#which is like such a low risk swear imo

[hyah-through-hyrule]

If you cannot stomach writing out a swear word without censoring it. Then say a different word. I am on my hands and knees begging people to not censor themselves.

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

A Second Long Rant About The Koffin Trio

Note: I decided to write about these three again (mostly about the genocide route) because I didn't cover everything I wanted to in my previous take, and you guys seemed to like it (I'm glad you enjoyed it as well, @beethovenus!), so here we go. If you haven't already, please read my previous ts!us post, since this is an addition to that.

Let's just say that the writers really outdid themselves when it comes to the genocide route, especially in regards to Harry and Larry. Never before did a video game leave me feeling so emotionally broken. The battle between the Boogiemen and Chara proves that comedic relief characters CAN and SHOULD be put in serious situations. It gives them much-needed depth.

At the beginning, Harry and Larry didn't take Chara seriously and only managed to make it out of the encounter alive because Crossbones/Sans intervened (which just goes to show how reckless both of them are) they're like annoying but loveable little kids i swear

It's this trait of theirs that led them to their downfall later on. I guess you could say that their appearance was meant to 'lighten the mood' of the otherwise dark genocide route, but it only made things worse for them in the long run. I remember reading a comment on YouTube once, and it mentioned how the Boogiemen resemble horror movie characters who die first due to their carelessness. And aside from the fact that they were not the first monsters to get killed by Chara, I agree 100%

Neither one of them believed that a human was even in the Underground, let alone a serious threat... that is, until they tried picking on Chara ↓

...which obviously didn't end well ↓

When they realized that they really WERE in danger, both visibly began to panic; neither one of them even tried to pretend to be fearless ↓

I've got to say that I love the contradictory traits the Boogiemen share: fearless but fearful, fun-loving but seeking safety, reckless but cautious.

Imo, as much as they like to goof off, they want someplace to come back to even more. Koffin-K is the one who makes the keep a place where they feel like they belong; a place that gives them comfort. KK's presence is what reassures them that they're taken care of. He's the one who makes Koffin Keep home.

In the present moment, Harry and Larry can afford to act goofy and careless because they're convinced that, no matter what happens, Koffin will always be there to save them, provide for them, and keep them safe in general.

There's a difference between who Harry & Larry were before and after they got hired (they seemed to have become more mischevious, more open to goofing off, and even more ambitious and confident).

I find it interesting that both of them were anxious/sceptical about working for Koffin when he first met them:

The two weren't attached to Koffin-K at all at the time. They didn't become loyal right off the bat; It took them (a short) time to warm up to him. And now that they are attached, I'm pretty confident that they're never leaving his side

The thing about Harry is that he used to rely on this one low-wage job and probably thought: "If I take the risk and come to regret becoming this weird guy's lackey, or if he fires me, I might never be able to come back to my safe job again and I'll be left with nothing. I'm not even qualified for anything other than menial chores!" yeah I headcanon that both him and Larry dropped out of high school at like 16 and never went to college in the first place I'm also really curious if Harry used to be attached to his previous boss (who he never mentioned) like he is to Koffin-K now, but I doubt it since he DID accept Koffin's job offer the very next day.

And Larry didn't want to risk anything either, even though he pretty much had nothing to lose. Even if he used to have a job as a janitor (if this is the case, I imagine his thought process was the exact same as Harry's), he still lacked a home. It's depressing to think about how Larry apparently wanted to continue his poor-quality life because he didn't believe anything different or better was out there. Or, he had no idea what having a better life even felt like. Maybe he thought he'd be WORSE OFF as Koffin-K's employee and/or that he'd fire him at some point. I just made myself sad, I love these guys a lot and empathize so much I feel like both of them believe they're not good enough and it hurts

Anyway, back to the genocide route.

After they're rescued, Flowey says:

Already setting up the fact that they'll either be an easy and/or optional battle. Nice.

Then we see Harry and Larry straight up putting themselves in danger to please Koffin-K:

Like, guys, I'm sure he would have understood if you hadn't obeyed his order this time. but they CAN'T let him down; they refuse After all, a mass murderer was on the loose

And once again, we're given a choice whether or not to fight them:

And finally, if we follow them... we get to this scene.

Oh god. THIS scene. Where do I even start?

Alright, time for some retrospect.

So, the two dummies have no way to escape and are forced to fight (with their very last conversation being AN UNRESOLVED ARGUMENT), Larry is ruthlessly pushed off the cliff (is this why it's called the ruthless route? Because if so, it fits perfectly), Harry screams his name and falls to his knees, completely dejected, and doesn't even attempt to run or fight, waiting to join Larry in death.

