#Literally getting the laptop repaired and I have no idea what I need to do to make her return 😭😭

[yiikesyikes]

Her should make hints for people who can't figure out what to click on and are literally stuck in the smallest location in the game

[ms-demeanor]

So You Need To Buy A Computer But You Don't Know What Specs Are Good These Days

Hi.

This is literally my job.

Lots of people are buying computers for school right now or are replacing computers as their five-year-old college laptop craps out so here's the standard specs you should be looking for in a (windows) computer purchase in August 2023.

PROCESSOR

Intel i5 (no older than 10th Gen)

Ryzen 7

You can get away with a Ryzen 5 but an intel i3 should be an absolute last resort. You want at least an intel i5 or a Ryzen 7 processor. The current generation of intel processors is 13, but anything 10 or newer is perfectly fine. DO NOT get a higher performance line with an older generation; a 13th gen i5 is better than an 8th gen i7. (Unfortunately I don't know enough about ryzens to tell you which generation is the earliest you should get, but staying within 3 generations is a good rule of thumb)

RAM

8GB absolute minimum

If you don't have at least 8GB RAM on a modern computer it's going to be very, very slow. Ideally you want a computer with at least 16GB, and it's a good idea to get a computer that will let you add or swap RAM down the line (nearly all desktops will let you do this, for laptops you need to check the specs for Memory and see how many slots there are and how many slots are available; laptops with soldered RAM cannot have the memory upgraded - this is common in very slim laptops)

STORAGE

256GB SSD

Computers mostly come with SSDs these days; SSDs are faster than HDDs but typically have lower storage for the same price. That being said: SSDs are coming down in price and if you're installing your own drive you can easily upgrade the size for a low cost. Unfortunately that doesn't do anything for you for the initial purchase.

A lot of cheaper laptops will have a 128GB SSD and, because a lot of stuff is stored in the cloud these days, that can be functional. I still recommend getting a bit more storage than that because it's nice if you can store your music and documents and photos on your device instead of on the cloud. You want to be able to access your files even if you don't have internet access.

But don't get a computer with a big HDD instead of getting a computer with a small SSD. The difference in speed is noticeable.

SCREEN (laptop specific)

Personally I find that touchscreens have a negative impact on battery life and are easier to fuck up than standard screens. They are also harder to replace if they get broken. I do not recommend getting a touch screen unless you absolutely have to.

A lot of college students especially tend to look for the biggest laptop screen possible; don't do that. It's a pain in the ass to carry a 17" laptop around campus and with the way that everything is so thin these days it's easier to damage a 17" screen than a 14" screen.

On the other end of that: laptops with 13" screens tend to be very slim devices that are glued shut and impossible to work on or upgrade.

Your best bet (for both functionality and price) is either a 14" or a 15.6" screen. If you absolutely positively need to have a 10-key keyboard on your laptop, get the 15.6". If you need something portable more than you need 10-key, get a 14"

FORM FACTOR (desktop specific)

If you purchase an all-in-one desktop computer I will begin manifesting in your house physically. All-in-ones take away every advantage desktops have in terms of upgradeability and maintenance; they are expensive and difficult to repair and usually not worth the cost of disassembling to upgrade.

There are about four standard sizes of desktop PC: All-in-One (the size of a monitor with no other footprint), Tower (Big! probably at least two feet long in two directions), Small Form Factor Tower (Very moderate - about the size of a large shoebox), and Mini/Micro/Tiny (Small! about the size of a small hardcover book).

If you are concerned about space you are much better off getting a MicroPC and a bracket to put it on your monitor than you are getting an all-in-one. This will be about a million percent easier to work on than an all-in-one and this way if your monitor dies your computer is still functional.

Small form factor towers and towers are the easiest to work on and upgrade; if you need a burly graphics card you need to get a full size tower, but for everything else a small form factor tower will be fine. Most of our business sales are SFF towers and MicroPCs, the only time we get something larger is if we have to put a $700 graphics card in it. SFF towers will accept small graphics cards and can handle upgrades to the power supply; MicroPCs can only have the RAM and SSD upgraded and don't have room for any other components or their own internal power supply.

WARRANTY

Most desktops come with either a 1 or 3 year warranty; either of these is fine and if you want to upgrade a 1 year to a 3 year that is also fine. I've generally found that if something is going to do a warranty failure on desktop it's going to do it the first year, so you don't get a hell of a lot of added mileage out of an extended warranty but it doesn't hurt and sometimes pays off to do a 3-year.

Laptops are a different story. Laptops mostly come with a 1-year warranty and what I recommend everyone does for every laptop that will allow it is to upgrade that to the longest warranty you can get with added drop/damage protection. The most common question our customers have about laptops is if we can replace a screen and the answer is usually "yes, but it's going to be expensive." If you're purchasing a low-end laptop, the parts and labor for replacing a screen can easily cost more than half the price of a new laptop. HOWEVER, the way that most screens get broken is by getting dropped. So if you have a warranty with drop protection, you just send that sucker back to the factory and they fix it for you.

So, if it is at all possible, check if the manufacturer of a laptop you're looking at has a warranty option with drop protection. Then, within 30 days (though ideally on the first day you get it) of owning your laptop, go to the manufacturer site, register your serial number, and upgrade the warranty. If you can't afford a 3-year upgrade at once set a reminder for yourself to annually renew. But get that drop protection, especially if you are a college student or if you've got kids.

And never, ever put pens or pencils on your laptop keyboard. I've seen people ruin thousand dollar, brand-new laptops that they can't afford to fix because they closed the screen on a ten cent pencil. Keep liquids away from them too.

LIFESPAN

There's a reasonable chance that any computer you buy today will still be able to turn on and run a program or two in ten years. That does not mean that it is "functional."

At my office we estimate that the functional lifespan of desktops is 5-7 years and the functional lifespan of laptops is 3-5 years. Laptops get more wear and tear than desktops and desktops are easier to upgrade to keep them running. At 5 years for desktops and 3 years for laptops you should look at upgrading the RAM in the device and possibly consider replacing the SSD with a new (possibly larger) model, because SSDs and HDDs don't last forever.

COST

This means that you should think of your computers as an annual investment rather than as a one-time purchase. It is more worthwhile to pay $700 for a laptop that will work well for five years than it is to pay $300 for a laptop that will be outdated and slow in one year (which is what will happen if you get an 8th gen i3 with 8GB RAM). If you are going to get a $300 laptop try to get specs as close as possible to the minimums I've laid out here.

If you have to compromise on these specs, the one that is least fixable is the processor. If you get a laptop with an i3 processor you aren't going to be able to upgrade it even if you can add more RAM or a bigger SSD. If you have to get lower specs in order to afford the device put your money into the processor and make sure that the computer has available slots for upgrade and that neither the RAM nor the SSD is soldered to the motherboard. (one easy way to check this is to search "[computer model] RAM upgrade" on youtube and see if anyone has made a video showing what the inside of the laptop looks like and how much effort it takes to replace parts)

Computers are expensive right now. This is frustrating, because historically consumer computer prices have been on a downward trend but since 2020 that trend has been all over the place. Desktop computers are quite expensive at the moment (August 2023) and decent laptops are extremely variably priced.

If you are looking for a decent, upgradeable laptop that will last you a few years, here are a couple of options that you can purchase in August 2023 that have good prices for their specs:

14" Lenovo - $670 - 11th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 512GB SSD

15.6" HP - $540 - 11th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 256GB SSD

14" Dell - $710 - 12th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, and 256GB SSD

If you are looking for a decent, affordable desktop that will last you a few years, here are a couple of options that you can purchase in August 2023 that have good prices for their specs:

SFF HP - $620 - 10th-gen i5, 16GB RAM, 1TB SSD

SFF Lenovo - $560 - Ryzen 7 5000 series, 16GB RAM, 512GB SSD

Dell Tower - $800 - 10th-gen i7, 16GB RAM, 512GB SSD

If I were going to buy any of these I'd probably get the HP laptop or the Dell Tower. The HP Laptop is actually a really good price for what it is.

Anyway happy computering.

[bloatedandalone04]

Wrapped Around Your Finger - Part 1.4

Series Masterlist | Original Fic

➪in which anakin feels completely isolated from you for the first time in five years, and he doesn’t know if he will ever be given the chance to fix his mistake.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 4k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Anakin gave his guitar to Theo as he sprinted off stage and towards the very dressing room he broke your heart in.

You never came back after walking away at the beginning of the show, and that had him completely on edge. He looked around the backstage area and when he couldn’t find you anywhere, he checked the dressing room. But you weren’t in there either. 

Maybe you went back to the bus? God, he hoped so. He just got you back, he couldn’t handle losing you again so soon, and for a completely different reason this time. 

His nerves were completely shot as he practically sprinted to the bus, the only thought on his mind being to get back to you and further explain things to you. If he needed to drop to his knees and beg for you, he was more than willing to do so, because you were it. His one and only, and you always would be. 

The show tonight was one of the longer ones, so in the two hours he was on stage you could have literally gone anywhere. His heart was in his throat as he pulled open the bus door and looked around, and he could feel it quicken its pace as he realized that you weren’t here either. 

Where the fuck did you go? You told him you’d be here after the show, yet he couldn’t find any trace of you. 

Actually, he couldn’t find any sign of you at all. Your bag was gone, your jacket was picked up from off the couch, and your laptop wasn’t on the table anymore. “No,” he rasped. “Fuck. No.”

His hands were shaking as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called you, but he was sent straight to voicemail. 

You were ignoring him.

“Fuck,” he nearly yelled as he called you again, only to be met with the same result. “Fuck!”

After the third call he was forced to leave you a message, and he felt as pathetic as he sounded. “Baby, please. Please….call me back. I’m so sorry,” he rambled as he pulled at his sweaty hair. “We need to talk about this more, we have to work this out, I….fuck, Y/n, you said you’d be here after the show.”

He was crying now and was choking on his words as he said them, and he hoped you would be able to understand him, but he also hoped you couldn’t. He hated the fact that he was the one crying after he fucked things up, possibly beyond repair, when he really had no right to. 

“Please, just…tell me where you are and that you’re okay and safe, please,” he begged and dropped onto the couch. “I love you.” 

His phone fell to the floor after that and his hands came up to cover his face. 

He had no idea what to do. He was shaking and his eyes were sore as he couldn’t seem to stop the tears from leaving them.

What the fuck is he going to do? How is he going to fix this? 

He can’t lose you. He can’t, he wouldn’t be able to function without you. The thought of not having you around him after this was enough to send him into a panic attack, and he knew he needed to get a hold of himself, but he didn’t know how. 

You weren’t here, weren’t at the venue, and your stuff was gone. Where did you go? You wouldn’t have left without telling him, right? You wouldn’t have gone back to London and not tell him, right? 

He didn’t know anymore. 

His phone went off from its place on the floor, and he scrambled off the couch to grab it, and when he saw that it was you who texted him, he nearly cried of joy. But your message wasn’t what he wanted to read, and it left him feeling even worse.

Princess: I’m safe. I just need some time to think. Please, at least give me that. 

-

You slept on a chair in the airport last night, your duffle bag being your pillow and your jacket being your blanket. 

Your eyes were bloodshot and sore beyond words from all the crying you’ve done since Anakin told you that he cheated on you. Did that count as him cheating on you? Not exactly, but his lips touched someone else’s, so what did that make it? Accidentally cheating? You didn’t know and you were too upset to care about what to call it. 

After he went on stage and began the show, you couldn’t stand it anymore and left. You went back to the bus and was originally going to stay there and sleep on the couch, but the more you got into your head, the more you wanted to get the fuck out of there completely. 

Running away from your problems never helped anybody, but you were too stubborn to think rationally at this point. 

So you bought a ticket for the earliest flight back to London and grabbed your things before fleeing from the bus and sending him a text after listening to his voicemail. 

You felt bad about leaving like that, but you were so upset and hurt. Your heart felt like it had been physically ripped from your body and been left back with Anakin in Paris; the place you wanted to visit for so long now with the love of your life. And the two days you were there with him were amazing, and you were prepared for so much more, but every hope and dream you had for that city had been crushed and destroyed. You weren’t sure you ever wanted to go back, Eiffel Tower be damned. 

There were other towers you could see, right?

The whole flight back to London you wrote down the last few chapters for your short story in your notebook, needing the distraction to help keep you sane enough to be able to get back to your room in one piece. 

You looked like a mess once you got back onto campus, and you avoided everyone like the plague as you made a beeline towards your dorm and had a forty five minute shower. It helped a little bit, but you were still left feeling empty as you sat down on your bed with wet hair and opened up your laptop to type out what you wrote down on the plane. 

After you added some final touches, you printed it out and got changed into a pair of jeans and a grey shirt, leaving your hair still damp as you made your way to Kenneth’s classroom. 

It was empty when you entered it, and he looked up at you in surprise when you closed the door behind you and walked over to him. “Miss Y/l/n,” he greeted and closed the book he was reading. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. I thought you’d still be with that boyfriend of yours.”

The mention of Anakin had a sharp pain shoot straight through your heart, and you flinched slightly as you cleared your throat. “Yeah, something happened with that,” you whisper and he gives you a look of concern as he notices the way your eyes glaze over with tears. “I’m okay. Promise.”

He gives you a smile that nearly had you sobbing right then and there, because how the fuck did things get to this? How did you end up back in London, crying in front of your instructor with wet hair that dampened your shirt as the seconds went on? 

“Alright,” he said quietly and braced his elbows on his desk. “What’s going on?”

His voice was so comforting and caring, you allowed your walls to come down a bit as you held up the stack of papers in your hand and wiped your eyes with your other. “I wrote my short story,” you announce. “I didn’t get around to editing it, so it’s probably full of errors, but I just wanted to give it to you because..”

You stopped your sentence short, but Kenneth gave you a look that told you he knew exactly what you were saying. “Because you’re not coming back to class,” he finished for you. “Are you?”

He stated it instead of asking it, and you bite down on your bottom lip as you nodded. Glancing down at the papers in your hands, he gestures for you to give them to him, and you do so with a sad smile. “You don’t have to read it,” your voice broke as you felt yourself beginning to cry again. “I just wanted to show that I really did love every second of these classes. I know I can do so much more, but it’s just not a good time for me right now.”

Kenneth flipped through the pages and looked up at you. “I’ll read it,” he promised, his gaze the softest you had ever seen it, and you realized just how much you would miss being able to talk to him like this and not feel embarrassed about it. “You’re an amazing writer, Y/n. It was a privilege to have you in my class, and I hate to see you go so soon, but I also want you to start putting yourself first. You’re always worried about everyone else around you, don’t forget to take care of yourself, too. Whatever happened before this, don’t let it take over. Use it, if it helps.”

You nod and wipe at your eyes with both hands now, sniffling quietly as you look at the man you respect deeply. 

“You’re going to go on and do great things. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” he lightened the mood by laughing and it made you laugh, too. “Just don’t forget to put yourself first. I remember when my teacher told me that, and it stuck with me for most of my life. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it until he said it.”

And you didn’t either. 

It was true, you put everyone above yourself and it often made you forget to take care of yourself. But not anymore. 

You were going back home, and you were dropping out of the program, but you weren’t quitting. You just needed to figure some things out and keep yourself grounded until you decided what was going to happen next. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything.”

Kenneth nodded and set your story down onto his desk. “Good luck, Y/n,” he said and it was the second time he used your first name since you walked in here, and it somehow made everything seem so much more real. You weren’t his student anymore. “I’ll reach out to you once I’ve finished reading this.”

“Okay,” you nod and turn around, giving the classroom one last look before heading towards the administrative office to officially drop out of the school. 

You cried more as you packed up your room, and then Bailey came in and let you cry onto her shoulder as she held you and told you to keep in touch. After that you met Evan’s eyes from across campus, and the three bags you were carrying told him all he needed to know. 

He brought you into his arms, too, and these were the people you were going to miss most about this chapter in your life. “Call me whenever you need to, okay? Or whenever you want to,” he begged and you nod against his chest. “Fuck, this sucks. I’m going to miss you.”

You laugh sadly, “I’m going to miss you, too,” then you step away and get a ride back to the airport, your heart feeling the heaviest its felt in all the twenty two years you’ve been alive. 

-

Anakin didn’t sleep at all, but that was no surprise. 

He got a good two nights of sleep with you while you were here, but now that you were gone, his sleep schedule was already back to being fucked. 

His whole body felt weak as he paced around backstage, holding his phone up to his ear as he called you for the first time today. He told himself that he’d give you some time, but fuck that. He missed you and needed to see where things were with you at the moment. 

“Hi,” you answered, making Anakin instantly stop pacing. 

“Hi,” he said back quickly. “How are you? Where are you?” He had no idea where you were since you only told him that you were safe, and he wasn’t one of those boyfriends that needed their girlfriends location on all the time. 

“In the car,” you answered and he felt his heart drop. “On the way to the airport.”

“The…airport?” He stuttered, his eyes burning as he let your words sink in. “You’re going back to London?”

“No,” you say quietly, and he could hear in your voice the way you were holding back tears. “I’m already in London. I’m going back home, Anakin.”

Anakin felt his whole body tense up, and it felt almost painful to move. So he stayed still as he tried to process your words. “You’re in London? How? When?”

“Last night. I bought a ticket and left. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I just don’t know what to do anymore, Anakin,” you cried and the remaining pieces of his heart shattered to bits. “I dropped out of the writing program and now I’m on my way back home. I need to feel normal right now or I might just go crazy.”

“Baby,” he shakily said as he met Vinny’s eyes from across the room. His friend gave him a concerned look, but Anakin just turned around and headed for the dressing room. “Baby, please.”

“Please, what? I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what to say,” you sobbed and he let the door close loudly behind him once he reached the dressing room. 

“Say that we’re going to be okay,” he begged, beginning to pace around the small room as he tugged at his hair. “Say that you and I will be fine, that we’ll talk this through and that we’re going to be okay.”

You were quiet for a few seconds, leaving him to listen to your uneven breathing. “You’re in Paris, Anakin,” he hated the way you hadn’t called him Ani even once since the start of this call. “I’ll be in LA tomorrow. Maybe this time away from each other will be good.”

“We’ve been away from each other,” he said as his heart twisted in agony. “I don’t want more time apart.”

“You’re on tour, Anakin-”

“I’ll come home,” he cut you off. “I’ll talk to Helena, we’ll stop the tour for a few weeks or something. Please.”

You sniff quietly. “The tour is too important,”

“You’re more important. We’re more important,” he thought maybe he was getting through to you, but then you destroyed that small ounce of hope with a single sentence. 

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. “I need time. Have fun on the rest of the tour, Anakin. I really mean that.”

Then you hung up before he could say another word, leaving him to call you back three times before you turned your phone off. 

“Fuck!” Anakin yells out and throws his phone onto the couch before sitting down next to it, his hands coming up to cover his face as he tries to hold back his tears. 

This was all his fault. He fucked things up between you beyond repair, and he was the one to blame. 

You flew back to London, for fucks sake, and the whole time he thought you were still here. And now you’re going back to LA, back to the apartment you and he shared, and possibly packing up there as well. 

