fight against crime. They’ve got tons of life experience and wisdom that they can impart on you while you go through your day to day tasks of fighting rhyming aliens (yes I know it doesn’t sound like they’re rhyming. It’s a bug with the universal translators, but I promise you, in their native language they’re rhyming.) or backflipping over wildebeest stampedes. Not to mention they have a license and a car which could make getting to crimes a lot easier. What? You’re afraid that your parents won’t approve of your crime fighting escapades? Well then that’s that. If your parents are forbidding you from being a superhero then you obviously shouldn’t be being a superhero. Most superhereos worth their salt don’t have parents anyway so you’re not really cut out for this life as it is.

But if you insist on lying to your parents fine, we’ll help you, but we won’t feel good about it. (And you shouldn’t either!) To best advise you we reached out to Professor Mitch Fueller, who teaches the advanced lying course at the superhero school down in Albany. Since we’re the epitome of truthfulness and always tell our parents the truth we felt it was best to contact someone who’s a bit more scummy, like you. This was his response:

Dear “How To Hero”, I am appalled that you think I would ever choose to be associated with your “guide”. I and much of the other faculty at our school frequently have to do damage control with students who have consulted your guide.  I would venture to guess that spend about 80% of our time reteaching students concepts they learn from your guide. My colleague, the brilliant Professor Paleontologist alone has to contend with dozens of misguided students every day. It is baffling to me that he would write a guest post for you, though I can only imagine he did so only so that your readers might actually learn something for once instead of being subjected to your nonsensical advice and your terrible puns. You should be ashamed to publish such misleading, nonsensical, drivel. Your guide is a menace and threat to all human life but especially to impressionable young heroes. Please launch your guide into the sun posthaste and never contact me again. Cordially, Professor Fueller

Which, ok, wow. That guy is clearly very jealous of us. Who does he even think he is. I heard a rumor that he’s actually a huge loser and he smells weird and all of his students hate him a ton. (Yeah, I just looked it up on the internet and it turns out Professor Fueller is a moron and a nerd and not even the good kind.) You know what Prof? We don’t even need you. We were only going to have you send in advice so we could make fun of it. You wanna know how to lie to your parents face kids? Just do it. It doesn’t matter how bad you are at lying, because it doesn’t matter how good you are at lying either. Anytime you leave the house your parents are going to assume you’re lying about where you’re going and that you’re going to meet a boy or do drugs or tip some cows. They’ll never suspect you of being a superhero, they know you.

If we’re honest (unlike you, trash bag), nobody who actually knows you will ever think that you’re a superhero. You see, people tend to put superheroes on pedestals. They see them as larger than life entities of near mythological proportions. I can guarantee you that nobody who knows you thinks you’re capable of being something like that. Nobody who has seen you show up to a costume party, realize it was a costume party, hastily try to throw together a cowboy costume by removing your belt and turning it into a lasso, shout “giddy up pardner” causing everyone in the room to turn to look at you right before your pants fall down, and then fall flat on your face with your pants around your ankles, is going to believe that you’re the guy who used the needle of the empire state building to sword fight the Dread Captain Spacebeard. They might think to themselves “Hey Clarke sort of looks like... huh interesting” but that’s as far as that line of reasoning is going to go. 

Your parents know you even better than that, they’ve seen at your worst and at your best and everywhere in between. You can’t even pick your shorts up off the floor, they definitely aren’t going to think that you’re on your way to throw a giant lizard through a portal in order to repair a hole in all of spacetime when you awkwardly fumble through whatever excuse you’ve pulled out of your hole in all of spacetime. 

The emotional toll it’s going to take on you is going to vary from person to person. Some people will be so wracked with guilt that they won’t be able to sleep, eat, play video games for 39 hours straight, or even go to the zoo to heckle the zebras. Their lives are entirely upended. They’re constantly haunted by the horrible things they’re doing. Or they’re haunted by Randall the Judgemental Ghost. Either way not ideal. Heroes have dealt with this in a number of ways. Some heroes erase their memories every time they lie to their parents so they don’t have to live with the guilt. Or, when the guilt builds up too much they just tell their parents the truth to get it off their chest, and then wipe their parents memories of the event. Which probably is going to make you feel more guilty but hey, you can just confess to that too in the next big confession. Some heroes hate feeling guilty more than they hate lying to their parents so they just move out and cut off contact with their parents. Some heroes do the healthy thing and just let their parents in on the secret. This is totally fine, and like we said, useful. You just need to keep your secret from supervillains your parents probably aren’t supervillains. They might be, sure. But the odds are low! Probably you’re fine to tell them.

Lying is never easy. Especially to the people who gave you life and provided you with everything from a young age. But if you follow our advice, email Professor Fueller and tell him he’s a loser, and just tell your parents the truth you should be fine!