This moment hurts. This text especially. "Quick on his feet" but not quick enough; Larry's name is no longer next to his

No matter how much they annoy each other, the care is clear as day. That's another reason why I think of them as brothers. Harry is pretty fearful, right? And yet he'd rather turn to dust than live a life without Larry.

Sometimes I wonder how the scene would have played out if Harry had been given given the choice to either flee, stay and fight, or let us finish him off.

Ok, the third option would remain unchangeable, and the second would definitely result in his death whether or not he put up a fight, but the first one...

**ANGST WARNING**

Koffin-K would find Harry in his and Larry's house, curled up on their (now only his) bunk bed, sobbing uncontrollably and blaming himself over and over again. Then he'd hold him and they'd cry together. Koffin would regret not being more transparent with his care for his henchmen, and now that he was only left with one, he'd swear to be the best boss and father he could be.

It would take a while, but eventually Harry would stop crying himself to sleep every night, he'd go back to his mischievous self, he'd pull pranks and laugh and have fun because that's what Larry would have wanted.

Koffin and Harry's relationship would strengthen over time (sooner rather than later) and they'd become a true family. But every day, for the rest of his life, Koffin-K would wish that he had told Larry how much he loved him before he died. Harry would wish that, too.

But there was no way to turn back the clock, and the only thing they could do was hope that, wherever Larry was, he'd somehow know.

...he did.

I don't even want to image what would have happend if the roles had been reversed. Let's just say that Larry would have been absolutely shattered if Harry had gotten pushed off a cliff/died first. Based on his reaction if you beat Harry up during their fight in the neutral route, I don't even think he'd ever be able to move on from the pain of losing his brother best friend (or it would be SUPER hard).

Speaking of these scenes, Harry's first reaction was to get furious, Larry's was to burst into tears. What they have in common though was that they showed care for each other sigh... image limit strikes again

Larry also picked up on the purity of Chara's soul (or lack thereof) and it triggered Chara

It reminds me of how Ceroba picked up on the number of monsters Clover had killed

Long story short, I love how both Harry and Larry have their own quirks and personality. They're not just interesting as a duo, but separately, too. It's sometimes hard to remind yourself how, just because two people are a team, that doesn't mean they don't/can't exist as individuals.

I'm really curious to see Koffin-K's reaction to these two's deaths. REALLY REALLY curious.

I think that he'd completely break down (before that he'd be in denial) upon realizing that his idiots are actually gone forever and were killed by someone Koffin thought would make a good servant. Still, for some reason, I doubt he would become so enraged that he could avenge them by killing Chara.

Regardless of his reaction, he'd definitely miss them a lot.

When everyone was gone, Harry and Larry were the first on his mind i feel like they're his biggest headache but also the two monsters he loves most, in his own unique way

Random thoughts as a bonus bc why not:

I swear, it seemed like they wanted to say "You're talking to THE COUNT'S lackeys!" and "You ain't the dad of us to tell us what to do!" Also, Harry looks scared/nervous/unsure/ af. These guys really are both cowardly and impulsive

Istg, they act like (man)children with Koffin being their strict but goofy dad mom who makes them do chores when they'd rather laze around (I know it's part of their job and everything but the way they talk about their duties gives me this vibe)

...yeah, just KK acting like an annoyed dad, nothing new to see here

Remember how, in the last post I wrote, I said that Harry and Larry are materialistic (for a good reason)? Yeah, they're so materialistic that they'd even "betray" their boss for some cash (unrelated, but I love this game's humor)

These two have a dog's loyalty, but even their house looks like a doghouse (or maybe it's just tiny compared to the keep). Speaking of the keep...

Interesting that, whoever wrote on this wiki, didn't include the other workers almost like it's just the three of them that are a family while the others are just there for the easy money

[crguang]

i feel growing up with kafka as a parent would make the kids have high standards. maybe kafka would set an example by always giving R gifts in front of them and other romantic gestures. she needs to teach them how to pull and be a gentle(wo)man!!!!

bit delusional here but she'd always brag about she pulled R while probably gives a side eye from afar.

she is a very chill parent ane probably lets her kids get away with a lot while R is about to die from a heart attack caused by some much stress 😭😭

i think if her kids ever disrespected her or R or maybe got themselves in danger, she'd get pretty mad. so mad maybe even R has to break it off.

so sorry for the part 2 ramble, but like this AU idea eats my brain like thank you sat ☝️☝️ love kafka, i need to cannabilize her and like analyze her by like doing brain surgery or something...