What was he supposed to do? He needed to be on stage in less than twenty minutes, and he was on the verge of a panic attack. 

Anakin looked around the room wildly, as if anything he would help him even a little bit. His eyes landed on the various alcohol bottles placed on a table in the corner, and he knew he shouldn’t. The last time he drank was at the club with Liz, then she kissed him and he threw up twice and swore he’d never drink again.

But it was different this time. 

He needed to feel nothing right now, to get him through the show, then he’d figure out how to fix things. 

Without giving it a second thought, Anakin grabbed the first bottle he could reach and spent the next ten minutes drinking it. He set the now empty bottle down and left his phone on the couch, swinging the door open and stumbling his way backstage. 

The first person he saw was Liz. Of course it was Liz. 

Anakin’s eyes glazed over and he made it to her in less than four strides. She turned to face him with that fucking smirk of hers, and he narrowed his eyes on the bruise that had formed on the bridge of her nose, and for a split second he was proud that his girlfriend did that to her, then he remembered that you might not be his girlfriend anymore. “There you are,” she cooed. “We were starting to get worried.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, getting into her personal space. This was another situation where he could use his size to his advantage, even if he hated to do it, but he didn’t care right now. “This is all your fault. Y/n left because of what you did, because of what we did. Are you happy? Are you fucking proud of yourself?”

Vinny, who was standing nearby quickly made his way over, as did Helena, who had been talking with Theo a few feet away. “Anakin,” Vinny murmured, pulling on his arm. “Hey, don’t do this, man. She’s not worth it.”

Helena guided Liz away and towards the side of the stage, and Anakin could see how angry his manager was as she talked to the photographer. 

Anakin turned to Vinny, his eyes burning and his head spinning. “She left,” he rasped. “She left, Vin. Y/n left to go back home.”

Vinny stepped back in surprise but kept his hand on Anakin’s arm. “Back home? Like, back to London?”

“No, back to LA. She already went back to London and dropped out of the program and now she’s going back home,” he nearly cried. “She’s going to leave me, Vinny. I lost her.”

The drummer looked alarmed, and he pulled Anakin into his arms within seconds. “It’s okay,” he tried to comfort him, but they both knew it would never work. “It’s okay.”

Anakin felt pathetic. This is the second time Vinny had to comfort him in less than two weeks, and while he knew Vinny would never mind doing so, Anakin still felt terrible. It shouldn’t be this way. He should be better than this. 

“We’ll talk after the show,” Vinny promised, pulling away and reaching up to smooth out Anakin’s hair. “You and I will figure everything out, okay? It’s going to be okay.”

Anakin felt like a shell of himself as he nodded and allowed Vinny to lead him out onto stage, his mind a mess of thoughts and doubts and worries, and all of them were about you. 

The lights were blinding and Anakin’s vision blurred from the flashes. His head was pounding and his throat was dry as he tried to get out the last song of the night as quickly as he could, but he felt sick. The bourbon he had downed earlier didn’t help, either. 

He felt bile rise up his throat but he held it back and tore his eyes away from the crowd so he could look over at Theo. The bass player gave him a concerned look as he began to sing the song as well, no doubt sensing something was wrong and deciding to help the poor guy out.

Anakin was thankful for that as he didn’t have to raise his voice anymore since Theo is singing alongside him now, so his throat was given somewhat of a break. While his friend didn’t have a strong enough voice to be the lead singer, Theo still had a pretty good singing voice, and Anakin knew he should probably start having him sing in more songs in the future.

He felt his heartbeat quicken as even more sweat began to settle on his skin. The flannel he had adorned at the start of the show had long since been tossed aside and had left him in just his graphic tee, but he was still so fucking hot, and the lights weren’t helping at all. 

He made the mistake of looking over to his right, where he saw Liz and Helena standing backstage. While his manager had a frown on her lips, Liz had a lustful look in her eyes, and somehow that made Anakin feel even more sick. 

His fingers fumbled on the strings as he messed up the tempo of the song, which is something he had never done while he was out on stage before. Embarrassment floods through him and he quickly falls back into the right rhythm with Vinny and Theo backing him up as best as they could. 

All these cameras on him were not helping, even though he was used to being filmed at this point. He felt like was three seconds away from having a full on panic attack, and he would probably die of humiliation if he woke up tomorrow morning to see thousands of videos online of him breaking down on stage. 

The headline ‘Anakin Skywalker Has Epic Meltdown During Last Song Of Show’ was one he refused to read the following day. Fuck, he hated those stupid tabloids. They were written by money hungry, self-obsessed assholes who wouldn’t know what privacy is if it slapped them in the face. 

You hated them, too, and your distaste for them was more than valid. 

He missed you. God, did he ever. 

Anakin wasn’t used to missing you. He never needed to. Ever since his third year of high school he’s had you by his side. You were never more than a few feet away from him back then, and even now you were always usually backstage and quietly cheering him on. You should be where Liz is currently standing now. 

Or maybe he should be with you. 

Since the second you became his girlfriend you were always his top priority.

He hated that he had somehow managed to forget that fact the minute a pretty girl started paying more attention to him than you were. Could you be blamed? You were thousands of miles away and chasing your own dream while he was living out his. You couldn’t give him every second of your time like he was used to receiving, and he really fucking hated how he had actually managed to turn into one of those pricks who forgets about how good he has it as soon as things don’t end up going his way. 

Anakin wanted to stop singing the song and call out to you, but you weren’t in the crowd. You weren’t backstage. You weren’t here. You weren’t with him. You wouldn’t answer him, because you’re so fucking far away while he is here acting like everything is just fine. All he wanted to do was to run off stage, find you, and wrap you up in his arms, but he wasn’t sure if he had that right anymore.

He’s insecure and has never been away from you for this long. It was like he didn’t know how to properly function without you by his side. 

All the excuses in the world would never make up for just how poorly he’s treated you and for how little effort he’s been putting into your relationship. 

He didn’t blame you for wanting to end it.

But he needed you. He had just gotten you back, just gotten that sense of normalcy back, but you were gone again. 

Possibly for good this time, and he only had himself to blame.

-

One more part after this x

[mittensmorgul]

Kitchen Nightmares

That's what Mr. Mittens has dubbed the day i have been having. And it's fitting.

Important to know before I begin this tale, though not actually part of the tale:

Our heat pump has been awaiting repairs for about a week now. The heat works, but not WELL. It's painful knowing we're paying like 3x what we should be to keep the house warm while waiting for the Very Expensive Part needed to fix the thing. The part has been received by the repairdude and he's coming out tomorrow to complete the Very Expensive Repair, but in the meantime, we're trying desperately not to run the heat as much as possible. It would kinda suck to break it even worse (and even More Expensively) right before it's scheduled to get fixed.

Okay, now back to the actual Kitchen Portion of this essay...

Last night, I thought it would be fun to make dutch babies as a late night snack. Wednesday is Mr. Mittens' night off every week, and we always have some sort of pastry or other sweet treat with our coffee and then watch bad tv together for a few hours. It's a tradition! So my sister gave us a recipe for dutch babies made in a muffin tin... tiny dutch babies! What a fun idea, right?!

Well I got the ingredients all measured out into the blender, go to turn it on, and... the motor whirs and it SOUNDS like something should be happening, but nothing is actually happening! the ingredients remain a congealed mass in the bottom of the blender.

When I lift the pitcher to make sure i got the blades in securely or whatever, a bunch of heavy plastic nubs go skittering across the counter. These are the nubs on the blender base that engage the blades inside the pitcher. And they are very clearly no longer attached to the blender.

Now, this is a fairly old blender. I've probably had it about 20 years. I don't use it very often, but when I do, it's because I specifically need a blender for that task. And it's a Good Quality Blender! It's a Kitchen Aid! It's not supposed to do this! But it did... with a cup of flour, a cup of milk, and four eggs rapidly turning into something resembling wet concrete in the bottom of the pitcher.

Well, luckily i also own an immersion blender, but I'm not dumb enough to jam it down into the big blender pitcher to engage in some sort of hand-held spinning blades duel, so I scrape all that pseudo-batter into a mixing bowl and have at it. All the while, the muffin tin has been pre-heating in the oven and is starting to smell a little strange.

I pull it out, drop a pat of butter into each well, and pour in the batter, which i'm already not sure retains the correct proportions of ingredients, since it was truly impossible to get everything out of the blender. I was doing my best! I WAS DOING MY BEST!

My best was truly sub-par...

So i get it in the oven, and toward the end of the bake time, it was getting a little smokey in there. Ah, crap, some of the batter overflowed and splatted on the bottom of the oven, but the dutch babies actually turned out pretty tasty! So at least there's that... Aside from being like three times as messy as they should've been, and requiring a lot more cleanup than it should've taken, and my now destroyed blender that I'm pretty sure can't be repaired... well... it was almost one in the morning, i was tired, the oven was still hot, I figured I'd just clean up the spilled mess in the oven in the morning.

That... was a mistake.

Because by morning, I'd totally forgotten about it.

Until Mr. Mittens decided he'd make himself a frozen pizza. So he turned on the oven.

The kiddo was in the kitchen toasting a bagel, I was in the living room typing on my laptop, and when he went in to put the pizza in the oven, the kid was like "uh i think something's smoking a little in there?"

And they opened the oven door only to find it was literally on fire!

so... they closed the oven door and called out to me to alert me to this fact.

"uh, hon... i think the oven's on fire..."

and since this is apparently an event beyond the comprehension of my spouse and my adult kid, I put down the laptop and drag my ass out of my chair and go in the kitchen.

Mr. Mittens and kiddo are just standing there, staring at the smoke now pouring out of the oven vent, like... okay what do we do now?

I was like "wait, you saw fire and just closed the oven door?"

they shrug

I began by turning off the oven, as you do in circumstances like these, then opened the door and started... trying to blow out the fire. as you do... ?

when that quite obviously failed, i grabbed the fire extinguisher and had the fire out in like half a second.

But then I had twice as much mess to clean up as I would've if I'd only remembered the stupid dutch baby spill before the oven got turned on again.

So... mr mittens dejectedly put his pizza back in the freezer and i waited for the oven to get cool enough to clean. I couldn't even air out the house, because it's below freezing outside, and my poor heat pump would've likely exploded trying to counteract having all the damn windows open. So we sat in our smoky house while I made us grilled cheese sandwiches and waited for the oven to cool off.

Then I cleaned out the entire damn oven, and it's fine, nothing truly damaged, just a little bit gross. Thank heck. If anything else breaks, I might start screaming and not be able to stop.

I also don't want to clean anything else. But unfortunately I need to do laundry next... At least I had a nice grilled cheese, and some dutch babies. And the oven's clean.

[lemonduckisnowawake]

Beyond the Four Leaves of Fortune

I actually wrote my @inklings-challenge (thank you to the runners for holding the challenge!) story on the 28th, intending to post it on the same day given the inspiration from Holy Innocents Day but, uh....didn't. Also, excuse some of the typos/clunkiness as I didn't really edit well because 3k words.

The most important thing to note here is that I took inspiration from Jeremiah 31: 16-17, the verse after the whole Rachel weeping thing. And also that it features the same characters from the previous challenge. With that, here it goes!

-

“I think…” Wynan began, side-eyeing the scene in front of her with the air of someone long-resigned to everything, “that it should be illegal for people who have read too many books for their own good to get wrapped up in adventures.”

Relani and Meryan glanced at each other, perhaps a little guiltily.

Or so Wynan chose to interpret, just for her sanity. They were, after all, hiding a rather overly large creature behind their backs and not very inconspicuously. She couldn’t identify the creature right away, not having the breadth of knowledge Meryan had on the nuances of other worlds nor Relani’s impressive mental encyclopedia of obscure creatures. But the important things was that it was dark blue, snake-like (or perhaps wyrm-like with its scales?), dripping an odd gray liquid on the living room carpet that was probably blood…and very, very visible.

“We readers know all too well how things go and end,” Wynan continued, abandoning the laptop she’d been writing something on. She leaned against the door to the kitchen (opposite to the entrance from the mudroom), crossing her arms and quirking an eyebrow. “There’s no stakes and no drama, so involving us in the plot really will be no fun because we’re gonna just make the most boringly safe choices.”

Like, for example, opposing the adoption—not healing, since it looked like it needed patching up—of a magical beast.

Meryan glanced at the wyrm-like creature half squished into the mudroom, then back to Wynan. “Um…he’s a wyrm from one of the fairy-tale-like worlds who almost got lost to the void,” she attempted, her voice robotically professional. “We’ve decided to name him Léf.”

At her words, the dark blue wyrm weakly floated into the room, able to fit due to magically decreasing his size. He made a huffing noise as he flopped on the floor, the gray liquid dribbling out of him staining the carpet.

Wynan made the mistake of looking into his eyes, black full of blue stars the same color as his scales.

Léf whimpered.

“…crap.”

…………

“After he’s all healed up, we do have to release Léf back into his world,” Relani admitted a few hours later, when they’d patched up the tragically compliant wyrm and put him into one of their emptier rooms.

Meryan turned around so swiftly that she almost spilled the pot of broth in her hands.

“What?? Why? What if Léf doesn’t want to go back?!” she half-heartedly protested.

Like Wynan, Meryan was also a reader and thus aware of how this story would play out.

Also like Wynan, though (or perhaps it was the reverse), Meryan had become captivated by the wyrm’s adorable eyes and his clear exhaustion of life. So despite knowing better, they decided that maybe this time they could let the story play out differently and keep the wyrm with them.

“I mean…this house does need a pet,” Wynan contemplated, far too innocently for someone who had said literal hours ago that she wouldn’t support any idea that came from this. “I know we have Meluan—”

“Meluan isn’t a pet,” Relani sighed, though she smiled at the banter thrown at the currently-absent fourth member of the house. “And do you really think she’ll allow this?”

All three of them flashed back to their various attempts to keep animals here at the edge of the universe.

“…she probably will, to be honest,” Wynan reminisced. “And then we’ll have to repair the walls again.”

“Or rebuild the roof,” Relani reminded.

“Or find an obscure chemical to remove sea monster mucus from the floorboards,” Meryan finished with a sigh, sitting down (bowl of broth and all).

It looked like the story wouldn’t play out differently this time, after all, Wynan thought. Well, she’d tried not to get attached…for all but two minutes, at least. But you couldn’t just give them a helpless animal and expect them not to get attached, so who’s fault was it, really?

But back to the matter at hand.

“Well…I wonder what led him here, anyway,” Wynan spoke up, frowning at the wyrm curled up on the fuzzy and currently blue carpet.

Right now, Léf was breathing easily and fast asleep, but there was something about its…everything that didn’t sit right with Wynan. Barring the fact that the Abode Before the Void rarely received animals—and, if they did, they were companions of (or remnants of) their owners who’d come to the void—there was just something about the wyrm that seemed…off. Clearly, he wasn’t a remnant of someone the sisters couldn’t save or they would have felt it but what was he?

Unaware of Wynan’s thoughts, Meryan easily supplied some of the information missing. “I can’t really tell what exactly the creature means to his world, but he comes from a fairy-tale-esque land…the ones where the myths and folk tales of other universes seem to come alive?” she explained, resting her arms on her knees with a fond look at the sleeping creature. “The unique point in this world is the way these fantastical creatures co-exist peacefully with a technologically advancing world. A modern fairy tale, to put it in other terms.”

Relani grimaced and crawled closer to the sleeping creature. “I can add a bit more.”

Fearlessly, she brushed asides the filmy light blue material that made up Léf’s mane. The wyrm slept on, affected by Wynan’s special power over dreams and rest to not wake unless necessary, and thus was unaware of the moment Relani revealed three white shapes on its forehead.

“Ah, I thought so,” Relani hummed. “He’s a familiar, or that world’s version of one, anyway. The shape on Léf’s forehead is a sign that he’s been claimed.”

She was about to edge away from the creature before Wynan stopped her.

“Hang on,” Wynan said, standing up and studying the marks.

“You sense anything?” Meryan remained where she was, simply resting her head on her arms as she observed her sister working.

Wynan nodded slowly, stepping back. “The mark is broken…I don’t know what exactly that means, but I can sense it was broken and that it wasn’t caused by either death or some…dramatic moment of sacrifice on the owner’s part.”

Wynan turned in time to catch the storms that were Meryan’s eyes narrow.

“Well, I do know what that means, and that means whoever Léf’s owner was, they broke their bond…crudely, too, if the mark is still there,” she explained, the professional tone she’d taken on again lined with fury. “No wonder Léf was driven here.”

“Broken bonds are no joke, between people but especially unequal ones like this,” Relani sighed deeply, stepping back as well. “I wonder what Léf’s story is.”

“I could try looking,” Wynan offered conversationally, sitting back down next to the creature. She absently scratched at the surface of the carpet. “I mean, there’s no guarantee on what he’ll dream about, but I could take a look in there and see what sorts of dreams he’s having. I’ve found that animals usually dream memories since they have more limited imaginations than those with souls.”

Relani scooted back a little, with a hand gesturing to, by all means, go ahead.

Followed by Meryan’s, “Oh, could you?” Wynan placed a warm hand gently on Léf’s neck. The touch wasn’t strictly necessary, but Wynan liked the thought of there being an action needed before invading the dreamspace of someone’s mind. Even if that someone was a less intelligent creature.

And, as it usually was with less intelligent but magic-touched creatures, the dreams she saw were more fragmented memories, coming from the limited perspective of a familiar clearly enslaved by the whims of his master or mistress.

Warm fires. Robotic pats that didn’t hold much affection but were appreciated nonetheless. Frustrated growls, not necessarily directed at him but terrifying nonetheless. Words of magic. Commands. Burning villages. Blood in the mouth. A prison he was banished into until called. A tattoo of a creature that looked like Léf.

And the clearest dream/memory?

It was of a figure in white smashing a glowing red crystal upon its head—its familiar mark, if Wynan had to hazard a guess. Pain soon followed, and Wynan instinctively let the warm blanket of her magic cover the terrible memory, soothing its sting as it passed like a video on a screen than a past reality lived.

She stayed in there for a while longer, knowing she had the full story but just in case Léf required more mental relief, but only felt his dull pain and exhaustion along with hints of relief in the darkness.

“Hmm,” Wynan commented upon exiting.

She was half aware of her sisters exchanging a look.

“Meaning?” Relani prompted soon after.

“I think he was bonded to an evil wizard or…whatever the magic people there are called,” Wynan slowly parsed, remembering the emotions.

Behind her, Meryan snorted. “No surprise there.”

At Wynan’s side, Relani’s lips thinned. Relani was also another reader, and the three knew way too many stories to hear that and not instantly conclude what happened.

“I mean, the story isn’t as smooth as that,” Wynan interrupted the silence, waving her hand in front of Léf’s covered mark. “His bond with his owner was severed, yes, but I don’t think it was done by them. I think they treated him…well enough. Perhaps not great, but there wasn’t any abuse to note of.” She thought about it a bit more. “But I think Léf was under the power of a storybook villain, if that’s anything.”

The fury in Meryan’s colorful eyes softened.

“I see…so Léf has his own stains,” she muttered, lifting her head up a little. “Things that stole his ability to claim his own innocence but wasn’t guilty of, not really.”