YESSSSSS i swear kafka can be so romantic because she’s very perceptive and a smug little shit so she’d love to come home with flowers or chocolates or other gifts just for that small smile on your face and she’d pat herself in the back each time. the kids grow up witnessing how protective she is even if shes a laidback person, she’d never stand for disrespect towards R and she’d be very firm about that so they see firsthand how she treats their other parent and they’d interiorize that as normal. kafka tells them to never settle even if their mom settled for her while R is in earshot and rolls their eyes ghdhdjfkg. but yes since she’s the fun parent, when she gets mad it’s really a sight. she doesn’t raise her voice but if they see those pursed lips? abort abort abort. still, i feel like she’d be the one they’d call when they’re in trouble because shes very resourceful and will resolve the situation in a clean manner but that comes at the price of her disapproval which hurtsssss. she’s quiet on the ride back and the whole time her kid’s anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop but right before they leave the car she just goes, “never do this again.” and her tone is so chilling they really never do that again 😭😭 i think it’d take a lot for her to erupt, i generally feel like her anger is the more quietly simmering type so if R has to break the fight up then it’s something super serious fr

kafka would be so essential as the type of parent who lets their kid explore, take risks and get hurt because that’s how you build confidence and a good self-esteem in children. overprotection can be harmful and lead to anxious children who don’t feel good enough to do the things they wanna do so kafka being laidback and going “relax, they’re fine” whenever her kid takes risks is so important. obviously she’d never let them get too hurt and is always keeping an eye on them but she’s necessary to balance out the anxiety of parenting i feel like. she understands a human body’s limits like she might seem careless at times but i believe she’s great when it comes to making sure a child is safe. she’s strong, has quick reflexes and isn’t opposed to going low if it comes to it so imo she’d be a good parent on that front

never apologize for rambling about kafka, in fact i forbid it from now on… i wanna eat her ughhh i miss her so these asks make me very happy. i love kafmom so bad

[purplesunrisefanfic]

Sub!Abby/Dom!Nora Headcannons

Warnings:

Warning for lifestyle BDSM and sexually explicit content. There’s swearing and some use of a sexist slur (but only between two women for kinky name-calling reasons.) Body piercing and the strain of working as medic are mentioned. So are sub/Dom drop. There is some switching. Also, I do get increasingly gooey and hurt/comfort near the end.

Some of these got sexied up by @pinkchubbiebunnie in her post on this subject so they may look familiar ❤️

As usual no read more because the Tumblr app and Timblr mobile site SUCK. Apologies.

Now let’s get kinky:

Abby is envy about how Nora can always seem so cool and confident while she is just dripping mess so often.

Even more so because Nora can just naturally and breezily go from talking to Abby normally to talking like she owns her (coz she does) and back again as other people enter and leave earshot while Abby is always unsubtly clearing her throat whenever someone walks in.

In fact, she’s so scared she’ll accidentally call Nora Sir in front of someone else one day that she has literally planned exactly how she will make it out to be a joke just in case she needs to save face.

Abby envies this even more because she knows that Nora isn’t any less prone to feeling insecure or having lapses in confidence than she is, she’s just way better at hiding it.

Even when she really wants to fight back or be a brat, Abby just physically cannot, like her muscles just melt or rebel at even the idea of defying Nora because they know who they belong to.

Abby sometimes tries to avoid getting patched up by Nora especially if it’s not in private bc she knows she’ll be in trouble if there’s any signs she was reckless.

She feels torn about that though because even while she’s getting the look of “You know what a bad girl you’ve been and you know you are gonna pay for it” she still feels so soothed by Nora’s touch.

But Abby’s efforts to control who treats her make no difference anyhow because Nora knows exactly what she’s up to even though she doesn’t let on. Nora only lets Abby get patched up by someone else if Abby’s injuries are way minor.

The other medics figure that’s just a regular protective gf thing, which it totally is as well but it’s also about being possessive over who might be involved in any lasting/permanent marks on what’s hers.

Being in control with Abby soothes some of Nora’s work-related traumas. Her opinion as a medic is held in high regard for the most part but some soldiers are just too stubborn with medical advice. It can be pretty rough on Nora when she knows a patient of hers isn’t going to listen, no matter what she says, and will go back out too early and sometimes wind up returning dead or dying. So it’s really soothing that when it comes to the person she loves most in the world, she doesn’t have these worries.

Nora makes Abby do menial manual things quite a lot, she’s actually ambivalent about making Abby do this kinda stuff, or at least she would be ambivalent about it if it wasn’t so blatant that Abby loves just being treated like her grunt muscle.

They’re actually pretty much the same intelligence-wise, but Abby simps for how much medical and hospital logistics knowledge Nora has and just has warm fuzzies getting to be her trained pet taking orders and knowing there’s well-planned logistics but not knowing herself what they are. It’s like the opposite of being a soldier and needing to be observant, she can just be switched-off eye candy trusting in someone else.