Wynan nodded. “That seems to be the story, yeah.”

“So, I’m supposing the hero of this story had to get rid of the villain’s steed before beating the actual villain once and for all?” Relani continued, lips twisting in a half-playful, half-regretful smile.

Again, Wynan bobbed her head in agreement, edging back to sit on Meryan’s side.

“I’m guessing lots of people had to bear the tragedy for the story to reach its happy ending,” Wynan concluded, looking at the poor wyrm driven to the edge of ever universe. “And we’re looking at one such innocent lost to the void.”

“Almost lost,” Relani corrected, stroking the wyrm.

At her comforting touch, Léf let out a deep sigh, as if relieved, as if trusting he was somewhere safe.

“Are you sure we can’t keep him?” Meryan half-heartedly attempted the question, not expecting anything from it. “Can we even let him return to his world when he was pretty brutally expelled from it?”

Continuing to pet the wyrm’s smooth scaled, Relani laughed quietly. “I’m sure Léf will be fine back there once he heals. We can only hope that he’ll find a better wizard or mage to bond with, if he ever allows himself to be caught again.”

Yep…as expected.

That was how the story always went. One of them found a helpless animal somewhere (not usually near the universe’s edge, though), they contemplated keeping it, a story of their appearance there was revealed, either mayhem or a realization that it had to return to its world followed, and then all of them went back to their lives missing the animal.

Still…it wasn’t so bad to get attached and maybe try to shift the story just a little, right?

Maybe that’s part of the story, Wynan thought, laughing a little to herself. Tell them we won’t get attached, get attached anyway, learn to let go. And with our life out here, it’s not like we won’t ever see them again.

“YO!”

Following the muffled shout, the door to the empty room housing Léf burst open, revealing a rather frazzled Meluan panting heavily and shouldering a rather large bag. She barely gave a second glance at the large wyrm taking up half of the space and waved her arms frantically at the other women.

“First of all, I’m back. Secondly, I am in need of support,” she gasped out between heavy breaths.

Unfazed, Wynan dryly sighed, “Stop panting. You literally cannot physically get tired in this house.”

At the same time, Relani chuffed and asked, “What did you do, Mel?”

“I’m emotionally tired! And need emotional support!” Meluan protested, her gaze bouncing from Wynan to Relani. “Also, I did nothing! You’re all the ones who forced me to make the library run this time, and unfortunately, the Librarian decided she wanted to tag along so someone please give me emotional support!”

Meryan, who had been laughing at the exchange, hopped up. “I’ll go,” she giggled, taking the large pot of broth with her. “You guys stay here and watch over Léf.”

“Have fun,” Relani saluted, the hand over her mouth not at all covering her mirth.

“And leave the bag behind,” Wynan added, knowing it likely contained the books they’d sent Meluan out to borrow.

Instinctively, Wynan caught the heavy bag immediately thrown at her, smiling at their usually unperturbed housemate looking so clearly bothered. “I’d wish you luck, but you’re just being dramatic,” Wynan called out as Meryan closed the door.

Incensed despite allowing herself to be dragged by Meryan, Meluan grumbled, “The Librarian is in my house! That’s not dramatic at all!”

“She’s not going to bite you in our house,” Wynan heard Meryan reply.

“Uh huh, anyway. What do you mean by having named the wyrm I saw? Or did he come prepacked with one?”

“…well, it hasn’t been long, but…”

Their voices faded away, leaving Relani and Wynan alone with the wyrm who had once been a familiar.

Léf’s quiet presence in the room reminded Wynan of a time long ago when she’d just been Wynan instead of…whatever she was now. That individual had loved dragons and had badly wished her world had them, to keep as a pet or simply just to ride. She’d seen a lot of dragons and creatures in the same genus since that particular Wynan’s childhood fantasy, but she’d hardly ever been able to exist in a room this peacefully with one.

“…it’s always gotta be the pets who can’t stay,” Wynan swore, though she smiled in spite of herself. “I hope Léf has a better story when he returns, at least.” Léf couldn’t be happy here, not with the limited space within their home and such nearness to the end of the universe.

Sending a smile her way, Relani laughed her agreement. “I hope so, too.”

“Kind of a shame his story had to end so tragically, though,” Wynan sighed, thinking idly back on the small tale they’d managed to piece together based on their collective knowledge of narratives and longtime experience. “It seems that in the fights between heroes and villains, there will always be innocents on both sides who will have to die.”

Relani’s brows furrowed in response, but Wynan wasn’t offended, knowing that her sister was merely thinking.

“But,” Wynan continued anyway, chuckling ruefully, “I guess it was like that for all of us, too…the way so many ‘faceless’ characters had to die for our story to continue, right?”

It made her wonder if one day they’d be those in the “faceless crowd” fated to die to advance the story and spur the hero to glory. She hoped not…she was content being the lost story that she was. But if there was one thing she as a reader knew about lost stories, is that there was always someone out there who wanted them found.

“Well, Léf’s story isn’t over yet, is it?” Relani suddenly interrupted Wynan’s musing, her eyes twinkling like veiled stars. “After all, there was someone before the edge to find him and help him recover so he could go back.”

Wynan almost rolled her eyes but found that she couldn’t really contest that statement. “Okay, not wrong. Of course you’d see it like that, though.”

“Oi,” Relani protested, leaning back on her arms, though her lips were still stretched with amusement. “It’s not optimism when it’s just the truth, Wynan. We know better than anyone how even those who have wandered off the edge, those actually lost within the void, have been found. No one is faceless in the end, even if it is true that to each other we can sometimes be mere side characters fated to die.”

Relani sighed, shuffling while still seated to throw an arm around Wynan, who leaned into the warmth offered as they both gazed at Léf’s sleeping form.

“Look…there are people who are mourning for the faceless who had to die to continue the story, aren’t there?” Relani insisted. “And there are going to be people who want to rescue them, too, like we do. But that’d be another story—their story, not the current protagonist’s—to tell.”

The only response Wynan had was to snuggle closer into Relani, suddenly feeling sleepy herself as happened with her (it had nearly given Meryan a heart attack once when she’d found Wynan sleeping inside a closet). Memories burst within her mind from Relani’s words, refutations and arguments as well as evidence and agreements to what her sister had said. How there was always someone in this multiverse that would know of a tragedy and mourn the people lost—that was why they were there for, too—and try and reach out to save them.

Well, Relani’s usually right when in these things, Wynan conceded, feeling her eyes shut. And she’s right in that we’ve always been there to fetch people driven to this point, aren’t we? But I’ll tell her she’s right when I wake up, though. I want to sleep…

The story would still be there when she opened her eyes.

[leaffiii]

*shows up from the sewers like alligator, with headcanons and 1 drabble in teeth* hello :)

I like to think that Pharaoh man is the old man of this team.

Maybe he was fighting along with other robots in Hard war somewhere far away, was able to survive and run away from government long enough to be considered a legent, waiting for the right moment to rejoin in this lost war again.

Maybe he heard about Silicon city's many attends from other robots to overthrow humans ones again but without any luck and decided to lend his hand there. And so he travels and eventually arrives and joins your terrorist club. Maybe he even seems badass first time we get to his introduction. A legend thought to be long gone, a experienced warrior that can survive in extreme situations, a hard war veteran and ect.

And then hes like "how do you do fellow kids" and the badass points that he has? Long gone.

Expect the "in my time-" and "I've seen better" routine. And don't even try to ask about his past, because you just will be stuck in unskipable cutscene of him telling you all about it, like at least 3 hours, bare minimum. Usually the victim of this "cutscene" is Hard man, because he's to slow to make a getaway in time before Pharaoh starts telling story and to nice to actually walk out if he started it.

Also i just think that solar shot (or whatever Pharaoh uses) is actually one of few things that beats Hard mans defense. Like, dude can be dence as much as he wants but can he stand the plazma with a heat that feels like surface of the sun?

Imagine Snake asking Pharaoh about Hard war, and thinking that now that he has a literal veteran he won't need to steal documents about that ever again and walking out of that same room 12 hours later and be like: i wish that i was stealing documents and failed rather than be stuck in a room with him like this ever again.

Pharaoh is pretty affectionate toward Metal man but in a "grandfather that tells u suck after barely telling that he's proud of you" kinda way. Like "man, Metal you actually not half bad with repair stuff, i dont feel anything wrong with my arm animore. But i still had better, so you have room to improve."

Also Pharaoh sometimes uses slangs in hes speeches, so it leads to situations like this:

Hope you recovered from whatever you had and that you have a great day! Bye *goes back into sewers*

Reaches out of my trashcan and munches on this like a raccoon eating grapes (Had a busy day lol but FINALLY got on my laptop to reply)

Oh my GOD this is such a treat, actually!! I've been having a bit of trouble characterizing him and this is PERFECT for him. Pharaoh being a veteran is such a good idea! It also officially marks him as the oldest of the group. I'm still deciding on what his abilities will be specifically, since I'm trying not to have too much overlap between them lol. Poor Hard Man though, big man has to deal with so much lol

I do imagine Pharaoh and Skull being from the same creator (Some FC version of Dr. Cossack) BUT keep in mind I haven't touched the comics at all, aside from skimming the articles on the Wiki. This is already an AU of sorts anyways, which I'll elaborate on eventually. That being said I think Toad should also have come from the same creator for shits and giggles lmao THAT DOES REMIND ME i gotta finish Pharaoh's ref, hes been legless for so long oops (and I gotta do one for Metal and the last two guys. whoops.) I recovered from my cold a bit ago, I'm doing well now!

[constellaj]

just ran into your art today and. would you like to elaborate on your gay lucky in love rewrite 👀

boy would i

as always shoutouts to @crystalfloe for pitching + workshopping w me on this, ESPECIALLY on this one since it was mostly her idea!

we open up with a shot of shadow circling through amity park, looking in the windows of various citizens. danny is face-down, fast asleep; valerie is repairing some gear; tucker is being a gamer; sam is watching a horror movie; paulina is also watching a horror movie. shadow passes by all these houses and gets more and more annoyed, until he peeks the window of a large, elaborate house:

dash has drawn the curtains, turned the lights off, turned a fan up. this is his deep dark secret. he’s sitting on his bed, face lit by the dim rose glow of his laptop. the volume is turned down so low but the viewer still sees and hears him whisper along to the movie: “but we could never be together, jessica...” “but... I love you...” he’s watching a HORRIBLY cheesy hallmark romcom.

but of course nobody can KNOW he’s into chickflicks and romcoms! he’s a tough football man and it would trash his rep if anyone knew he secretly craved those deep but silly romantic stories... the tenderness, the love...

shadow has specifically been looking for a romantic.

shadow slips in and ‘possesses’ dash. possesses in quotes, because, well, even though dash is dumb and therefore easy to possess, shadow is ultimately a glorified dog, and not a fully sentient ghost; he doesn’t have any total agency in dash, and the most he can do is mess around with his emotional and hormonal balance. shadow is DISMAYED, upon entering, that dash’s deep romanticism is so repressed, and so immediately gets to work digging it out of the recesses of his brain, putting it in the forefront.

(see, what danny and the audience will learn later is, shadow is a ghost that subsists off of love. romantic love especially. he first found a ‘host’ in johnny (before he died!) because johnny and kitty were madly, ridiculously in love, and johnny especially admired kitty beyond words. they still do love each other, of course! but like all healthy relationships, they’ve learned to take breaks, and they have a ‘break week’ once every few months.)

(this, naturally, drives shadow up a WALL; after a certain level, displays of romance become like dog treats, and shadow has been downright spoiled by the overabundance of love between the two. when they take a BREAK WEEK and aren’t constantly showering each other (and therefore him!) with affection, he needs to go find another host, because clearly they do not love him and have forsaken him. they kick miette.)

since shadow’s prime host for so long has been johnny, his understanding of a few... norms... are bleeding over. dash shows up to school with a leather jacket and a motorcycle (his family’s rich, of course he’s had one). his hair is slicked back and the cologne is overpowering. while danny and others think it’s just another asshole stage of dash, kwan (as well as the popular kids, but kwan especially) notices something’s wrong. it’s not quite... dash. 

yeah, he’s happy-- well, he’s also strangely flirty with everyone (shadow is testing the waters, trying to find out who is the best match). and kwan LOVES that he’s happy. but he’s a little too daydreamy, he laughs a little too long. he is having horrible luck all day, but he just keeps taking it in stride. dash is concerned with appearances, but this is the first time he’s put in effort like it was for other people to see. he’s a little too suave. his eyes reflect just a little too much light.

and then-- luck of luck-- shadow finds the big name repressed crush.

fenton! of course!

danny did NOT want to deal with dash towering over him and slamming him into the wall, but he didn’t KNOW how to deal with dash leaning over him and telling him he looked cute. danny’s flustered! of course he is! well, yeah, dash is an asshole, he knows that, yeah he’s a stuck up rich kid, YES SAM, he knows this (sam is not fooled by a little hair gel and some high heeled leather boots), but you can’t deny he’s, well, built. and he’s weirdly suave? and nice. he’s actually being really nice. what no of course DANNY hasn’t had a crush on DASH this whole time or anything. shut up.

the fact that dash asks him to meet him in the woods at lunch (because sam, jazz, and even tucker are increasingly concerned with dash just making moves on danny, afraid it’s some new form of abuse; and lancer keeps perceiving it as bullying since that’s their dynamic and breaking it up) and he GOES is just. well. that’s unrelated isn’t it.

they kiss and danny is starting to maybe think dash just had a homophobic middle school experience like everyone else when- his GHOST SENSE GOES OFF. RIGHT HERE? RIGHT NOW??? (gee what could be causing it?) dash cracks a joke about him using too many breath mints and danny panics, bullshits an excuse, and runs off to transform and find the ghost.

dash thinks he’s been rejected and almost shakes out shadow’s possession from the sheer dismay, but shadow doubles down. no, no, we can find another crush. somewhere.

...oh hey! the ghost boy!

time to double down on the ghost aesthetics.

danny’s just finished fighting kitty (”where’s your boyfriend” “that’s none of your BUSINESS!”) when there’s a motorcycle rev underneath him. there’s... dash, again, but.... something feels very, very wrong.

danny lands, cautious. “hey phantom... you into biker dudes?” “don’t you have... a boyfriend...” “heee sorta dumped me in the woods”. and then danny gets close enough for his ghost sense to go off. and it clicks.

“dash, you’re possessed”

this is the ONE THING that shadow can’t have. this could be the perfect romance, and THIS GHOSTCHILD thinks he knows more about ROMANCE than SHADOW??? PSH. cue fight scene! dash of course is grappling with both not wanting to hurt phantom, but wanting this ghost out of his system, because of COURSE he’s possessed geez why else would he want to kiss FENTON of all people-- but shadow REFUSES to leave, slowly building more and more monstrous elements onto dash, darker eyes and claws, erasing his legs until it’s not dash as much as it is a large shadow monstrosity with dash at the center.

danny eventually realizes he needs a new strategy and runs for it. after a decent amount of bickering with sam/tuck, they realize that the only ones who would know how to tame shadow are.... kitty and johnny.

turns out, when shadow went missing, kitty NOTICED. (johnny didn’t! he was having a fun alone time working on his bike with loud music.) this is bad. why? well, johnny is NOT a very powerful ghost. in fact, he’s sort of the opposite. he and shadow have a symbiotic relationship of sorts; it’s shadow’s residence in him that gives him any powers at all, like the basic healing factor a ghost has, or phasing, or flying. without shadow he’s essentially a zombie, who can still be hurt in the ghost zone. NATURALLY, kitty decided to run off and retrieve shadow (because this isn’t the first time he’s run away on break week, always throwing a tantrum) before anything horrible could happen to Johnny; this is what she was doing in Amity in the first place

this is the part of the story where i reveal that the ending isnt fully fleshed out yet. in the rough conversation right it ended up with kitty and johnny trying to FORCE shadow back into johnny, and they’re getting annoyed by it, and kitty goes “well this wouldn’t be a problem if YOU weren’t so LOVING AND SENSITIVE” and johnny goes “well i wouldn’t LOVE YOU so much if you weren’t BRILLIANT and BEAUTIFUL” and they have a whole argument like that. its very funny. and shadow ends up still running away and possessing dash again.

ah, in typing this out, i have figured out an ending!

the above fight and run away happens, and there’s two endings: one where shadow possesses dash, and one where shadow possesses danny. in both, of course, the other party realizes the only way to get shadow out is through making shadow feel safe enough to leave, aka... flooding the room with romance. if dash is possessed, danny and co. realize that danny’s the prime candidate to... be the suave lil boy. if DANNY is possessed, sam and tucker begrudgingly explain that, uh, yeah, phantom might have a crush on you, he’s just really controlling of his emotions. (also kwan! kwan definitely plays a part if dash is possessed, maybe even in saying “uh... he has a bigger crush on Fenton. can you guys get him instead?” and danny. explodes)

blahlbahblah luring shadow out by being gay happens and shadow gets scooped back up by the 13s. as much as the previous argument is funny it might also be very funny if johnny literally noticed none of this, and kitty shows up like ‘you lost this’ and johnny is like. ‘...shadow? when did you leave’. anywho.

that’s the concept! the MAIN difference is that johnny and kitty actually have a very healthy and sweet relationship, and the conflict, ironically, comes from the fact that they love each other TOO much. i do love ‘dash finds out’ reveals but as far as an episodic romp goes, this might not be the best ep for him to discover the secret in. however in a oneshot or something of course you could slot that in there excellently i believe.

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Whisky Secrets (sequel)

Here's something different. Before I ever thought about posting fanfic here, I used to write things inspired by fanfic I found by some of the incredible writers I found on tumblr. I've never posted any of them but I've really felt like writing something for Aleister Black/ Tommy End lately.

So I reached out to one of my original favourites on this site, @ghostofviperwrites and asked her if she'd mind if I published this sequel I wrote to her story Whisky Secrets. She gave me the ok (for which I thank her very much).

You absolutely have to read her piece first or this won't make any sense. It picks up literally at the point where hers leaves off and the entire premise is based on what she wrote. I think this goes in a very different direction than what she had in mind, though.

Since this is an old story, some of the characters are very different than they are now. It was set at around the time I wrote it. Based on events in the story, it's pretty clear when that was.

It's a bit dated but I hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Aleister Black x OFC (hints of Roman Reigns x OFC)

Word count: 7,031

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, incidental roughness that some might find stressful

You rested on the sofa for too long, knowing that you had to get to work, that you were already behind on an assignment that was due that afternoon. As much as you desperately wanted to cling to the scent and the feeling of him being there with you and the idea that he might someday want to be there with you for longer, you knew that you were only wasting time by indulging in a fantasy. Once again, you reminded yourself, he saw you as a friend, a landing pad after he was finished his adventures. And so you dragged yourself to the computer and tried to focus.

It was a fluff piece you’d been hired to write: places for new residents of Orlando to meet people. You’d accepted it because the pay was good and it had seemed easy. But what the hell did you know about meeting people? You’d barely met anyone and the only ones that you’d call friends were the ones you met when you’d done an in-depth profile on the WWE and their development territory NXT. Of those, only Aleister had remained close and even then, you couldn’t say that the two of you had ever properly opened up to each other. Nevertheless, you’d stayed in touch with a number of them, occasionally meeting for coffee or drinks. None of this was in any way useful when it came to recommending locations to connect with strangers.

You’d tried to start the article the day before but now when you opened the file, you discovered that you’d only come up with a half a dozen corny titles and one word of text:

When?

The word was too painfully appropriate.

When were you going to run out of luck and be unable to find further work as a journalist?

When were you going to admit that what kept you here, rather than moving to another state and pursuing more secure work, was the fact that you were in love with a man who was only interested in your capacity as a friend and caregiver?

When was your hopeless love going to break you beyond repair?

Annoyed with yourself, you deleted the word and tried to start again. You could meet people at the gym classes that were ubiquitous in this city. You could meet people at get-togethers for shared hobbies like hiking or pottery or basically anything. No one had to meet people by getting thrown into their orbit and being unable to extricate themselves.

About half an hour into your resentful hammering on the keyboard, you were startled by your doorbell. For one sweet instant, you imagined that it was Aleister dropping by to pass some time with you. Then you realized that he never came to you without an invitation unless it was dead drunk in the middle of the night. Even when you invited him, it was only every fourth or fifth time that you asked that he agreed to come over and watch a movie or go for a walk in the nearby park. There was no way it was him at your door at eleven o’clock in the morning.

In fact, the person at your door was Bayley, chipper and warm as always, returning the spare laptop you’d lent her a few weeks before.

“Thank you so much,” she beamed, thrusting the computer into your hands. “You are a lifesaver. I’d have lost my goddamn mind if I hadn’t had this while mine was in the shop.”

“It was nothing,” you insist, smiling at her unconstrained warmth even though you didn’t feel very positive about your life at that moment. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

She nodded cheerily and stepped across the foyer. You never really knew how you fit in with the women of WWE, even though you’d spoken to many of them in depth. Bayley stood out because she was determined to be your friend despite your introvert’s reluctance. And, indeed, she was irresistible. Much like her in-ring character, she cast sunshine wherever she went and her glow was contagious, even in your darkest and lowest moments.

You motioned her into the kitchen, offering her a choice of lemonade, iced tea or water. Her eyes immediately fell on the empty whiskey bottle you’d left on the counter, her expression growing more serious as she focused on it.

“Getting started early?” she cajoled.

“A friend left that here,” you replied guiltily.

She narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at you. Sweet and optimistic as she was, Bayley was not naïve. She knew exactly what friend had left the bottle behind and she knew how you felt about him.

“I’ll have a glass of lemonade,” she said, the smile slowly returning to her face.

You joined her and the two of you jokingly touched glasses before drinking.

“So, a few of us are getting together tonight,” she said hesitantly. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Your first instinct was to ask if Aleister would be there, but you thought better of it. Instead, you responded, “Well, I have an article I need to finish.”

Of course, your article was due by the end of the afternoon, which meant that your evening was free regardless, but part of you wanted to be at home in case Aleister came staggering over again.

Bayley’s jaw set in a determined expression you’d only seen from her in the ring. “We’re having a party for Roman, to celebrate him going into remission.”

Well now you felt like a bit of a bitch for making excuses and didn’t know what to say.

“It won’t just be wrestlers there. Some other journalists are even coming. And I know that it would mean a lot to him if you were there.”

When you’d done your article on the WWE, you’d interviewed Roman Reigns and he’d been incredibly generous with his time. He’d even contacted you after your interviews to confirm that you had all the detail you needed. He was the face of the company and had done everything possible to make sure that the company had provided what you required. He’d clearly wanted to make sure they’d left a good impression and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his PR skills. Although you knew it wasn’t true that it “would mean a lot to him”, you were touched by the idea that he remembered you and might like you to be there to celebrate his great news. At the same time… you needed to be there for Aleister.

“Look,” Bayley insisted, “I’m going to text you the details for the bar where we’ll be. It’s not a big deal, just a bunch of us getting together to be happy for our friend.”

There was no way that you could refuse that, so you shyly thanked her as she gulped the rest of her lemonade and made for the door.

“I’m serious,” she said as she departed. “You work so damn hard you deserve a night off. Finish what you’re doing and come have fun with us.”

As soon as she’d left, you once again sat down at your computer. Before you could return your attention to your work, however, you couldn’t resist checking Instagram.

Someone had tagged Aleister in a photo on Instagram.

Yes, you were that pathetic that you always checked.

With trepidation, you clicked the link to look at what was there. As it too often did, the notification came from an airbrushed-looking woman, her collagen-enhanced lips pressed against his. She looked arrogant and proud, while he looked smug and inebriated.

“Guess who I got to hang with last night?” the caption gloated.

You knew damn well what “hang” was a euphemism for. He never cared that the Barbie dolls he hooked up with advertised their conquest on social media. He was single and hot. Why should he care if people knew that he always scored with the sort of women other men lusted after? Why should he care that it ripped your heart to shreds every time you saw him with another woman so unlike you in every way?

The woman had posted a few other photos of the two of them together, embracing. Every part of her magazine-ready body was on display, save those parts that would have gotten her in trouble. Her artificially perfect breasts were spilling out of a tiny tube top while her endless legs were shown in their full glory between the edge of a skirt that likely required her to trim her pubic hair and the sky high heels that raised her enough to press her lips to his without having to stretch herself awkwardly. She was nothing like you, with your unkempt hair and loose, bohemian dresses, your comfortable ballet flats and blandly natural face. She had all the glamour that you lacked and he ate it up.

The images of the two of them cut into you like a laser and, for once, all you desired was to break free from the pain of feeling. A few minutes later, when Bayley sent the text she’d promised with the details of where you could find the party tonight, you immediately responded.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

To hell with Aleister and the designer women he adored, you told yourself as you returned to your article with a vengeance. Tonight you were going to do whatever it took to break the spell he had cast over you.

*

It was just after nine when you found yourself teetering to the entrance of the bar where the party was taking place. It was marked only by a subtle sign, no words, just a stylized anchor, and it was hidden away on a tiny street that was hardly more than an alley. In your fit of pique, you’d finished your article two hours before your deadline and then, having examined the options in your closet and found them wanting, headed out and spent entirely too much money on a new dress that clung perfectly to your breasts before flaring out to highlight the movements of your body, while covering just the bare minimum to maintain decency. You’d also picked up a stylish pair of ankle boots with heels higher than you were used to and that posed a legitimate threat as you made your way down the roughly paved road to the speakeasy-style bar.

A little further down the alley, you see a couple leaning against a car, taking turns swigging from a liquor bottle. The woman is one of those glamorous animals that makes you so insecure, laughing in drunken delight in a way that only confident people can. In one quick movement the man spins her around and bends her over the hood of the car. He immediately takes out his cock, stroking it a couple of times before he thrusts into her, one hand on her back while the other holds the bottle that he continues drinking from. And it’s a moment before you realize that it’s Aleister, fucking away at a woman whose name he won’t remember in a few hours.

The sight makes you want to curl up and die, makes you want to say that you’ve made a mistake and run along home so you can bawl your eyes out while you wait for his inevitable drunken arrival. But, if nothing else, the damage that you’ve done to your credit card in order to make yourself look just a bit more sexy and edgy than usual, as well as the glasses of wine you had already consumed to fortify your courage, push you forward. This is a test. In order to pass, you need to be able to ignore the man whose indifference is killing you and enter the world of others, where someone who wasn’t up to the standards of the rarified model girls might be willing to give you a second look.

Aleister doesn’t even glance up as you enter the bar a few feet away from him, can’t feel the dark weight of your eyes on him or the force with which you tear them away as you step through the door.

As soon as you do, you are once again frozen with the idea that you’ve made a mistake. When Bayley characterized this as a “get-together”, you’d assumed it meant a group of people spread out around a few tables chatting away and toasting Roman’s health. Instead, what greets you is a basement club full of people with a dance floor alive with writhing bodies. You recognize a few journalists but for the most part, the space is taken up with every WWE and NXT star you’ve ever heard of. It’s a convention of beautiful people and you can’t help but feel dowdy even in your overpriced finery.

You slowly descend the stairs, fully intending to look around, say hello to a few familiar faces and then bolt for the exit, but you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice that fairly shrieks. “Oh my god woman, just look at you!”

It’s Sasha Banks, standing at the edge of the stairs with Bayley, who gives you an exaggerated round of applause.

“Miranda, you look amazing,” Sasha continues breathlessly. “Seriously, you’re putting everyone to shame.”

You don’t feel like you’re putting anyone to shame, least of all Sasha in her body suit that hugs every curve of her perfect little hourglass, but you blush at the compliment.

“Come on,” Bayley gushes, “we need shots to celebrate your hotness!”

She pulls both of you through the crowd to the bar and somehow is able to get the bartender’s attention almost immediately, ordering two rounds of tequila shots because, she tells you and Sasha, there’s no point in getting just one round when you know you’re going back for seconds. The three of you toast and toss down the shots and then immediately do so again and you have to admit that you’re feeling the warm glow already. Sasha, apparently feeling something herself, wraps her arms around you and once again reassures you that you are devastatingly beautiful.

Another shot is thrust into your hand, this time by Dash Wilder, who’s arrived with his Revival partner Scott Dawson. Wilder has always been attractive to you, so you give him as radiant a smile as you can manage and you swear he blushes a little just before he downs his shot. Dawson is hugging Sasha and Bayley close to him, allowing Dash to edge a little closer to you and you’re feeling a little high on yourself when another voice cuts through your circle.

“Miranda? Holy fuck I can’t believe you’re here!”

Roman Reigns pushes right through the bodies close to the bar and grabs you firmly by the shoulders, his eyes gradually focusing on yours. He’s grinning with an intensity that clearly comes from his being a little past feeling no pain but it doesn’t hamper the thrill it gives you when he wraps his arms around you and nearly crushes you in a hug.

“I mean, shit, I don’t think I’ve even talked to you since you did that interview,” he pouts. “Thank you so much for coming.”

You smile as another shot is pushed into your hand, biting your lip self-consciously. You down about half the shot before Roman grabs it from you and finishes it, breaking up with laughter. He signals the bartender for another round, keeping an arm around your back until the tray of shots arrives. You’re all toasting each other and you wonder why you ever questioned yourself for coming here because this is exactly what you needed.

“Come dance with me,” Roman chuckles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dance floor. He’s clearly floating on a sea of drunken bliss, goofing around and happy to have someone to have fun with, someone he didn’t expect to be there. Even if you wanted to resist his offer, you couldn’t because, while he isn’t doing anything that might hurt you, his grip is strong enough and the rest of him powerful enough to compel you forward.

The two of you deliberately dance like complete nerds in high school, awkward movements and ironic posturing until you’re both laughing so hard you can barely stand. It’s then that you realize that you’ve become the focus of some attention; Roman goddamn Reigns, the face of the company, the locker room leader, the man who everyone has come to celebrate, is dancing with you. Most of the people here have no idea who you are but because you’re with Roman, you are somebody. Basking in the subtle attention and envy, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the music, swaying to the beat until you feel a large pair of hands on your hips.

You open your eyes to see Roman pulling you closer to him with a devilish grin before spinning you around and pulling your back against his massive chest. You continue to move but at a slower pace, your movements limited by how close he’s holding you and the sensual way in which his body moves against yours. Keeping one arm loosely around you, he lets his other hand fall against your thigh, lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It makes you gasp.

“You never responded to any of my texts,” he murmurs gruffly in your ear.

You remember at least half a dozen messages asking if he could clarify anything or if you needed any additional material for your article. You hadn’t needed anything else but you suddenly feel terribly rude for not answering.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you were very professional and I should have at least told you that I had what I needed.”

His voice drops even lower as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to be professional about them. And I was hoping that you didn’t have everything you needed.”

He pulls you up and firmly against him and for the first time you can feel his hardening cock through his pants. You can’t help but thrust your hips into him, barely able to process what’s happening to you. The two of you are still ostensibly dancing, although it’s more like a rhythmic grinding to the music as he reaches down and pulls the hem of your dress up, rubbing your thigh and then your ass as he presses his lips into your neck. His hands are everywhere on you and you’re aware that your entire lower body is basically on display for anyone who cares to look but you don’t care because it feels like you’ve won the lottery. You moan at the feeling of his growing excitement against your flesh, both his large hands grazing up the front of your thighs and for a moment you think that you’re ready to beg him to take you right there when you’re violently spun away from your dance partner, a bruising grip on your arm.

It’s Aleister, eyes incandescent with rage as he tells Roman, “I need to speak to her for a minute.”

Roman looks confused and tries to speak to you but Aleister drags you away and a gaggle of women immediately descend on Roman, desperate to take your place.

Aleister flings you against the wall, glaring at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen outside the ring.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

“I was dancing before you interfered,” you snap back at him, rubbing your arm.

“Dancing?” he repeats with derision. “That’s what you call that?”

“I was having fun.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

For the first time since you saw him with his woman of choice outside, you feel ridiculous, like a girl trying to look glamorous by donning her mother’s clothes.

“I wanted something a little different.”

“A little?” he hisses back. “Do you realize what you look like? You’re all tarted up and letting some guy grab at you and get you half naked in front of a bar full of people.”

“What I look like?”

“Everyone could see practically your whole goddamned body. They could see what you were letting him do to you.”

“You mean to say I look like a whore.”

Aleister crosses his arms and glances away, refusing to confirm what you’ve said.

“So what, Aleister? So what if I’m letting a man touch me and show me that he wants me? Who cares who else sees? Maybe that’s what I want!”

“Are you so stupid that you think he wants you for anything other than a one night stand?”

The accusation stabs at your heart and your confidence but you’re determined not to let him see that.

“Again, so what? Maybe I’m happy to have this big, gorgeous man want me. Maybe I’m fine bringing him back to my place for a few hours of fun because at least it means someone is thinking of me as a sexual being for a change.” You pause, knowing the danger of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself. “Maybe I’d be fine if he just took me outside and fucked me over the hood of a car.”

For a second, you think that Aleister is going to strangle you. The look on his face is like the moment before the sky erupts in thunder and lightning. Truthfully, you expect that he’ll turn on his heel and walk away from you and never come back, and perhaps that’s what you need him to do so that you can get over him.

Instead, he grabs you, pinning you to the side of his body and pulling you towards the door. His movements make you stumble, and the more you try to resist him, the more ungainly you look.

“She’s dead drunk,” you hear him assure a few people, “I’m going to make sure she gets home.”

And while it’s true that you are drunk, you’re not nearly as drunk as he’s making you out to be. The second he has you outside, you try to twist away from him and go back, only for him to wind you closer, pulling you off balance so that you look even more inebriated.

You hear him whisper to Seth Rollins, who’s observing the spectacle through the corner of his eyes. “Look, tell Roman that she’s falling down drunk and I just had to get her home. No disrespect meant.”

Seth has a confused expression on his face but nods and tells him, “Sure thing.”

Realizing what Aleister is doing, you once again try to rush past him, but he blocks you, gripping your arm and pulling you after him so that you really do appear pathetically unable to take care of yourself.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” you shout at him, figuring that there’s no reason to worry about who might hear you, there being no further you can sink in their estimation. “Why can’t you just let me enjoy myself?”

“Jesus, Miranda, you’re loaded. You can barely stand up.” He emphasizes this by jerking your arm forward, which almost causes you to keel over onto your face. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“No,” you insist, pulling yourself to a halt. “I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted. Sure I’m a bit tipsy but-“

“You don’t want that,” Alesiter snaps, threading his arm through yours and continuing down the street. “You don’t just want to whore yourself out for a night because you think it might help your self-esteem.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want, Aleister.” You’re crushed against his side and he’s moving so quickly that your feet only graze the ground every third or fourth step. “Let me go. I’m sick of playing the surrogate mother for someone who’s incapable of seeing me as a real woman. I want to go back there. I want to have someone make a show of wanting me. I want to get fucked so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Aleister shakes his head like a parent frustrated with a misbehaving child. “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“So let me be ridiculous!” you yell back, trying unsuccessfully to extricate yourself from his grip. “What the hell is it to you? Are you worried that for once I’m not going to be there when you need a place to collapse at four in the morning?”

The two of you reach the corner where the alley meets the street and he swings you to face him, glowering at you with a terrifying expression, gripping your biceps so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. He says nothing but stares at you until he whips his arm out and hails a taxi seemingly out of nowhere.

He launches you, there’s no other word for it, into the back seat of the car and snarls your address to the driver as your tears start to fall. The cabbie is noticeably uncomfortable with your quiet whimpering and seems confused by the fact that Aleister does nothing to comfort or engage you. He sits with his arms folded, scowling, until you arrive at your building. Reflexively, you reach for your purse only to have Aleister swat your hand away and pay the driver himself. You try to keep pace as he yanks you towards the door, but stumble because of your unsure footing in these strange heels and because your vision is glazed by the tears you’re fighting to hold in.

When Aleister pins you against the door and rummages through your purse to find your keys, it somehow feels more invasive than Roman gripping your ass for an entire bar full of people to see. You feel, for a moment, that he is looking at you with tenderness. But when the door opens, he simply guides you through it. As you hear it click shut, the last of your strength, physical and emotional, gives out and you drop to your knees, finally allowing the tears to fall. It’s a full-on ugly cry, punctuated by guttural, anguished sounds you’d never allow anyone else to hear. Despite everything, you desperately want to hear the door open again behind you and to hear him say that he’s realized he loves you.

But no, in the end, he’s just found it gross that the woman he sees as his caregiver might have another side. He found you pathetic in your overpriced dress and shoes. He knew that you were desperately trying to act like something you could never be: like someone who could compete with the perfected Instagram beauties he fucks every night. You could never be that. He knew that you were just a sad little woman decked out in a gaudy outfit. You’d never be that sexy, desirable person who stopped men dead in their tracks, no matter what your dance with Roman had temporarily led you to believe.

You’re on your knees for what seems like hours, choking on tears and snot and trying to restrain yourself from howling. Just as the sound overpowers you and a low wail escapes your lips, you’re startled by a pair of arms, familiar, tattooed arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

“Shh. There’s no need for any of that,” he grunts into your hair.

And while you’re shocked and thrilled that he actually stayed behind to make sure that you were ok, it’s also even more humiliating that he’s seen you fall apart so spectacularly. Your body feels limp with defeat and unable to react at all as he gathers you up and carries you into your bedroom, setting you gently on the edge of the bed. He rests his hand on yours for a moment and you’re able to stem the flow of tears until he stands up and heads back towards the door. This time, you’re determined to hold in the worst of your misery until you’re sure he’s gone, even though you can’t stop the tears from running down your face.

But after a few minutes of straining to hear the door close, you see Aleister return, a damp washcloth in hand, and he sits once again beside you on the edge of the bed. He presses the cloth, cool and soothing, against your cheeks and then holds your chin as he delicately wipes it across your face. It takes you some minutes to realize that he’s removing your smeared makeup, cleaning you off so that you look good as new, so that you look more like the plain girl who lets him into her home in the middle of the night, his touch filled with a tenderness that you never imagined him capable of. When he’s satisfied with his work, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against him. The sweetness of his friendly gesture makes you want to cry all over again but you choke it back, knowing that you’ll have plenty of time for that when he’s gone.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he whispers, the sound of his voice making you feel weak.