Needless to say, Nora loves said eye candy. Abby doesn’t get to wear too much in their apartment unless it’s really cold.

She’d never admit it, but Nora low-key wants Abby to call her Daddy and hates that with what happened to Jerry she can’t ever see herself risking bringing that up with Abby.

She resents that even more bc she (correctly) feels sure that Abby would’ve absolutely loved that.

Abby can always tell, even in a busy place, whether it’s Nora or someone else snapping their fingers.

When Nora snaps her fingers, the rest of the world disappears. Like instant subspace, Abby could be next to clicker and forget all about it instant.

Nora gives the subtlest, carefully considered hints of underlying affection while seemingly objectifying Abby and it’s just exactly what her pet beefcake needs to feel that undercurrent of love while she gets off on being used.

Abby spends that much time on her knees that she sometimes forgets that Nora isn’t actually taller than her.

And not just on her knees eating Nora out (though she does that a lot) but just generally kneeling like a good girl for Sir.

Abby would physically drool over the idea of wearing a collar 24/7 if she thought about it for too long. Nora would physically drool if she looked at Abby wearing a collar for too long.

Abby is free to masturbate alone when she wants to but she’s not allowed to orgasm from it. She’s never broken that rule and she’d actually be upset if she somehow did come with Nora’s permission.

She worries it might be a little messed-up to feel this way but Nora really enjoys knowing that she’s only partner that has made Abby orgasm. Sorry not sorry Owen, you did not seem good in bed.

Abby ends up being such a good girl that Nora decides to start giving her regular maintenance punishments because Abby doesn’t like to go too long without one.

Nora is near constantly torn between how much she enjoys Abby fingers inside her versus how much she enjoys seeing the intense pining when she doesn’t let Abby do that for a while.

That’s Nora’s favourite problem to have.

Remember the Abby’s hair + rope bondage fantasy? Yeah, Nora is a pro at that.

Nora uses Abby’s braid like a leash, and tells Abby that wherever she is, anytime her hair is braided then she’s basically wearing her leash.

Abby tries so hard not to think about that on patrol, but if there isn’t any actual danger to keep her busy, she sometimes can’t help but think about it.

Abby keeps an eye out for suitable jewellery, and if she ever found some she would love for Nora to pierce her navel or one of her nipples.

When Nora gets Dom-drop Abby carries Nora in her arms so she can hold her tight and feel her strength while she tells her how much she loves her and loves their relationship. Nora feels kinda weightless with the way Abby holds her and it’s so reassuring.

When Abby gets sub-drop Nora wraps herself around Abby from behind, skin-to-skin, and leans her face in next to Abby’s. She strokes her neck and whispers praise.

They don’t switch often because they’re pretty full-on lifestyle but when they have a kind of switchy playtime sometimes where Abby gets to run riot with all her brute force strength, picking Nora up, pining her down, manhandling her. She undresses her roughly then mocks Nora for “thinking you’re always in charge when the truth is I could take you down in an instant,” then picks her up by her shoulders and holds her there so her arms and legs dangle in the air, just wanting to prove that she’s powerless. Abby enjoys getting her own back by embarrassing Nora for once, and she likes to hold their faces very close so she can spot the slight changes in the hue of her skin when she makes Nora blush. “You thought you could hide your blushes from me? I know you too well for that, darling. That pretty face of yours can’t keep any secrets from me. No more than the rest of your body. I don’t even need to look or touch to know that you’ll dripping wet for me by now. That little sting of shame burning your cheeks always makes you a needy little bitch, doesn’t it?”

When they’re having those switchy scenes, Nora gets off on denial. No-one is really sure if it’s a power play that intensifies Abby’s status as (temporary) Dom because she edges and torments Nora but never lets her come, or whether it’s actually the opposite, intensifying their background dynamic because in that respect Abby gets a lot less power when she plays Dom.

Either way, Nora finishes up blissfully satisfied about her lack of satisfaction. Even more so because the next time they play, Nora back as Dom and Abby back remembering that all the muscles in the world won’t stop her from being Nora’s little bitch, she’ll make Abby plead to be allowed to give Sir an orgasm.

Abby begs harder than she ever does for her own orgasms.

A fact with makes Nora feel like a goddess, whilst also being so much fun to rub Abby’s nose in.

“Aww listen to little Abby beg just to please me. She likes to think she’s so strong with all that time in the gym. But no amount of time keeping up that facade will change the reality, Abigail. Deep down, you’re no big, strong brute, just a helpless little girl. My helpless ickle pet, so desperate for approval you’d do anything to please me, wouldn’t you?”

Abby melts then admits Nora is right.

Then Nora tells Abby only one of them of them gets to come tonight and makes Abby decide who it is.