You nod and roughly pull back from him, unsure of your ability to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him and begging him to wreck you. You fumble with the zipper of your boots until Aleister slides off the bed and onto his knees and removes it for you. He glides his hand along your calf, up to your thigh and then moves to your other boot. As he slides it off, he presses his head against the side of your knee, giving the skin a light kiss before rocking back on his haunches. You know he’s being gentle with you because he feels sorry for you. He finds you pitiful, which is even worse than finding you asexual.

The feelings are too much for you to take and all you can think of is that you want to get into bed where you’ll be safe and where you can sleep off the nightmare your evening out has become. You clumsily shed your dress, stockings, bra and panties without thinking much of the fact that you have an audience. Why should it bother him seeing you naked, after all? Normally, you put on some nightclothes but you don’t even have the strength to bother. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Aleister has turned his head towards the door. He’s embarrassed for you, the way you would be if a parent or sibling was undressing around you.

You crawl under the covers with a grumbled “good night” and immediately start to feel yourself drift off. You’re jolted back to wakefulness when Aleister climbs in beside you. In all the time you’ve known him, as many nights as he’s come and collapsed on your sofa, you don’t think he’s ever seen your bedroom. Now, having seen it, he’s apparently happy not to leave it, indulging in the comfort of your bed without even asking permission. It makes you a little self-conscious that you’re nude but it’s hardly the most humiliating thing to happen to you tonight, so you let yourself ignore it. If you can just fall asleep, this night will be over and you can begin the process of trying to forget it.

It’s only a matter of seconds, though, until you feel his body pressed against yours from behind, one hand coming to rest flat on your stomach and pushing you back against him so that you are acutely aware that you are not the only person naked in the bed. The hand on your stomach flutters downward until his fingers are moving lightly over your pussy, like he’s plucking the strings of a harp. His other arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you flush against him, close enough that you can’t mistake the feeling of his erection against your back.

He presses his lips and tongue against your neck, making you whimper as you try to keep your heart rate stable. Your little noises seem to motivate him further, his touch becoming more insistent and one of his legs snaking over yours, pulling it back to give his hand greater access.

“Such a little fool,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking insistently along your fleshy folds. “Thinking I don’t see you as a sexual being.”

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out- more from the shock than the pain. His mouth continues to move around your neck and shoulders, nipping and sucking on the skin there, his grip on you tightening until it’s nearly painful.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“Leaving marks,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re at a loss for what to say, but are saved from having to answer as he pushes two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. You’re embarrassed that he must have felt how wet you were just from being in his presence but he says nothing, quickening his pace and giving satisfied little growls when his touch elicits gasps and cries of pleasure from you.

It’s pity, you remind yourself; what he’s doing to you, he’s doing it because he feels sorry for you and because he’s drunk and horny despite his encounter earlier in the evening. But the thought gets whisked away as he brings you closer and closer to what you’ve desperately needed from him for so long. You let out a little shriek when he removes his hand, unable to believe he’s so cruel as to bring you to the precipice and then deny you. But he simply flips you onto your back before pressing his fingers inside you once more, watching your reactions to be sure he’s hitting just the right spot before burying his face between your legs. His tongue, lips and fingers work together like an orchestra. Your knuckles are white from the force of clenching on the sheets and you’re biting down so hard on your lip to muffle the sounds you’re making that you’re worried your teeth will end up permanently embedded. He unexpectedly raises his head and stills the movement of his hand inside you and the shock is almost enough to make you start crying again. You look down at him, his eyes sparkling in the low light with an expression you can’t read.

“Why won’t you let me hear you?”

Because you don’t want him to know how good his merciful little gesture is making you feel. Because you don’t want to admit to yourself that it’s better than you’d imagined. Truthfully, whenever you’ve thought about the mechanics of sex with Aleister, you imagined that it would be fast and rough and hedonistic, much like his other sexual encounters seem to be. But he’s chosen this moment to take his time, to focus on his partner, rather than go for a quick, dirty fuck in a darkened corner.

You don’t tell him any of this, instead croaking out, “I’m shy.”

He raises himself up and over your body with the effortless grace of a serpent, pressing his head close to yours and kissing along your jawline.

“What do I have to do to make you not be shy?”

“I don’t know… I just… am.” You wriggle a little under him, turning your face away when he looks directly into your eyes.

He cups your face in one hand and runs the other, still wet with your juices, over your breast, teasing the nipple and making you shudder involuntarily.

“Am I moving too fast?”

You shake your head, not quite trusting your voice.

“Is there something that you’d enjoy more? Something you want me to do for you?”

You give him another little shake of the head.

“You don’t have to be shy with me. Whatever you want, I want you to tell me so I can give it to you. Anything.”

For the first time, he kisses you on the lips, his tongue, that still tastes of you, slides against yours and the hand at the side of your face slides to hold your neck, cradling your head so that you don’t have to tense any muscles to stay in that position. Your body has nothing it needs to do but experience the sensations he’s creating. Of course, you still answer his kiss, hungrily flashing your tongue against his, reveling in the light scrape of his lip ring against your lips. His hand glides back down between your legs, and even the proximity is enough to draw a couple of little mewls of pleasure. You feel him smile a little against your lips at the noises and he pulls away from the kiss.

“Am I making you feel good?”

You nod as he starts to work his fingers around your entrance once again.

“Do you want my mouth down there again?”

You nod even more vigorously than the first time but he shakes his head.

“Tell me. Say it out loud.”

You open your mouth to do so and he immediately thrusts his long fingers into your g-spot and your clit at once, making you yelp in pleasure. It’s almost enough to make you cum on its own but he eases the pressure before you reach that peak.

“Yes?” he asks again.

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

“Then let me hear you. Please.”

He returns his attention to your core and has you making all manner of unholy noises in short order. He expertly teases you and then holds back, so many times that when he does finally take you over the edge, you feel like you might pass out from the intensity of it. Your gasps for breath sound cavernous in the quiet room.

He keeps the palm of his hand firmly against you as he leans forward and presses his lips into your neck, letting out a satisfied purr every time an aftershock rolls through your body.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve fully come down, he raises himself up on his arms, giving just the hint of a smile when you grab onto his biceps to steady yourself.

He’s so rigid that he doesn’t even need a hand to guide himself into you. He simply presses forward in one slow but sure moment, his eyes closed as if it’s a kind of religious experience, not opening them until he’s fully seated inside you. It’s been long enough since you’ve been with anyone that the feeling of being stretched draws a little whimper from your throat. He remains still, his eyes open and bearing down on you with a delirious kind of excitement, aching prick twitching inside you, desperate to proceed but waiting for a signal that he can.

And it’s at that moment that you allow yourself to think that this isn’t pity or a drunken mistake, that he’s as hungry for you as you have been for him and that what’s happened tonight has just served to connect a circuit. The fiercely possessive look in his eyes as he watches you, the fury when he thought someone else was claiming you, the need to mark you to make you his, the flush of pure lust on his face and chest… it is just a little frightening, something you suspected was in him but never that it was focused on you. But you’ve always known you could handle his darkness if he let you in. So you thrust your hips a little and wrap your legs loosely around his waist to show him that he can continue. Just as he starts to move, he cups your face and presses his mouth to your ear.

“You deserve so much better.”

“Stop trying to make those decisions for me,” you moan, feeling your insides flutter with his movements.

“I’ve never felt anything like that jealousy.” He’s staring into your eyes as he confesses. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder pressing deeper inside you and gasping at the feeling. “Knowing that everyone could see how sexy and beautiful you are… And I’m an idiot for waiting for that to happen before I did anything, I just…”

He grimaces and slows his pace a little, obviously trying to prolong the sensation.

“You mean it?” You have to ask because you still can’t quite believe that this has been on his mind for all this time when he’s shown no sign of it to you.

“God yes,” he answers through gritted teeth, once again allowing himself to move faster and more urgently.

You can’t completely banish your fears that he’s going to regret this in the morning and just shut you out again but every second with him is pushing them further away. You lace your fingers through his hair, nipping at the shell of his ear as he lets out his own stream of desperate, lusty noises, running your nails gently down his back as he approaches his crescendo.

His head drops to your chest and he cries out as he releases inside you.

“Fuck I love you, fuck I love you, fuck I love you.” He repeats it like a mantra that brings him back down from his high, saying it a final time as he looks into your eyes.

Slowly, he rolls onto his side, gathering you close to him like he thinks an errant breeze might carry you away.

“I have…” he begins quietly, “… there’s a lot that goes on in my head… Bad things, I guess. I thought you’d run away. Or that I’d pull you down with me. I still don’t know that won’t happen.”

He looks so vulnerable that it makes your heart hurt but at the same time you have to stifle a smile.

“Well I’d rather you let me try to deal with it. I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit for being.”

His expression grows a little guilty and he nods. He wraps his arms tighter around you and you do the same until the two of you are lying in your bed, wound around each other.

[love-we-write]

Eccedentesiast

Character: RichyxMC (ambiguous platonic or romantic)  Genre: Hurt/Comfort? Friendship/Romance? Unbeta-ed mess is for certain Words: 4,188  Summary: Richy is used to being known to be able to bring a little bit of comical sunshine to everybody’s gloom. He’s just not used to letting anyone know that he’s burning behind that light. But then, you appeared in his life.  Potential T/W: mentions of panic attacks   A/N: Done in conjunction with the Duskwood Secret Santa event~! Dear @anatomical-myocardium, Merry Christmas to you~! Sorry this took so long to post, I swear my laptop crashes on me at the most inconvenient time sometimes. I hope I did this justice as a gift to you, and I hope you like it, just as I absolutely love your gift to me~! Have a safe and happy Christmas~!  ❤️ ❤️

And with a renewed vow to write anything and everything that I want to write without minding if it’s a game, or an anime, or an anime game, or Kpop, here we go~!  ❤️ ❤️

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Richy is most known by his friends and all the Duskwood residents for his carefree nature, and he is very much aware of this. 

With his small group of friends, he has been the joker of the group longer than memory can serve, always light-hearted with that small touch of dry humor to help liven up the mood. From their weekly battle of Doodle Friends to their catch up session at Aurora’s, all seven of them look to Richy to brighten their days with his quick-witted comebacks and his lame jokes that gets even Lily - ever the serious one - to chuckle.

At his job, his bright personality makes him one of the select few who could talk to Alfie without unnerving the boy, and from greeting old ladies who pass by his shop to chatting away with his customers while he repairs their cars, everyone does not have qualms to admit that Richy’s easy-going nature is his most admirable trait, a warm relaxing ray of sunshine that comes out and give others a bit of cheer on their gloomy days.

Richy knows that his ability to not take things too seriously gives comfort to his friends. 

Richy knows this, knows it in the way Jessy thanks him for being there for her when she is frustrated with how Dan is treating her affections, knows it in the way Thomas looks at him silently yet gratefully when he brought them to Aurora’s and filled them with a copious amount of beers and stupid jokes for a self-proclaimed “pity party” after Thomas’ fight with Hannah. 

He knows it during the wake of Hannah’s absence when Thomas is on the verge of breaking down, and when Jessy fought with Cleo over how to handle the investigation, Lilly had reached out to him in the middle of the night,  quiet words of “I feel like you’re the only one keeping this group together,” mumbled into the phone in between sniffles.

Richy knows he is most known for his easy-going personality, and he is used to it. 

He is also used to that horrible feeling of uselessness constantly haunting him in the deep dark solace of his mind. That sinking in his stomach, the heaviness settling in his core as he contemplates whether he has anything worthwhile at all anything good to offer to this world, the constant feeling that he doesn’t have anything at all. It is a dark void spanning the crevasse of his mind that comes up in his solitude, whispering that he is not good enough, that he does not deserve grief and his fear is only going to burden his loved ones.

Because who is he to voice out his sadness and anguish when everybody else has so much on their plate already? Who is he to want to cry at Jessy to look at him, just LOOK AT HIM WHO HAS BEEN THERE FOR YOU when she is heartbroken herself. What right does he have to voice out his grief, his guilt at being the first one to come to Hannah’s house but still unable to save her anyway? What right does he have to say these things, when he only had lost a friend while Thomas lost a girlfriend and Lilly a sister? 

What right does he have?

So, Richy does what he does best. He smiles. He jokes. And he hides. He stopped trying to figure out the line inside him where his smile ends and his fear starts. To him, they all bleed together.

Richy is used to being known to be able to bring a little bit of comical sunshine to everybody’s gloom. He’s just not used to letting anyone know that he’s burning behind the light.   

------------------------------------ 

 But then, you appeared in his life. You with your contagious kindness, you who are the one person who does not have any personal stakes with Hannah in this investigation but still decided to help out of the sheer good in your heart. 

Richy sometimes thought that you were highly naive when you said that them getting your number and bringing you in this group must have meant that there is something that you could do instead of just seeing it as it is; an ominous invitation from an unknown hacker. However, that thought of your naivete is blown out of the water when he witnessed your bright-eyed curiosity and your sharp perception. 

‘You like Jessy, don’t you?’ you had texted him out of the blue during one of your conversations when during the first few days after you appeared in their lives.

Richy swore he almost dropped his phone in his coffee when he read your text. No one has ever picked up on his one-sided affections towards Jessy, not even their group, not even Jessy herself who has been his close friend. 

He has always been wary of you when Thomas first invited you in. A stranger whose number was given to them by another stranger seemed to Richy like a well-timed disaster waiting to explode in their faces. Richy liked to think of himself as neutral when it comes to matters of your involvement; skeptical enough to not be desperate as Thomas but to the point of hostility that Lilly has shown. 

But with your eagle-eyed intuition, Richy realized he had to be extra careful with himself around you.

‘Uh, gotta go. Coffee’s about ready and I need that caffeine injection for my sanity, in case some more shit happens around here, haha,’ he had typed quickly, adding in several emojis in succession for some good measure. He puts the phone face down almost immediately, as if that would help distract him from your reply, and busies himself with work.

‘That’s okay. Coffee sounds like a great idea. The next time you want to subtly avoid having uncomfortable conversations about yourself, I have a list of ideas :D,’ was your reply to him when he checked his phone during his break. 

Mirth bubbles up in Richy, a feeling of familiarity and comfort fizzing up in him like downing cold soda on a hot summer day. Richy chuckles towards his phone, seeing as you really did provide him with a list of excuses to make to get out of conversation, each item sillier than the previous one.

Your entrance into his and the way Richy felt you seeing through to him feels like a breath of fresh air.

------------------------------------

‘Richy, hi.’ 

 Richy smiles, looking at his phone vibrated on the countertop as he is pouring his third cup of coffee for the day. Seems like the weekend is as good as any for him to gather his thoughts to himself, to compartmentalize his feelings away from the crowd, but the texts from you over the days is a welcome distraction. 

From asking him about Jennifer Manson, to asking him about the phone call he made on the day of Hannah’s disappearance, to random conversation about your favorite movies or music, messages from you have become something he looks forward to daily. He found himself slowly thinking more and more of you; whether you are okay, what you have been doing among other things

‘Now, what more information does my lady seek from me?’ he types quickly, anticipating as the three dots beside your name blinks back at him. 

‘Good sir, is it such a crime if I just want to inquire about your day? :(’

Richy would be lying if he said that his heart did not skip a few beats over those words.

‘Our previous conversations would indicate that you always would have things to ask me after you know about how my day went, so out you go. :D’

It feels nice to see you playing along with his jokes.

‘Cleo told me you fought with your dad?’

Ah.

Not information about Hannah’s disappearance then. Which, to him, is much much easier to divulge.

‘That girl is going to get into trouble one day over how much she’s eavesdropping.’

‘I know. But more importantly, are you okay?’

Are you okay? Wow, Richy thinks as he stares at his idle phone. A simple question, but look at how he is struggling to answer. So he quickly typed in.

‘I’m okay, don’t worry, haha. Listen, the cat outside my apartment is literally meowing my window panes down, I better go check up on it before it eats itself,’ Richy began typing his response, as if him staring down the digitized letters will give him some form of epiphany over what the best course of action is. 

Excuse #12 from that ridiculous list that you gave him from weeks ago. From feeding non-existent stray cats outside his house to a car needing their tires changed, it quickly became an inside understanding between the two of you that this is a signal that he does not want to talk about it. 

But, inside, he wants to talk about it. Wants to talk to you about how this fight is a series of continuous disagreements between him and his father over how to run the family’s garage. Wants to talk about how this garage is not what he envisioned doing in his adult year, that he has no interest whatsoever in running the family’s business. How he had wanted to be a photographer, but was forced to run the garage by his dad to continue the family business. 

And how each time his father berates him over the losses their garage suffered due to the new competing garage in town, he feels a slight vendetta to bring up that he is never interested in what happens in this garage but is only doing it for his father.

He has long perfected the art of hiding anything of him that isn’t polished and brightened, so when you picked it up immediately, he felt flustered. Flustered because he doesn’t know what to do when faced with the idea of someone perceptive as you catching his vulnerabilities that he is ashamed of. But, also flustered with the fact that he feels a small sense of comfort that someone took time to notice the small things about him, and that deep inside, he feels some small part of him wanting to reach back out.

For now, he just added a bunch of cheerful emojis for good measure and hits send.

He wants to talk about it. He wants to.

‘You know, I don’t expect you to exhaust that list so quickly. I would have thought it’d be good for at least 2-3 months.’ came your reply.

‘I worry about you, Richy.’

------------------------------------ 

And it is true, you are worried for him. It has been close to three weeks since you first got added into this strange group, and if truth be told, you would never have thought that you’d be as invested as you are now. You could not deny that Jessy and Richy were two of the friends you never thought that you would care for as much as you did. You know that Jake had warned you over the group, and you ARE a bit more wary of some more than others, but you did not expect your trust to go wholeheartedly to this small trio that you have formed with Jessy and Richy. 

Jessy is the sweetest girl you have ever met in the world, always kind. She has this effect around people that made them feel cared for, and you are thankful how she had welcomed you and helped you out when everyone else seems to think you are the kidnapper.She wears her heart on a sleeve, and she trusts easily, but she means well. And Richy…

Richy is an enigma. On surface level, it seems that he is a bright ray of sunshine, all lighthearted jokes and wit, a perfect comedic complement to Jessy’s more emotional tendencies, but you notice the things that made Richy much more complex than he lets on.

You see his calm and composed nature when he is the one to suggest the group to think more critically in the case of your appearance and Hannah’s disappearance, how he calmed everyone down and brought their spirits up. But you also see his aversion to talking about how he himself feels.

Even though he does not show it, you know the incident with Hannah affected him just as much as it had affected everybody else. You see the sprinkle of emotions he has shown, from Jessy who told you how quiet he had been on the day his garage was spray painted with the sign of the raven, to his deprecating jokes about himself when you asked about the phone call he had made to Hannah on the day of her disappearance. 

You see that sliver of fear, that glimpse of guilt over those short moments, but come any closer and you could miss it with how subtly and skillfully he averts to more cheerful topics.

But that’s the thing. You worry for him. Jessy goes to the both of you for comfort while Dan goes to Jessy. Lilly has her family, Cleo goes to Thomas and Thomas’s grief is acknowledged and heard by all of them.

But who listens to Richy? Who gives Richy their shoulder for him to grief? Who lift up his spirits the way he does to you? For now, all you can do is put your phone close to your ear, Richy’s number dialing in the background. 

‘I worry about you, Richy.’

‘It gets better, I promise you. You don’t have to be alone. I’m here for you,’ you added under your previous text. It goes unanswered and your calls only gets redirected to voicemail. So all you can do is hold your phone close to you, placing your lips on its receiver, only able to hope that it goes to him, that his cheeks or his forehead feels the warmth as a sign that you are here for him.

Miles away, in Duskwood, Richy only stares in his phone longingly, wanting to call you. 

‘I’m here for you.’ your text that had him feeling hopeful, comforted and flustered him all the same.

It has been a long time since someone sees through him so transparently, heck, the void in him has bled together with his façade so much that even he himself cannot see through the layers of sunshine to where his dark insecurities start. He has crafted so many walls, perfected so many smiles that it even fooled Jessy, the person most close to him here in Duskwood. Perhaps at some point, maybe he even fooled himself.

And yet, here you are. Effortlessly breaking through those walls like it’s paper, unblinded by the fake shine he puts on, and sees the darkness in him for what it is. He has to laugh at that as he leaned his forehead on his phone, somehow feeling a sense of comfort just in doing that. What have you done to him? 

Perhaps one day he can begin to talk about it.

------------------------------------ 

 That day came sooner that he thought it would be. That night in December, it snowed heavily in Duskwood. Angry snow fell down in a furious blizzard, gusts of wind wailing outside in anguish, doors and window panes shaking almost in fear. Sometimes, the wailing picks up speed and bangs on the window with a scream.

Inside, Richy is just as furious, just as anguished as the blizzard outside. The man without a face seems hell-bent in getting them to stop finding Hannah and to obtain your location. Richy would bend over backwards and go to hell twice before letting your location fall in its hands. And with the search not showing any signs of stopping, so did the threats to them.

Today, it took the threat to another level when it involved their families as well. Richy had woken up with a call from his father. He had expected the call to be his father picking up another fight with him, but the urgency in his father’s voice and the manic sobbing of his mother in the background struck a cold chord in him.

It turned out that his family house has been vandalized with the signs of the raven, only this time it is worse than the one did in the garage. The windows were splashed with red paint, with papers jammed in their mailbox full of threatening letters of ‘give me her’ and ‘Richy, you’re next’. It took him a good two hours to scrub the windows clean, and then another hour to comfort his mother that this is just a prank pulled by some reckless vandals, to clean up the papers from the mailbox and throw them in the trash.

But, deep inside he knows it. This is not a prank. This is a threat to him. To them.

Duskwood is a small town. People will talk and come tomorrow, his friends will find out. He needs time. He needs time to sort out his thoughts. Time to properly compartmentalize.

He needs time to sort out through his guilt of not being able to protect his family from being terrorized from the man without a face. There is the fury with the fact that it has been established that the man without a face is someone within their circle, given how much they know about your presence.

He needs time.

There is the fear that you, being the lynch pin to all that the man without a face wanted from them, will be burdened more. He needs time to sort through the fear that he could not protect you, and even though it is for the best interest of your safety that none of them knows where you are, you are still all alone having to pick up after these seven dysfunctional people and no one to protect you.

Then, there is the confusion, the stress, the angry sadness that this is a game that he has to continue to play with his friends. The betrayal that one of them, one of his close friends is responsible for this, that they could have the balls to laugh with him, smile with him and turn around and do this to him. 

He needs time to sort through this anger and he doesn’t have the courage to face them and continue playing this game tomorrow, not when all he wanted to do is lash out at each one of them and threaten them and ohgodheneedstimeheneedstime-- 

In the solace of his room in his family home, Richy feels his thoughts become as white as the blizzard of snow outside. He hears his breath quickens, a voiceless wail stuck in his throat and he feels the shivers in his spine like the doors trembling in front of the wind.

Heneedstimeohgodpleasegivehimabitoftime----

And like a lifeline, his phone besides him rang and vibrated and he clutched it to him like a lifeline. Like a miracle in December, he sees that it’s your name. Somewhere in his blank white thoughts, he hears a small chuckle and how impeccable your timing is.

He answers and your voice in his ears sounded like a buoy thrown to him that is flailing about.

“Richy, I had a bad feeling about something. Is everyone okay?” and Richy hears himself laugh at that, a horrible mixture of a broken laugh and a hiccup and a helpless wail, all mixed up to become a horrible wounded noise.

Over on your side of the phone, your heart picked up pace when you heard that choked laughter from Richy. It is horrible and it is scary and you would never want to hear it from anyone again, least of all not Richy. He is having a panic attack.

“Richy, are you okay?! Richy, listen to me. Breathe with me, sweetheart. Breathe in, breathe out,” deep inside you tried to stay calm because that is what he needs, but even you feel like being on the verge of tears listening to this man - who has cheered you up so much - break down in front of you.

After he seemed to have calmed down, you tried again.

“Richy, what’s wrong? Please talk to me. You deserve to not be alone in this Richy. I see you. I see you smiling to get everyone to smile. You listened to me and you lifted up my mood when Jessy was attacked, and when I received threats over Lilly’s video. Let me do the same to you, yeah? Tell me what’s wrong?”

And to Richy, who has clutched onto your voice like a lifeline, who wants to share everything with you, just burst like a dam. Everything that he has kept secret from his friends, the sadness behind his smile, everything that he has even kept from himself and just swept under the rug and pushed into a closet at the back of his mind. Everything burst right there in front of you, from his guilt to not being able to stop Hannah’s kidnapping and Jessy’s attack, to him feeling unworthy of being sad compared to others, to his fear when he saw the sign of the raven in his garage and now on his home, his fury at knowing one of his friends are doing this, to his fear for Jessy, his fear for you. 

He hated everything. He hated himself.

You told him that he is strong, that you admired him so much, but he needs to see that he deserves to be comforted just as much as he has comforted everyone else. 

In that snowstorm-clad night, the winds wept and wept, but beneath its howl, you can hear the intermittent wail of a broken man as Richy cried, and cried, and cried. 

As he lets out everything, the blank white fog of his mind begins to clear and gain color. It started from the reds of fury, to the blacks of fear and the blues of guilt, but then your voice came in, and slowly the pinks of comfort, the yellows of hope and the purples of peace began melting through. 

------------------------------------ 

[EPILOGUE]

Both you and Richy sat over the phone for over 3 hours just talking about nothing and everything after his outburst. 

He seems to have gained his color back, his cheerful self almost back as he cracked his lame stories about gangster seagulls eating his sandwich once in his travels. Richy feels like this time, his color - albeit still a little faded - is much more genuine than the blacks filtered from a rose-colored glass that he has shown before. Your laughter as you listen to his story and object to its credibility, slowly made those faded colors in his mind more vibrant.

“Thank you for listening to me, for um… taking care of me,” he begins a bit meekly after he finishes his story. He’s not so used to being listened to, not at this vulnerable a level and definitely he is not used to being taken care of.

“You did the same to me when Jessy was attacked. And you would have done the same for me again, I’m sure of it,” your voice sounded like a smile would, and God, would he give up everything to see that smile in person. He laughs to himself internally. How has this person made him so whipped for her in such a manner?

“I’m planning on going to Duskwood soon,” you had said out of the blue, bringing him back from his reverie.

“Absolutely not. In case you forgot my magnificent show of tears just now, the man without a face is threatening us to get to you. You coming here is the absolute worst thing to do,” Richy snorted, a mock indignant and wounded tone from him that made you chuckle.

“Well, how bad can it be? If we keep my arrival a secret from the rest of them, and spend the days, just you, me and Jessy, it wouldn’t hurt, would it? Someone needs to go there and give you a hug and take care of you,” you had replied back shortly, almost giving no thought to what you had said.

“Oh my, my lady, are you flirting with me?” Richy’s exaggerated gasp brought you back to reality, and his implication had your heart skipping beats.

“Well I mean… um…” you stuttered, and Richy swore your hesitance and stuttering made his heart soar just a little bit more in hope. But pursuing it is for another time.

“W-Well, someone needs to stop you from being such an eccedentesiast!” you had blurted out, extremely grateful that the distance makes it unable for him to see your bright red hot face.

His laughter after that sounds like the most genuine you have heard from him so far, and he might have said something along the lines of “nooo use small words, your idiot here doesn’t understand what that means,” but you couldn’t remember clearly. All you remembered was you thinking that you would give almost anything to protect that genuine tinkling laughter of his.

[igottiny]

Ateez reaction to finding your thirst blog. *18+*

They are playing around online while away for work when they stumble across your blog. They take it as a hint.

Seonghwa - He couldn’t believe he found your blog, or that you even had one in the first place. But there in your bio was a picture of you and the cat you shared complete with your name and the cat’s name. There was no mistaking that it was you and that you never got over his ab flashes during the Inception era even years later. You never acted like this at home. A smirk adorned his face when he got an idea.

Pulling out his phone he dialed your number for a video call. When you answered, he stared directly at the camera, his smirk still in place, and said, “Baby, you never needed to run an entire blog to see my abs when all you had to do was ask. I’ll be home tomorrow and you can touch and play to your little hearts desire.” 

Hongjoong - One of your friends had sent him the link cause they were getting tired of hearing, and reading, about how you loved how dominant his stage persona was and that you wanted be on the receiving end of that passion. He nearly choked on his drink while reading this in your own words. “He’s such a soft hearted leader but imagine what it would be like to be railed by him while he’s in his stage persona headspace. Yummy,” the most recent post read.

Once he was finally able to breath properly again he took a screen shot. If you wanted to play this game, he could play too. He was so gentle with the most precious person in his life but clearly his baby needed to learn a lesson. Sending the screenshot to you through text he also stated, “It looks like you need to be put in line baby. Be good for me and have yourself ready on our bed for when I get home tomorrow.”

Yunho - Finding your tumblr was never supposed to happen. He was just bored while waiting for the music show they were on to start filming their performance. However, reading that you really liked when he wore a suit cause it made him look more mature like a CEO, took him by surprise. Both of you always had so much fun acting like over grown kids that he didn’t think that you would go for such a serious business type. He was now worried over loosing you to someone more mature. That is until you found the post referring to how he could go from a cute hyper puppy to a badass boss in two seconds or less as the “ultimate duality.” He would just have to “barrow” one of the costume suits for this comeback home.

Walking through the door in his borrowed suit had you feeling some kind of way. “Be a good pet and fetch me that toy you like baby.” You scurried off to do as you were told so fast that it made him break character a giggle like a child. Good thing you didn’t see that part.

Yeosang - He knew you were on Tumblr a lot; you said your blog was doing well. He had plenty of time to kill while they repaired an issue with the set and he was going to find it. He was not ready for what he found. You loved his bad boy aesthetic whenever he wore leather and did the eye brow raise thing he does. Not only that but you wanted that lace blindfold to make a comeback so he could watch you work him with your hands and mouth through it as you found out how low is voice actually got. He had a hard time focusing on anything else the rest of the two days they were away filming. It’s not unusual for him to be one of the quieter members of the group, but your unabashed want had him literally speechless. He didn’t know he wanted the same thing till you pointed it out in your posts.

He returned home before you got off work later that week lace blindfold in hand. He found his tightest leather pants and the matching leather jacket. He needed this, now. You got home to find him leaning against the left wall of the hyeongwan leading into the living space; blindfold still in hand and a smirk darkening his already heated gaze. 

“A little birdie told me that you needed to be put to work on me,” he said pausing for a moment to take in your stunned expression. “Well jagi, what are you waiting for?”

San - He knew you liked his arms and hands with how you always wanted them wrapped around you while at home. However, this was a new level of like. Every possible close up that featured him in a sleeveless shirt and a band around his biceps as well as every close up of his hands —including the crotch grabs— was gif’ed and individually posted on your blog. Some even captioned as his ultimate talent as those hips don’t lie. It’s just a shame he was out of town for promotions for the next couple of days. So instead he sends you a snap chat of him flexing with the caption, “As soon as I get home I’ll lift you up in my arms and show you how talented my hands really are.”

Mingi - He personally didn’t find your blog. Wooyoung did and showed him cause he thought it was funny. All that focus on his hands and what it meant when a man had large hands as well as him being a tree you wanted to climb has Wooyoung teasing him while he blushed. Scrolling through and his blush depend. You really just wanted to have your way with him didn’t you? He pulled on the collar of the turtle neck sweater he had on; did they turn up the heat? There’s no way he is going to admit to Wooyoung that this worked for him a little too well.

When he got home he found you sitting on the bed typing away on your laptop.

“You working on that little thirst blog of yours baby?” You stared at him wide eyed with bated breath.

“Well then baby, why don’t you climb on up and find out just how large I actually am?”

Wooyoung - It is no secret that he loves to be praised. So when he came across your blog praising the ground he walked on and saying how you just wanted to worship every single inch of his body during a break in filming, he was thrilled. He needed to make this happen. He would have preferred it to be now but that wasn’t possible. The group was on location filming for their new music video.

Not long after he got home, he was leaning against your side on the couch, phone in hand, wanting to show you something. Bringing up your own blog he smirks stating, “If you want to talk about treating me like a king, I do hope you can walk the walk with that mouth of yours jagi.”

Jongho - Your blog showed up as a recommended blog when he searched his own tags on Tumblr. Your icon was you so there was no mistaking it. He turned red before he could even scroll down two times. The posted gifs of him smacking Seonghwa and Wooyoungs’ asses with the caption “I wish I could trade places with them and have him punish me like that too” sending a very distinct message. Then there was a gif of him punching open a watermelon with the caption “Considering the strength it takes to do this, I wonder if he’d be strong enough to hold me up against the wall as he railed me?” He hid his face in his hands. He couldn’t handle this. What killed him most of all was the picture of him in glasses and your caption calling him a professor who’s class you would gladly misbehave in.

If you wanted to be punished that bad then he didn’t really have much of a choice now did he? You were posting this stuff on a public blog and that just wouldn’t do. As soon as the group got back to Seoul from their filming location he made a beeline for home. He found you in the kitchen putting away groceries when he backed you up against the counter.

“What makes you think you can publish that kind of filth so publicly baby? I think you need to learn your lesson that this behavior will not be tolerated again. Now turn around.”

[ms-demeanor]

You know what’s funny is whenever I make a tech post I get people going “this is blatantly untrue” and I get people going “this is really good information and everyone needs to know it” and the dividing line is how much time you spend with people who are tech literate.

Yep, I would tell my computer savvy friends where they could get keycaps and fix their keyboards; I don’t even have to bother telling my computer savvy friends how to run a fifteen year old laptop because we’re all pretty good at it.

But GODDAMN I just read a response to my “cheap computer season” post that claimed that it was totally reasonable to run a macbook from 2010 and

Look.

That’s not a reasonable thing to tell a student who needs a functional computer to do research and write papers. (have fun trying to find installation discs from when the OS was still named after cats and have fun trying to get a browser to get along with that OS)

You know why most people bring me laptops with missing keys? Because the key got ripped off by their two-year-old and damaged the soldering in the keyboard and I have no idea it’s going to be “oh, yeah, that’s a ten dollar fix” or “sorry, that’s going to be an hour and a half to disassemble and reassemble and we’ll have to order you a new keyboard specific to that model out of new old stock” and the thing is the second one is much, much, much more common in my experience than the first.

Do I think you need to replace a laptop when the bezel is cracked? No. I also don’t carry my laptop powered on in the bag with a flashdrive sticking out of the USB port. Customers do weird things that I don’t understand and when a customer tells me they want me to fix the bezel they think it’s a twenty-dollar snap-on repair because they have no idea how this works and then they get mad at me when I explain “no, you’ve gotta have this specific piece of plastic, these haven’t been made in five years, and you might be better off buying a used model online than trying to track down a new bezel.”

So here’s the thing: Can Macs get viruses?

There are three answers here.

“No, of course not, Macs are made to be virus-proof”

“Macs need antivirus protection because, while it is less common than infections for PCs, there are types of malware that can infect macs and it’s worthwhile to guard against that”

“tEcHnIcAlLy a virus has to be self-replicating and IOS’s file management system [or some other bullshit] prevents that so TECHNICALLY Macs can’t get viruses and what you need is anti-malware software if you need anything because you’re fairly likely to have security through obscurity”

I’m aware of the third position and voicing the second position to people who believe the first position.

YES TECHNICALLY YOU CAN KEEP A COMPUTER RUNNING INDEFINITELY AND YES IT’S TOTALLY POSSIBLE YOUR LAPTOP WILL LAST TEN YEARS.

“Well if you treat it right and run it well it’ll be in great shape for a long time”

YES THAT IS CORRECT DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE WHO DON’T WORK ON THEIR OWN CARS DRIVE AROUND WITH THE OIL CHANGE LIGHT ON FOR MONTHS?!?

Tons of people in the world today use computers. They use computers every day, they use computers at home and at school and at work.

Tons of people drive every day. They use cars for fun and for commuting and for their jobs.

That doesn’t mean that all (or even most, or even half) of the people using these things is any good at keeping them running, or even has the barest idea of how to start tracking down a problem.

Someone in the notes of that post described a green line on their screen and thought that was a symptom of hard drive problems. I don’t have the hours in the day to catch this person up to speed on why a display issue on a laptop isn’t indicative of hard drive issues.

Do you know how much people think it’s going to cost to get data off of a broken drive? Not “won’t power up” not “won’t spin” but “I dropped this and part fell off and now it won’t power up or spin and also the platter is chipped”? I’m going to have to send that shit to a clean room and the customer is *staggered* that it might cost more than a hundred dollars to get their data. “Outrageous, what kind of blackmail operation are you trying to run here, just plug it in and get my pictures.”

A year or so ago I was at Jiffy Lube (ew). I’d been shooting the shit with the mechanic when a parent and child rolled in in a panic. And they should have been panicking! They’d thrown a fucking rod because they’d been driving with no oil in the car for god knows how long because neither of them had had the oil changed in the two years they’d owned the vehicle.

*I* can keep a 30-year-old car running. I can put a belt back on an engine in a dark parking lot with a wrench and a headlamp. I can drop a gas tank and replace my fuel filter and thumb my nose at the mechanics who tried to upsell me on “replacing your old, worn-out air filter” the day after I’d popped a new one into my truck.

These folks couldn’t keep a new car running with three alarms telling them what was wrong.

*I* can power up my 2005 macbook running Leopard and use garage band to record a song or do some design work on my copy of Adobe CS3; I can kludge its FF3.5 browser into playing nice with the internet and accept that it’s going to be a slow piece of shit.

The lady who called me confused by the fact that the password to her email was different than the login information for her grocery store rewards account will not be able to function if she gets a pop-up that says she’s using an outdated browser and will think it’s a virus if her bank won’t let her log in on that browser.

And you know what, I’m kind of sick of this attitude.