She always chooses Nora.

And never regrets it.

And in amongst all kink of it, that makes Nora feel so nurtured.

Fair warning: this is where it becomes obvious that FEELINGS are my ultimate kink onto which all other kinks collapse...

Yeah, there’s that intense thing where it’s like the way a sub can adore you and nurtures you that makes it so much easier to be strong and tough than it would otherwise be, and dealing with everything in that world and all the injuries Nora and having to be strong with all the horrors, it’s like it’s easier for Nora to be strong in all the ways she needs to just to live that life.

They like doing little things to look after each other because they both know the feeling where they are assumed to be super tough and don’t need to be nurtured but ofc they need and deserve softness.

This ship makes me wish I had the words to explain how all the kinky stuff is low-key so soft imo.

Abby doesn’t get into much trouble but one way she sometimes does is being too much of an overprotective gf when other people are involved.

Oh and Dom or not, Nora is still little spoon and sleeps 1000% better for it.

Hope y’all liked these. AMA (esp anything kinky) about Abby/Nora or Abby/Ellie or other ships I ship because I have the feels.

[rai-knightshade]

Thank you to @impossiblepluto for tagging me in this one!!

Tumblr fic year in review:

Number of fics completed this year: 16 (counting all 8 individual chapters of the Ficlet Collection as individual fics because they're not really connected)

Total Word Count: 44,830 (HOLY SHIT!)

Fandoms Written in: Macgyver, Ever After High, and then technically NCIS and H50 but they were part of a one-off story and I only pulled a couple characters for a couple lines each

Did you write more, less, or about what you expected this year?: definitely more, considering I don't really call myself a fic writer, so writing out nearly 50,000 words?!?! Holy shit!!!!!

What's your favorite story of the year, personally?: I dunno, I like all my fics (hence why I wrote them), but... I think I'm most proud of Good Grief, one of the ficlets in the Ficlet Collection; it's unique among my fics in tone, pacing, and style, but I'm super proud of it.

Did you take any writing risks this year?: Good Grief was a bit of a risk considering the weird formatting of the flashbacks, but considering Macgyver is a whump fandom through and through I think it wasn't that risky community opinion-wise. I also took the risk of posting a fic that wasn't completely written/planned/finished in the Professors Macdalton AU, which... Kinda backfired cause now idk that I'll finish it 😭😭😭 I'm sorry I want to but I can't find the inspiration anymooorrreee 😔😔

Do you have any fanfic goals for the new year?: I'm kinda playing it by ear but I WOULD very much like to do the wedding fics that I planned for this year's Cairo Week to tie in with all the art that I'd made smh. It was right there... And then the inspo just poofed, I'm so mad. But I got inspo for the chapter titles and I know what I want to write, I just need to write it, so maybe this year... Also! I want to write a fic about Mac and Jack and Brady helping Arista celebrate Dia del Muertos this year; I've been wanting to write that for a while now and I just haven't gotten around to it, but it's important to me that they get that story told because one of the things I've tried to be clear about with this family is that they're intentionally multicultural and they try to honor Arista's origins specifically. That combined with just how many loved ones have died in their little family, and I think Dia del Muertos is probably one of the most important, uh, holidays? I guess? To them, since it gives them a chance to honor all they've lost while still celebrating the lives they had with them and the life they continue to have now. Also, outside of Macgyver, I wanna write more EAH fic, but idk how that'll get written tbh.

Most popular story of the year?: going by Kudos, it's (I Swear) By the Moon and the Stars in the Sky, aka the Macdalton first date fic, with 65 Kudos and 4 bookmarks! It's one of my other fave fics so I can't complain. Going by sheer comments the title would go to the Ficlet Collection, but that's cause there's 8 individual fics there so people were commenting every chapter.

My most Underappreciated story (imo): uhhhhh probably Rain is Falling From the Sky (It Never Touches You, You're Way Up High), because my other fics have been getting kudos in the 30+ range but this one only got 15, and one comment that wasn't me. Then again it centers on my previously unknown OC's with canon characters only tangentially included so it's not... Unexpected. It was written for me and I like it and that's what matters, right?

Most Fun story to write?: I think that title might have to go to all the ficlets in the Ficlet Collection, because they're all short, sweet and have a variety of different stories that I got to tell in a short amount of time. Writing them was low pressure and literally just for fun, and that's what made them fun. Of all the ficlets I think the most fun was Jack's dream fic (Sarah Smiles) cause it was fun being intentionally nonsensical with the worldscape

Biggest Disappointment?: Either the fact that I never got around to writing more in the Professors AU, or the fact that I never got around to writing the Wedding fic(s). Although arguably it might be just my lack of fic writing in general for most of the year, but I'm blaming that on the pandemic and labelling it a dreaming period (cause I also didn't draw much during those months, but now I'm back to writing and drawing again)

Biggest Surprise: the fact that I just wrote another ficlet after, what, 6 months? About love, cause that kinda popped into my brain and got written in like two weeks or something. If I write and post the other idea I have for today it'll be that one cause that will have gotten out in the span of days; we'll see tho. I've at least started it.