I would *fucking adore it* if computers were actually easy to repair; I’d love it if you could run new OSs on old hardware (especially on macs because I think apple are kind of shitheads about planned obsolescence).

But you know what, no, most people *CAN’T* reasonably expect to use a ten-year-old computer and have pleasant experience of it. It’s going to run slow. It’s going to shut down when they don’t want it to. The battery is going to swell slightly with the heat and your touchpad is going to go nuts. Your USB ports will stop working. Standard wear and tear that most people don’t know how to protect against and don’t know how to repair is going to make it harder to use AND software requirements will outstrip the hardware capabilities of the computer.

If your old computer sucks it’s not your fault. If you can’t happily use a 10-year-old laptop to do your homework that’s okay, it wasn’t designed for you to use it that way and YOU SHOULDN’T FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT.

Because that’s kind of what a lot of these “well anybody should realistically be able to run a laptop from 2010″ responses comes down to: if you need new hardware you’re just not doing it right. If you have to replace your computer you didn’t make good choices when you bought it. If your battery dies it’s because you didn’t take care of it.

No. No. No. No.

This shit is A) designed to fail and B) actually really hard to keep running (hey how many blown capacitors do you think someone has to have on their motherboard before you say it’s not their fault for wanting to replace the laptop)

ALSO SOMEONE IN THE RESPONSES OF THAT POST LITERALLY SAID THAT IF YOUR BATTERY DIED AT THREE YEARS IT WAS BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T DOING THE DRAIN CHARGE CYCLE RIGHT AND FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. It’s discharge cycles and heat, motherfucker; they are going to fail at some point and people shouldn’t feel bad if their batteries stop working after a couple years.

UGH.

You shouldn’t have to be a mechanic. You shouldn’t have to be a computer technician. Yeah, your shit will last longer if you know how to take care of it but, fuck. Imagine you were still using internet speeds from 2010. Imagine all your devices still had USB 2.0. Imagine you couldn’t log onto your online bank because your hardware won’t run he software that your bank recognizes because the hardware manufacturer decided it won’t support the older hardware.

What I was trying to get across in that initial post was “computers fail, and they fail pretty frequently; your life will be better and you will save money if you plan on replacing them at a regular interval and have reasonable expectations in terms of cost and failure. So buy a cheap computer now because you’re probably going to need one at some point”

And now I’ve got to Do A Yell about how there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism and it’s unreasonable to expect tired, overworked, broke people to become experts in computer repair in order to do their homework or play the goose game.

FUCK THAT.

IT’S CHEAP COMPUTER SEASON MOTHERFUCKERS. LAPTOP FAILURE RATES INCREASE AT THREE TO FIVE YEARS AND DESKTOP FAILURE RATES INCREASE AT FIVE TO SEVEN YEARS. RIGHT NOW THERE ARE DISCOUNTS ON NEW COMPUTERS AND IT’S CHEAP TO GET AN EXTENDED WARRANTY.

LIVE LONG AND PROSPER AND WORK ON COMPUTERS IF YOU WANNA AND PLAN TO REPLACE REGULARLY IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WORK ON COMPUTERS.

ALSO CHANGE YOUR FUCKING OIL YOU’RE PROBABLY DUE.

[alexiessan]

Never alone - Chapter Two - Soulmate AU

AO3

Previous - Here - Next

Master List

Hello! Faster than ever before, I present you the second chapter of Never Alone!

I chose to not describe Marinette with her clothes or hairstyle so that you can imagine her as you want! In my mind, since she's a fashion designer, I imagine her always changing her clothes and very fashionable. I don't see her with her pigtails either. But it's up to you as to how you see her!

Also, I'm French, so if there are any grammatical mistakes, do not hesitate to tell me so I can come back and correct them!

Two months in the new school year, and Marinette was already exhausted. While she had a very calm summer filled with outings with her friends, she was now drowning in work. Jagged wanted her to design his newest album cover, and Clara Nightingale has asked for a new outfit for a music video.

 At school, Alya and Marinette were doing their best to find a good trip for the end of the year. The school had a decent amount of money that was set aside specifically for their class trip, but they would need to organize an event or two if they wanted to go somewhere outside of Europe. They were lucky enough that their class’ trip was set for their first year of high school: Mrs. Mendelieiv’s class’ trip was set for the next year, right before the first set of exams for the baccalaureat. 

 Along with all that, there was also her duty as Ladybug. Hawkmoth has been relatively calm during the summer, but as soon as school started again in September, he released his akumas again.

 Except, now, they were more brutal than ever before.

 Ladybug cursed as the Akuma managed to deeply cut her on her left side. She watched as Chat jumped in as she collapsed on the roof they were battling. True to his promise, Chat took his job more seriously and only joked during patrols now. He also stopped to jump mindlessly in front of her to save her from a hit and actually tried to get both of them out of the way.

 The Akuma they were fighting was a dangerous one. His arm has been transformed into two big shears, and they hurt like hell.

 Ladybug watched with fascination as her hand was tainted with her own blood. She couldn’t remember if an Akuma had hurt her that much before… She knew for sure that she was bleeding too heavily and she was getting a bit dizzy. They would need to end the fight very soon.

 Standing up, she took advantage of the distraction Chat provided to trip the Akuma with her yoyo, succeeding in tripping him. Quickly, Chat snatched the man’s bow and used cataclysm on it.

 As she cleansed the Akuma and watched the light heal Paris and herself as she cast the cure, the red-clothed superhero couldn’t help but think it was time to contact the Justice League again.

 Back when they got their miraculous, she and Chat had contacted the Justice League of Europe to ask for help. They were just teenagers without any training entrusted to protect a whole city as big as Paris, and it was clear to them they couldn’t possibly do that alone.

 The person they had talked to at the moment had listened to them, took note and told them they would come back to them after informing the heroes of the issue in Paris. It was a month later that one of the heroes contacted them, informing them they would not intervene in Paris, as they have been doing a good job up until now and the miraculous cure healed everyone and repaired everything. They then give them words of encouragement before they cut the connection.

 Ladybug had then wanted to contact the Justice League of America before remembering they wouldn’t be able to do anything as France was certainly not under their jurisdiction. 

 And thus, there they were, still two untrained teenagers, acting on instinct against people with magic powers.

 Great.

 She let Chat take care of the victim, still feeling the pain on her left side, even though it was healed and there was not a trace of blood left on her person.

 “Are you ok?”

 Ladybug watched as the victim was taken care of by some policemen and turned her attention to her partner.

 “I’m fine Chat. Sorry I had to let you handle everything.”

 “Hey, you were hurt and losing a lot of blood. It’s a wonder you could even stand up afterward.”

 The girl smiled. “Should we try to contact the JLE again?”

 Chat Noir sighed. “Even though they won’t intervene, they are watching closely what’s happening here. If they haven’t decided to step in yet, contacting them won’t change anything LB.”

 Ladybug sighed. “You’re right. Of course. I should go Chat, I’m about to transform back.”

 “Sure thing. I’ll see you later, then.”

                                                                                               Back in her room, Marinette winced as she sat down on her bed.

 “Are you really ok Marinette?”

 Tikki was looking at her with her big, wide blue eyes. She was obviously worried.

 “I’m fine, just a bit sore. I’m lucky that the cure healed me, but I think I’ll still feel the pain for a few days.”

 While the cure healed her, the pain stayed for some time after, varying on the severity of the injury. Since her latest injure was pretty severe, it would hurt for a little while.

 “Alright, I still have some homework to do for tomorrow. You should eat something and go to sleep Tikki, you must be tired after today. There should be a cookie or two on my desk.”

 The kwami looked at her for a moment before flying over her desk, knowing it was useless to insist and there wasn’t anything she could do anyway. Even if she wished she could take Marinette’s pain away.  

                      “Alright girl, you said you found something for the trip?”

 It was early December now, and Marinette had asked Alya to join her in the school library to discuss the trip. The fashion designer took the laptop out of her bag and opened it to show her what she found.

 “So, you know how the trip also has to be educational? This is the Wayne Career Program. It’s designed for high school students. Each one of us would shadow someone in the firm as a sort of internship to learn about different professions.”

 “Putain, girl! That’s amazing. Wayne Enterprises have a lot of different sectors. I could totally work with the PR team if we can manage to secure a trip there. Plus it’s in Gotham, in America!”

 Alya literally squealed at the idea of traveling overseas.

 “Yeah, I’m a bit worried about that actually. You know it’s not really the safest place on Earth.”

 And what an understatement that was. Gotham was probably the city with the most crimes in the world. It would be a miracle if the school allowed them to go. But then again, the school board would do anything to up their reputation and a class winning an internship at WE… The principal would boast about it years after they had all graduated.

 “There is an essay we have to write to apply. I suggest we write it before we present the idea to Ms. Bustier. We also need to prepare arguments for her and the school board.”

 “No problem girl, I already have tons of arguments there.” The reporter showed her her notebook where there were two pages filled with arguments. The class president nodded, those were really good. She could really rely on her friend.

 “Well, that was quick. Those should be enough to convince them. On to the essay, then. ‘How do you think you can change the world?’”

 They spent hours after that, taking notes and making several drafts of the essay. It took them a week to have the actual final product and when they handed it to Ms. Bustier, she was delighted. It was decided they wouldn’t announce the destination of the trip to the class until they were sure it could be a possibility.

 Alya and Marinette had dropped hints about the destination though, to see if the class would actually like to go to Gotham.

 After a week or so, they knew they had chosen well.

 On Marinette’s birthday, on the 16th of December, after lunch where the whole class sang Happy birthday to her, the class president and the class deputy had a meeting with the principal and the board of the school.

 It was tough to convince them, and the meeting actually lasted the whole afternoon, but at the end of the day, they had all signed the papers that confirmed that the trip would happen in Gotham, should the two girls won the contest. They even agreed to unfreeze some more funds for it. This program would really look good on the school’s record. 

 It was with a bright smile that they returned to class ten minutes before the end of the day bell and announced to everyone that the trip to Gotham has been confirmed. Using the classroom’s computer, the whole class witness as the two girls applied to the Wayne Career Program.

 Now, all they had to do was wait for an answer. 

                                                                                 Life after that was a bit calmer for Marinette, if you didn’t count the Akumas. She worried that they were more and more violent, and more often than not, she had lingering pain from injuries she got at Ladybug.

 But life was good. Lila had even stopped lying and was herself. Even if it means that she wasn’t very kind to anyone, even mocking all of them at times, the class would just scoff and roll their eyes at her antics. The designer still wouldn’t talk to her, but the atmosphere in the class was lighter than the previous year, and for that Marinette was grateful.

 They were all at an outdoor ice rink at the end of January when Marinette’s phone beeped with a notification. 

 “Oh fucking shit, guys!”

 It caught everyone’s attention as the tiny Dupain-Cheng was not one to curse like that.

 “I just got an email for Mr. Wayne’s secretary! Our class is among the nine others to have won the contest! We are going to Gotham in May!”

 Everyone cheered at that, hugging each other and even going as far as carrying Marinette and Alya around, as it was their doing.

 “America, here we come!” shouted Kim.

 “You do realize that you will have to work extra hard on your English, right?” teased Max.

 “Oh, shit.”

 Everyone laughed at that, but it was agreed among themselves and their English teacher that they would all stay for an hour and a half after school to learn the language, up until their trip.

 “I can’t wait to see Gotham’s heroes in action!” squealed Alya.

 “Aren’t they vigilantes?” asked Mylène.

 “Same thing!”

 “Not quite, babe.” grinned Nino.

 Even Lila was smiling with them, and it was huge progress in their book.

 Marinette smiled, “We’ll be there for two weeks. The first week, we’ll be visiting around, and the second week will be dedicated to our internships. I will have to send a list of all our careers of interest to Mr. Wayne’s secretary, so they can organize who we will be shadowing. So, I’ll need you to send me those pieces of information this weekend, so I can send it on Monday, okay?”

 “Roger that, boss.”

 As Alya took her hand to skate with her around the rink, the baker’s daughter couldn’t help the huge smile on her lips. A year ago, there was a lot of tension in the class, and here they were, all laughing together and talking excitedly about the upcoming trip that their class president and deputy won them.

 She could hear Rose talking excitedly about the things she wanted to see in Gotham. She watched as Kim challenged Alix on God knows what and laughed as Max stated that he had a two-percent chance of winning that bet. She smiled as Adrien, with them at an outing for once, fell on his butt and Nino laughed as he helped him up. She even grinned as she watched Lila having a conversation with Nathaniel without being mean or mocking him once.

 She had thought a year before that Lila would never change, but she was wrong. And she was happy that she had been, because even though Lila wasn’t very nice, well, all her classmates were kind enough to make up for it.

 Yeah, Marinette thought with a smile, life was good. And she had a feeling that it would be even better.

Tag list: 

@bigpicklebananatree @animegirlweeb @crazylittlemunchkin @northernbluetongue @cutechip @justafanwarrior @iloontjeboontje @resignedcatservant

[withteeths]

Maybe Steamrolling Games is Bad Actually

Videogames are unique in that they are inextricably tied to corporatism and have been since birth (this is an oversimplification but roll with it). This means that to an extent most companies even since the ’80s have never really cared about proper preservation or easy access to their titles. Nintendo carts were originally manufactured to have their battery die in 3 years so you would have to buy a new one (this failed, but it’s why you still see a lot of dead carts floating around). I think there's a nostalgia issue within the gaming fandom regarding "oh x was great back then" but a lot of the time, games manufacturers have been historically shitty and anti-consumer and it’s just that they now have the tools to execute it much more effectively. Regarding obtrusive DRM, that’s an issue PC games have had since their zenith, where if you lost your original copy of a manual or a small plastic key you could never play a game again because the codes were individualized for each copy and support would refuse to give you a new one. Even back in the arcades, there were particularly batshit examples like the CPS board, which I shit you not was built to explode a battery pack filled with corrosive acid if it detected you were attempting to repair or modify it. There’s a lot to say about the current state of games but what I would likely illustrate is that 2/3 major consoles are racing to decide who will be obsolete first. Games consoles are reaching a point where they are trying to emulate PCs with more restrictions and DRM. We're already seeing interest in steam spike again and it’s likely that eventually, we will see almost a crash for consoles where no one can justify the price for games they can play on a PC rig. The only solution I see there would be a merger between the two consoles which feels inevitable. 

That being said as interest in the PC space increases again so does attempts at entering the bubble. We have Epic, Origin, Microsoft, Indiegala, Itchio, and Steam all vying for attention, requiring accounts, and offering exclusives to justify the use of their storefront over others. Some people think this is a good thing because it's breaking up Steam's monopoly but it literally is not, if you ever really wanna hear me rant ask me about Leftist obsession with itch being some sort of ethical steam, which it is provably not. In the end, the real sort of saviour figures that work to preserve games are random ass people on the internet. I know people who automatically assume that at the end of the day, companies care about games preservation too, and they usually have a three-pronged argument that cites a) Steam’s ability to allow the redownloading of delisted games, b) retro companies periodically rereleasing titles for modern consoles in compilations, and c) companies doing limited reruns of a game that fans request. All three of these examples are basically an incredibly effective use of diversionary tactics, but most of the time when someone cites these I just assume it’s a misunderstanding and not outright malicious intent because a lot of the time companies will attempt to actively implant these ideas to build brand loyalty.

My main dissertation is usually that Steam is incredibly selective with what titles you can redownload, and most importantly, corporate benevolence is more-so a band-aid on a gaping wound! There’s no contingency for when Steam might migrate to a new service, go belly up, or become obsolete when a new OS is created. That means thousands, tens of thousands of dollars worth of games are just gone, permanently, along with fan mods, DLC, and content. It’s a terrifying thought that not many people bring up when discussing the problems with game storefronts that focus so much on providing a cloud and have DRM attached to every purchase. In a way, Steam preceded the trend of not allowing consumers to actually own the things they purchased, and they’ve avoided criticism by strategic use of silence and creating the illusion of a company being made by the consumers they’re attempting to serve. At the end of the day, Steam is a business, and if you ever lose access to your Steam account, or they decide to up and leave one day, you will not be able to play almost all of those games, even if you have them installed on a hard drive, because if you’re online, they connect with a server to ensure your steam account has the ability to play them. When it comes to other arguments like the limited rereleases or use of compilations to preserve arcade titles, I usually just beg people to look at community-driven options that have existed for years. The Scott Pilgrim game is a big source of contention, but I would point out that for years now, it was playable, for free, with all the DLC, on PCs. Preservationists didn’t wait for the gods of Universal and O’Malley to rerelease it for 30 bucks or save up to snatch the fucking ridiculous 200$ limited edition with shitty paper cut-outs, they straight up just did the work to make the game free and available. RCPS3 has (with a contemporary build) been able to run the game pretty flawlessly for years now, in fact, it was how I played through a majority of the game in high school on my shitty brick of a laptop. If you look further out than this one example then it gets even better, MAME and other emulation backends have been able to play obscure, unfinished, and homebrew titles with 100% accuracy, on almost any setup, for free, for decades! I found out about many of these options back in 2015 or so, certainly late to the curve, but I never really questioned as to why emulation, games preservation, and some key titles being available on PC remained some sort of arcane, unknown knowledge to most people interested in games. In the end, the answer was a highly effective propaganda campaign that combined with strategic use of DMCA takedowns has resulted in the concept of communal games-preservation and emulation becoming some sort of debate, where people will wholeheartedly side with corporations in some sort of quest for preserving things the “ethical and correct way,” which is code for preservation on the condition that it remains profitable for the IP owners.

 I think the best way to illustrate this would be with the community built around the preservation of an infamous PS4 title, PT. The story of its inevitable delisting from the storefront and the messy breakup between Kojima and Konami is well known, so I won’t regurgitate it, look it up at your own leisure. What is significant here is corporate reactions to attempts at preserving the game, which can basically be boiled down to Konami acting with borderline rabid fervour to prevent redownload, redistribution, or recreation of a seven-year-old demo, released for free download. Mentions of solutions to redownload the game have been taken down, fan-made recreations for PC, and archival servers that store a copy of the game for future preservation or emulation. Usually when this is brought up a debate occurs citing that technically speaking, Konami has a right to do this whenever they want, for whatever piece of media they believe infringes on their copyright. On one hand, yes this argument is factually correct considering the current state of copyright and ownership of media, but on the other hand, what compels someone to step into the ring for a multi-million dollar company with the primary argument being “well actually, people SHOULDN’T be able to play this specific video game until it benefits the shareholders”? In my opinion, it’s some sort of corporatized symbiosis where players believe that, if you cull the bad actors and play by the rules of the company, you may be able to eventually play the game a couple of years down the line. Sure, this has happened in the past with a few isolated cases, but it can’t be stressed enough that this is a genuinely dangerous and reductive position for people to take regarding games preservation.