Tagging, uh, @panchostokes @lavendersblues @purplecolouredglasses @readingwriter92 @thesorrowoflizards and anyone else who hasn't already been tagged yet that's written fic this year!

[crusherthedoctor]

The Lutrudis Hadeer Characterization Masterpost

A while back, I made a big post about the thought process that went into the design for Lutrudis, as well as her name, species, and choice of weapons. In the midst of doing a bunch of other stuff (like the Eggman Sweet or Shite review, which is definitely still coming guys I swear, please don't leave me D':), I recently figured I could do the same for the character's... well, character, and provide some further insight into how her personality was shaped together. Cause why not, right?

Obviously, we won't be covering literally every single personality trait that Trudy has, like her hobbies and whatnot. If we went over all of that, we'd be so far into the future that Tumblr's search system might actually start working again. No, we'll just be keeping it to the central ingredients that make up the overall package.

1. A cool head? In my Sonic OC?

The recurring cast in the Sonic universe is filled with fiery, hot-blooded sorts in one way or another. Sonic might as well be the love child of Mentos and Diet Coke with how full of energy he is, Knuckles and Amy are both prone to letting their temper do the talking, Eggman... is Eggman, and the list goes on. And while there are a number of characters who are more low-key or even outright introverted by comparison, they still tend to exhibit a trait or two that makes them more in-line with the rest of the crowd, be it youthful excitement (Tails, Cream), a fiery temper (Blaze), or the odd bit of cockiness (Shadow).

So what better way to help make Trudy stand out... than by not really having anything like that at all? Contrary to most of the hot-blooded cast, it takes a lot to truly enrage her, and even then, you'll be lucky to get anything past tranquil fury. She's not particularly hammy either - flowery with her language at times, certainly, but not hammy - nor is she a cocky type, even against the weakest or most ridiculous of opponents, and although she does grow as a person over the course of the story she's involved in, all of this remains fairly consistent.

That's not to say that Trudy is not a passionate person. Far from it, in fact. She has a lot of passion. She just shows it in a different way than the average Sonic character.

2. Lutrudis? More like Unsureofdis.

Uncertain characters are also somewhat rare in Sonic's recurring cast (at least in the game universe), and just like with the previous point, even when they're there, they'll usually have something to counter it. Blaze may have been a bit insecure before meeting and befriending Sonic and Co, but as mentioned, she’s got a fierce temper, and even when she started off on her own, she felt that only she could take care of the threat of Eggman and Inferior Eggman Nega. Likewise, while Silver may have doubted himself about Leslie the Crack Dealer’s Iblis Trigger ruse cruise, he still got cocky when he had Sonic on the ropes, and he could be quite full of himself in the Rivals duology as well.

The point being, they still tend to show some semblance of the same “yep, I'm the one for the job, no questions asked” confidence and swagger that nearly everyone else has, no matter the flavor. Trudy, suffice to say, does not have this mentality. Trudy accepting Sonic and Co's help in dealing with sinister affairs in Viridonia without any haughty protest on her part isn't just because she knows they can handle it, or because they're Sonic Heroes and they'll show 'em the real superpower of teamwork... it's also because she's genuinely not sure if she would be able to take care of the matter on her own.

When she saved Cream from the wrath of the Wraith for example, she wasn't thinking “This looks like a job for Miss Hadeer!”

She was thinking “This could very well get me killed, but I have to help the poor bunny somehow...”

In other words, Trudy doesn't consider herself to be some sort of destined protector who has to do this herself. She constantly second guesses herself, and frequently believes her friends are more qualified and competent than she is. Her only reason for doing her best and helping out regardless is simply because she wants to.

3. A light at the end of the tunnel.

For the sake of tact, it's not shoved in your face relentlessly, but reading between the lines, it can be easy to get a sense of melancholy from Trudy. Particularly due to past experiences, she does indeed have an element of depression within her, and this can occasionally show in her body language and facial expressions, even if she's currently feeling positive emotions.

And yet, notice how she continues being a friendly pony. Notice how regardless of her experiences, and her thoughts on said experiences, her actual behaviour is (mostly) free of bitterness or cynicism, and that she doesn't hide the joy that her new friends make her feel. She's not outright ignoring her experiences or pretending they don’t affect her, because they clearly have affected her, and she's never ignored her scars (metaphorically and literally, the latter being a permanent side-effect of her condition), but she knows better than to let it consume her, so she tries her best to look at the bright side of life even during the darkest days.