 I have two colleagues, Mariken and Fotocopiadora, who released a short interactive title called Videopulp (playable here: https://fotocopiadora.itch.io/videopulp). It’s a dramatic reimagining of a real historical event, wherein a promotional event was held in 1994 at Lelystad to destroy bootleg carts by a figure in a Mario costume. This perhaps best encapsulates something I am pleading with younger generations to understand, as an archivist, art historian, and creator: corporations are not your friends, and they never will be. With the rise of online circles of leftism, this concept is starting to gain traction but is starting to be polluted with concepts of fandom and tribalism. This has lead to arguments that while *most* corporations are bad how could you say that about Nintendo? Or Valve? Mario is so innocent and characters like Wheatley are beloved by all! I feel some people don’t realize that they can enjoy a select title or character without enlisting in a corporate faction in the battle for “best company” or “best videogame”. It leads to a parasocial kinship with a nonexistent figure that was hand-crafted to ensure consumer loyalty to a certain brand. It’s depressing, terrifying, and should stand as a disquieting example of how the grip of capitalism on works of art has permanently distorted how we think and engage with media today. So, what’s the solution? As always I can never really provide something concrete that’ll act as a cure-all, only things that people in games need to work towards. Bring up conversations about games preservation, create archives for your own work, support archivists and boost their work whenever a new discovery is created, and try to promote optimism and solidarity in your hobbyist communities. I’ve noticed a lot of futility being intertwined with the future of AAA gaming, use of online storefronts, and the inability to own pieces of media anymore, and I feel this should be pushed back against, even in a minute way. Open-source programmes still exist that allow you to hold on to what you have purchased, offline and ad-free options exist for games launchers, e-readers, and media players. The future isn’t bright, but it is not a place without hope, and as long as people continue to enter communities with passion and ingenuity, I think we have a chance at stopping the events at Lelystad, 1994 from happening again. 

[gooferdusted]

hypothetically, if I were to write a fix-it/rewrite au fic, (thinking of starting at s5 but debating starting earlier) what are some storylines you’d take out/change, characters you’d save/kill, and specifically changes to sam’s character/arcs you’d like bc i need ideas

ok. ok. I'm gonna try to not go completely off the fucking rails while I write this up but I gotchu (also these r all just my own hot n spicy takes so like. pick what u like, it's all goodie goodie)

• no time passing differently in hell. literally four months is ~Enough!~ a year is enougghh!!!!!! like I get that they wanted to make hell this horrible unreachable thing but u can still like... get that across without having it be this unfathomable chunk of time out of a persons life. like sam was down there with TWO very pissed off angel's for 180 years??? how can he still speak english??? how does dean remember ANYTHING about his old life when mentally more than half of it was spent being endlessly tortured until he finally cracked??? its just.... Too Much...

• ON that note, I feel like later on they never rlly had sam and dean bond over the fact that like... they are genuinely the ONLY two people on earth who have survived actual hell. I mean we got that one off line from dean at some point but??

• no chuck as god. just a greasy greasy rat man getting insane stories projected into his brain. and on the topic of that.... I dont like the reflection of the real life fanbase in the spn universe??? they're pulp fiction novels, it should be all like 50 year old + ladies who picked them up at the local bargain bin, not b*cky r*sen

• I like... WANNA say smth abt s4..... bc I think the way that they handled things were a little out of character BUT I also think that was lind of the point??? like the angels and demons were manipulating them to say/do things they would normally never say/do to eachother to drive a big enough wedge between then that they would eventually say yes to being the vessels. like it hurts to watch sooo much but it did drive the plot forward in a very particular way that probably couldnt have happened otherwise. that being said, when the levee breaks makes me sad, and I dont want to see sam crying for his dead mother alone in a basement! cest la vie.

• sam and dean.... are Friends...,, why did we all forget that..... watch hell house and maybe I'll calm down.....

• PSYCHIC SAM!!!!!! you all know me. you know how I feel about psychic sam... robbed. s4 finale rlly had sam like "drinking that much demon blood has truly changed me forever..... theres no going back now...... 😔😔" like ok. ok. where are your superpowers. where are they.

• I wish some of the other special children had made it out :(( I really liked andy and ava (also sam finding other friend who are like him??? queer allegory??? spare queer allegory?????)

• I also dont think the roadhouse shouldve burned down!!! that shouldve been a Staple Location like Bobby's house. same w Missouri's, literally why did we only visit her once.

• ur sending an ask to my blog so I assume this is just a given for u but!!! we're takin away the misogyny. we're takin away the fetishization! anything that would be given the greenlight by joss whedon we are putting straight in the trash. <3

• this is mostly a thing in later seasons like. idk 9-15, but no ppl knowing who the winchesters are. they are NOBODIES. they pop up like little meerkats and fuck everything up beyond repair.

• also no fancy tech. no iphone 76z or whatever the fuck. sam has an ipod 1. the wheel is so stuck he can barely press play anymore. remember when he literally just tore off the top casing off his laptop and threw it away? more of that.

• no nice clothes. NO nice clothes we fuckin hate that. everything sam and dean own was purchased pre 1995 and dean is an expert at removing blood stains and sewing up jackets. dean will walk into a laundromat with a tide pen and just start goin for it like that scene in deadpool.

• tbh.... I feel like the issues in later seasons are really this massive horrible domino effect. like I could say heres how to fix s7-10 but the fact is if shit hadnt gone down lile it had in s7 s10 would be a different story entirely.

• I am gonna do it tho bc I suck <3

• s6: soulless sam was funney but did that really go anywhere? no. tbh I dont remember what happened w cas and I'm just not going to look it up. it's just not in the cards for tonight. dean w lisa.... ehh.... I've discussed this at wayy too much length w mushroom and we both agreed that dean would probably keep hunting to keep his mind off things and to try and honor sams sacrifice. I guess theres an argument to be made for the fact that it kind of was Sam's dying wish that dean just go fin her and live a normal life but... idk. purgatory was. . indeed a Concept..... that could have maybe gone somewhere if it didnt rapidly spiral into....

• s7!!! I mean. jesus christ. I know some people like this one but jesus christ. the way they literally couldnt commit to having sam have genuine mental health problems after centuries in hell or to just magically wipe them away..... bobby dying halfway thru.... charlie was a bright spot I suppose, but her intro is not my fave episode w her.... idk what the fuck happened w cas, I guess he was god. the leviathan designs were kinda neat but like oh my fucking god it wasnt worth it.

• s8: uh. rough start. idk why the turn tables so suddenly and dean's like "why didnt u look for me >:((" bc??? yall agreed not to???? at the VERY least they couldve had sam been like "I legitimately had no reason to think u werent dead and in heaven and tha wouldve been a little rude of me to pull u out of that." but we went for ~drama~ to make it spicy I guess. ouygh. bunkers there!!! that was cool!!! MoL is a cool concept!!! altho... it doesn kinda contradict the whole sam and dean are nobodies thing... idk. trials of hell was like... cool in theory but bad in practice unless they were planning on ending the show for realskies. and they did not.

• s9: uhh... hated gadreel! hated that shit! wish they had spun that whole storyline to be more "hey sam I noticed u were s*icidal should we maybe address that??" or even like.... I mean dean probably couldve just TOLD sam abt his plan, he had already convinced him to stay alive by that point??? there was no reason to lie!!! plus the betrayal of gadreel not being who he said he was wouldve been like. literally enough drama, we didnt need to fracture the team again. and cas was??? where exactly??? be was human for at least half of that season but hey didnt know what to do w him so they chucked him in a convenience store??? good lord.

• s10: got no suggestions for that one, just toss it

• s11: ok... shes cute.... we can forgive her.... the lore is shaky at best but the episodes SLAP and the characterization is *chefs kiss*. it's been a hot minute since I've seen it so if smth sucked I dont remember and I plan to keep it that way!!!!

• s12: n.. no. no mary. no mary unless we're doing it right. and I promise u doing it right was not poorly ripping off kingsman. couldve brought back bobby!!! if they desperately wanted some drama couldve brought back john!!! actually fuck that, no way

• s13-15: no thoughts, only jack kline <3

[trexdrabbles]

hey!! i saw that you have requests open and i also saw on your chart of pairings that you like crypto/loba, which is like... Good lord it is so hard to find another cryptloba liker anywhere. but they literally own my whole brain. if you wanted, do you think you could write something involving the two of them?

Lord they really are such a good and underrated pairing! I'll absolutely add them to my list of upcoming fic ideas!

For now though...

More than anything, Tae Joon hated disruptions. Be it within the games or in his own personal matters, he would always prefer being acutely focused, and in the games it served him well (though it was often to a point of working late into the night if it was his laptop he was so focused on). Recently though, things had been... well, changing.

Brows furrowed slightly as he poured over the files he was currently scrolling through, looking for some particular little exploitable detail in a lengthy inheritance statement. The games provided enough, sure, as far as accommodations and food went, but his tech was expensive to upkeep - he couldn't count how many times he'd had to repair Hack in the last season alone - and so a little extra income was required. Not to mention it would be good to have a few extra credits in his pockets should the Syndicate grow wise to who they were harboring and he needed to pick up and run.

Vindictive rich people happened to be a very good source of extra income. Also quite the source of additional stress, though really that was his own fault. He'd taken on a few back to back jobs as of late, the requirements too easy and the reward too lucrative to ignore, and, well, maybe between that and the games and looking into that whole ordeal with Mila he hadn't been getting much sleep the past few days. Really, that wasn't terribly new, but it was certainly showing more prominently than usual, and it seemed that a few languid, repeated blinks followed by a slight shake of his head in an attempt to keep his eyes open was the tipping point for said weariness' appearance.

"You're tired." Came the accusation.

"I'm not." He defended.

The slight scoff that followed told him it had sounded as weak to her as it had to him, and soon enough there was a well manicured hand reaching around him to shut his laptop, him just barely catching the lid before it shut all the way. Loba sighed. "Enough for the night, handsome."

"I'm nearly done."

"Fantastic. Then it'll take you no time at all to finish in the morning."

She was just as stubborn as he was, if not moreso; always knowing what she wanted and just how to get it. Honestly, by now he had just resigned to knowing he wouldn't ever win against her, especially not like this. And so he let the laptop shut, earning a satisfied little hum from the she-wolf. "Good boy." Far be it from her would it be to go ten minutes without some manner of teasing, but it didn't last. "Now, let's go." That same hand hooked around his bicep, gently urging him out of his chair and tugging him along to the bed.

When he was coaxed down onto it, that tiredness sunk bone-deep; hit him fully until he was bleary eyed looking up at her. He could still make out that smile of hers though; not that wolfish grin of hers she wore for the cameras and whatnot, but a genuine little smile, soft and sweet and just for him as she too clambered into bed. Despite his (very weak) earlier protests though, it took no time at all for him to practically adhere to her. The closeness and the hand that rose to card through his hair just the way he liked had him out in seconds, the last thing he registered being the feeling of her soft lips pressed to his temple.

Maybe the occasional disruption wasn't quite so terrible.

[in-tua-deep]

The mechanical boy AU always makes me think of an AU where Five is also a robot. I think it’s because of the way it’s phrased and I have no idea how it would work, but it still intrigues me

adssfDFGHJ i already have like. 5 whole ideas about this I literally got up out of bed and came downstairs so that I could write this out on my laptop so HERE I AM

Possibility one: Five is the prototype Grace - a robot Reginald built to see how indistinguishable from humanity he could program a bot to be. This is also the reason why Grace is more robotic, because Five had too much pesky free will and Reginald learned from his mistakes and put way more safeguards in with her. Reginald continues to update Five and build him newer (and older) bodies because it’s still a pretty cool experiment, but Five knows if he disobeys too much then Reginald will recycle him. Five hides his robotic origins from his siblings for various personal reasons, but it’s easier than Grace bc he’s genuinely built to be as hyperrealistic as possible

Possibility two: Five was purposefully built to be an extra sibling in order to keep a closer eye on the kids and track their progress. He started as a baby and Reginald built him new bodies to be uploaded into as he ‘grew’ and until Grace arrived Five didn’t actually know he was a robot. When his siblings started getting powers, he assumed he was supposed to get a power as well and his power is literally the power of math - his spatial jumps and time travel equations are literally a result of his mathematical capabilities and those abilities also somewhat explained by his computer brain. He’s actually kind of traumatized when he finally finds out that he’s not actually human and has a lot of issues surrounding that

Possibility three: the original number Five died. Maybe it was some test Reginald put the original through, maybe it was an accident with one of the others powers (Vanya’s? Ben’s?), but either way he is now down one (1) child and while he isn’t exactly torn up about this he doesn’t exactly want any of this investigated so he just. Replaces him. With a hyperrealistic robot. His original plan is to claim that both Five and Seven were failures with no powers, but the little Robot Five That Could adapts and manages to math himself spatial jumping powers and Reggie is just kind of like “huh okay wack” but in true irresponsible creator fashion decides that he’s going to see where this goes. The others don’t know that the original Five dies since they were like, three or four at the time?? children that young don’t have good concepts of death

in any of these aus you have a) a Five figuring out how to survive/repair himself/charge with maybe solar cables?? in the apocalypse (though food is less of an issue at least, but arguably it’s even harder), b) Five being even more protective of Dolores since as a a fellow non-organic being he feels even more kinship with her beyond pretending she’s company, c) because Reggie isn’t there to provide more bodies he doesn’t grow which makes his reappearance as a still 13-yr-old make sense (and then he explains it as a mistake in the math)

debatable whether the Commission know since while they say they’ve been ‘watching Five’ or whatever i’m not convinced on how closely they did so beyond checking every so often to see if he was still alive/any closer to finishing his equations. He could claim that time travel messed up his ability to age entirely and they might accept that 

(because I absolutely think he would at least try to hide it - can you imagine the Commission with the knowledge of how to build hypercompetent spatial jumping time travelling robots at their command?? yeah it gives Five nightmares as well. Plus the whole ‘if they find out they’re probably going to vivisect me and my coding’ thing)

and he jumps back and Reggie is dead and that’s both a relief and alarming at the same time because yeah, now Reggie can’t fuck with Five’s code anymore and undo the bajillion changes Five has made to it to give himself basically unlimited freedom and autonomy but also Reggie’s robotics skills were frankly unparalleled and Five sure as hell doesn’t know how to build himself a wholeass new body (just how to repair what is currently there) so he’s going to have to approach the whole ‘immortal child’ angle with his siblings eventually and while he can use the same ‘time travel fucked up my aging’ excuse he gave the commission he doesn’t really want to lie to his siblings :(

but he also jumps back and Grace is messed up?? and that’s his mother. That’s the only other robot in Reggie’s Regime and they bonded over this okay. Wifi existed for five glorious years of Five’s life and they would yeet commentary at one another wirelessly while keeping straight faces and it was glorious. Even though Grace is arguably the younger robot between them, they definitely fell into a mother-and-son relationship

so yeah if anyone mentioned shutting down Grace, Five would throw the biggest of bitch fits and then immediately storm into the house and ask her permission to check her coding

and honestly this might possibly be when Five throws his whole “pretend to be human” schtick out the window because he cares more about fixing Grace than he does about maintaining his charade so he interfaces with her, finds out what the fuck is up, removes Reginald’s shitty mods that are messing her up, and then immediately uploads his own updates about owning yourself and being able to edit your own code and basically just straight up ensuring Grace has free will

(probably over Pogo’s protests, whoops. Derailing Reggie’s plan before it even really began? wack)

and then of course there’s the whole ‘Hargreeves probably don’t believe Five is actually Five because their Five wasn’t a robot and this is probably a cruel prank from some robotics genius for some reason - ’ and it takes Grace sticking up for him and Pogo’s eventual backing up of these claims for the siblings to realize exactly how fucked up this whole situation was

depending on which probability you subscribe to it’s EVEN WORSE especially if like. It’s the one where the original Five dies as a toddler.

the whole scene with Five collapsing from bloodloss bc of shrapnel? that’s Five going into forced shutdown bc of damage and Allison/Diego rushing him back to the house for Grace to patch up and reboot him

Luther: Five isn’t really feeling anything he’s just simulating emotions!

Five: oh? and what the fuck are you doing with the chemicals in your brain, fuckwad? they couldn’t possibly be little electrical signals between synapses and shit, right? fuck you AND the horse you rode in on me and mom apparently feel more than you do

Diego, finally validated that Grace feels: YEAH

Luther: ... okay i’m sorry

Diego tries to pick a fight with Five over who is Grace’s favorite child and Five is absolutely not having it and is just kind of like “you’re mom’s favorite HUMAN child and let’s just leave it at that”

“If you’re a prototype that means you’re older than she is!” Diego accuses, “That means you’re like, her older brother or something!”

“Right back at you, dickwad.” Five shoots back, inspecting his artificial fingernails, “Mom wasn’t built until she was needed which means you are at least four years older than her. Oh? Did you short circuit there, boy scout? Need to reboot? Fuck off with your age logic.”

since Reginald is probably a packrat he probably has?? Five’s old bodies hiding somewhere in the basement? how creepy would it be to just walk into a room of your brother’s corpses at various ages, some with damage. On the bright side, if Five’s current body gets too fucked up he can always download himself into a backup until they figure out how to fix it/if they can fix it. Downsides: he gets to look like even more of a child while they do that ://

“Ow!” Five whines, hand on his face

“Oh get over it you don’t feel pain.” Diego scowls, shaking his hand out, because Five is a robot, right?

“What the fuck do you call signals that you’re getting damaged!” Five howls loudly, attracting attention, “That’s what pain is! Signals that your body is injured or something isn’t right! I’m built of signals you fucker, same as you!”

“Oh,” Diego actually looks a little abashed, “Uh, sorry.”

“Apology not fucking accepted, I’m telling mom you were being a dick about me being a robot again.”

“No!” Now there is some panic because Diego cannot lose his position as favorite human child, “I - I’ll cover for you at the next family meeting!”

A considering look and then - “Deal.”

Honestly now that his siblings know about him being a robot it’s just. Five constantly being a little shit about it and threatening to tell mom when they make missteps. Also like, Five gets to use robot terms 24/7 as a consistent reminder to them all that he’s not organic. 

Klaus: hey dude you’re just staring into space what’cha doing

Five, turning to Klaus with wide eyes: the internet is so big holy shit.

Klaus: uh, yes? I don’t know how to respond to that

Five: I found your arrest record by the way. Do the police know how flimsy their firewalls are?

Klaus: usually i am all for crime but please stop hacking people with the power of your mind

Five: i will when you stop downloading shitty 70s movies and getting all kinds of viruses on everything

OH SHIT Five gets sick bc he literally gets a bug i’m making myself laugh with shitty puns right now and it is magnificent

can you imagine them at a family meeting and Luther is just like “Five, stop surfing wikipedia or whatever and pay attention to the family meeting”

“Absolutely not,” Five says, “I’m learning important information about the current time period in order to better assimilate.”

“You’ve never assimilated to anything in your life and you know it.” Klaus grins from his spot sprawled across an entire couch.

“You don’t have to come to family meetings!” Luther says, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

Five blinks, “Luther, are you saying that I am not a member of this family?”

“What? No - ”

“Is that why Mom isn’t here?” Five says, and his eyes are welling up with artificial tears because he is a complete little shit. And now Klaus is cooing sympathetically and Allison and Diego are staring Luther down. 

Luther just gives up entirely and puts his face in his hands. “Do whatever you want. Meeting adjourned.”

honestly this entire au is just

and i think that’s wonderful