It's Sonic's opinion that Trudy's inner spirit is a lot stronger than she thinks, with or without his help. Her refusal to give into misery and lash out at the world foreshadows that he's not unjustified in that belief. That, and it ties into the franchise’s usual taste for optimism and idealism against the odds.

4. Hadeer? More like Hadork.

So, everything thus far helps set Trudy up as a mellow, down-to-earth sort of personality. So far, so good. However, it's still the Sonic the Hedgehog universe we're talking about, filled with many colorful characters of all shapes, sizes, and eccentricities. When a franchise has a larger than life cast in a larger than life world, the characters who are meant to be grounded often risk coming off as boring and could end up easily overshadowed, because the creators or writers often neglect to give them any quirks of their own, usually out of fear that it'll disgrace the character's gracefulness. In fact, I personally feel this was a common problem with Sally, in both SatAM and Archie (mostly pre-reboot admittedly).

IMO, these writers are just being plain old silly. Just because a character is quirky doesn't mean they forfeit all their dignity altogether. Like a lot of things in life, you just have to balance it out, and that's what I did (or tried to do...) with the green equine.

So yes, Trudy is elegant, but she's also a really goofy dancer. Yes, she's gentle and motherly, but she also goes back and forth between being a heavy sleeper and being an insomniac. Yes, she serves as a warmhearted auntie figure for Cream (and a big sister figure for Amy), but she also spends a quarter of her time looking like a ninja with the way her bandana covers her face (whether it be due to cold weather, strong scents triggering her sensitive nose, or doing it in the presence of villains as a mildly theatrical way of visually conveying her disdain for them).

And of course, in the right situation, she can be just as much of a dork as the titular blue hedgehog is.

Which leads me to my next point...

5. “You might know everything I'm going to do...”

Trudy was created with the intention of having a character who is actually like Sonic himself in a lot of ways, but it's not apparent initially.

This sort of yin-yang contrasting routine has been done before a few times in the series, with Knuckles, Shadow and Blaze being the most obvious examples. But with them, their similarities are easier to spot from a distance. Knuckles is more earth than wind, but you can tell he's as stubborn as Sonic is. Shadow's methods and outlook differ, but you can tell he's still a mirror of Sonic (cause you know, he looks like him). Blaze is more distant, but you can tell how she can easily be just as worked up and angered as Sonic.

With Trudy however, if you take her at face value, you would think she's the exact opposite of Sonic. She's an introvert, he's an extrovert. She's got a calm temperament, he can get impatient even at the best of times. She's quite fancy, he's more rough and tumble. She takes things slowly, he leaps ahead without a care in the world... You would think that, outside of them both fighting for good, they would have nothing in common, and that their dynamic would be more akin to Sonic's relationship with Sally, which although they were friends, their relationship could often be somewhat rocky due to their differences in... basically every area and opinion imaginable.

But then you get to know Trudy, and the unfolding of the adventure reveals the rest of what she has to offer. The aforementioned soldiering on in spite of any depressed moments is in itself a small hint that Trudy shares Sonic's philosophy of never giving up. She believes that most people are good at their core, and while she won't excuse especially evil people or actions and will punish them appropriately (albeit with regret that it had to come to that), she's willing to give a chance to those who are willing to take it, just like with the Blue Blur. Not only does she NOT find Sonic's jokes and hijinks annoying, she actually has a similar sense of humor herself. And while reasonable people generally tend to loathe injustice and oppression, Trudy shares Sonic's uniquely intense contempt for it, and believes in one's own personal freedom just as much as the hedgehog does, let alone freedom in general.

In short, Trudy is what you get when you take Sonic's deeper qualities and general outlook on life, and apply them to a more introverted and taciturn personality. The exact same beliefs, but from a different perspective, so to speak.

6. A different kind of intelligence.

Tails and Eggman are the resident kings of scientific prowess in Sonic's world, and it goes without saying that I wouldn't want to do them a disservice by having Trudy one-up them in that department. But that doesn't mean your character can’t be talented in other areas, right? Contrary to what all those Mary Sue tests dictate, your character can in fact have a high IQ without intruding on an official character’s territory.

Therefore, Trudy is pretty good at innovation and craftsmanship in her own right, but whereas Tails and Eggman do it through technology, her field of expertise is more to do with arts and crafts, and to a lesser extent geology. For example, both her bow and her whip were crafted by the lady herself, using nothing but her decorative knowledge and flair.

Outside of that, she tends to know a fair bit about a lot of things in the world, largely attributed to her photographic memory, meaning she's bound to have a few answers no matter the subject of discussion. Granted, she's unlikely to be the absolute number one expert on any of those things, but she's at least a useful jack of all trades in that regard.

7. Feeling a little horse.

I very much approve and flat out adore the idea of Sonic characters having characteristics that remind the audience of what species they're supposed to be, so I made sure that Trudy had a wide selection of little mannerisms that would reveal her for the little horsie that she is. These include, but aren't limited to...

- When she’s fascinated or concerned by something, she’ll lean a little forward with her hands close to her chest, which subtly mimics the act of prancing.

- When she wakes up, she briefly stretches her arms and legs (albeit not too recklessly so as to risk straining her sensitive limbs).

- Her tail has a number of quirks. If she's happy, it might slowly swish to and fro. If she's REALLY happy, it might flick...

- And if she doesn't approve of someone or something, it might stiffen and raise a little bit, as if to helpfully inform the bad guys where they can kiss, if ya know what I'm saying.

- When she's being affectionate with her friends, she might give them the ol' nuzzle.

- When she's in a playful mood, there might be a little skip in her walk, the anthro equivalent of trotting.

- When she's annoyed, she might humorously let out a snort that sounds identical to a real life horse snort. And while she certainly doesn't neigh in the traditional sense, when she finds something hilarious or Sonic's making her laugh with his antics, her laughter can't help but take on a neigh-like touch to it. (The latter was actually a headcanon suggested by @darklightheart​, and I immediately agreed with it because it's cute and funny in equal measures.)

Naturally, she gets all shy and embarrassed when the neigh-laugh comes out, thinking it sounds silly. At least Sonic finds it endearing.

Note that I'm well aware that some of this differs from how real life horses react to certain things. (Eg: tail swishing tends to happen when a horse is agitated rather than happy.) But I freely admit that it's more for the sake of giving the character that extra bit of soul than it is for utmost accuracy. That's the way it goes with fiction sometimes. :P

Interestingly, Trudy tends to get Sonic indulging in a funny hedgehog characteristic of his own. That being, he might curl into a ball if Trudy's being particularly... ~complimentary~ towards him.

And there we are! These are the core elements that make up Trudy’s characterization. If you ever wanted a general list of what makes her tick, then hopefully this post will help in scratching that itch. And if it doesn’t, then hopefully it still proves that more thought was put into her than Scourge. :]

[scatteredcloud]

Top Surgery: What Really Happens pt3 -Recovery

I’m on day 4 of recovery, and it’s been a lot of trial and error as to what works and what doesn’t. Like I said in part 1 and part 2, there’s no one solution, so try to anticipate what works for you but be ready to adapt if it doesn’t. I was pleasantly surprised to have over prepared because my pain level is quite low, but that seems to be the exception not the rule. A lot of the supplies mentioned here overlaps with what I said in part 1, this guide is about logistics.

Getting Ready - Day Of - Drains

-Plan to be sleeping, a lot. I get pretty down on myself when I sleep in, because it makes me feel like I’m not being productive, but what’s productive in the days after surgery is taking care of yourself.

Don’t expect to be back to normal within a few days. The way my surgeon broke it down was this:

1 week post op you’re back to 50%

2 weeks post op, you’re back to 80%

4 weeks post op, you’re back to full capacity.

This is a generalization of course, but recovery starts slowing down after week 2, which is why it’s so important to rest up during the first few weeks (especially because that’s when you take time off) You also have to get used to sleeping on your back, which I don’t think anyone actually does naturally. Weighted blankets are super nice for this if you have one, since it keeps you from tossing and turning. I have to take sleep meds anyways, but the pain killers they give you also knock you out.

-Speaking of meds... This was probably what I was the least informed on going into surgery.

This is my full list of medications and side effects that I’ve experienced. Asterisks next to what I was prescribed, I’ve linked to the drugs.com site for more information side effects and general info.

*Oxycodone- 5mg: as needed, every 6 hrs (painkiller)

Reminder that these are opiates, and appropriate caution should be taken. These made me particularly sleepy, and constipated. They also mess with your eyes, I have 20/20 vision but for the first time in my life I understood what it was like to be far-sighted.

*Cefadroxil- 500mg: every 12 hrs (antibiotic)

Obviously it’s important to eat in general while recovering, but also, antibiotics are the only mandatory medication and trying to take them on an empty stomach makes you super nauseous.

*Ondansetron- 4 mg: as needed , every 8 hrs (anti-nausea)

This was substituted for Zofran, not entirely sure why but I think it was something about interactions with other drugs.

Generic acetaminophen- 500mg, as needed every 6 hrs (tylenol)

You cannot have Aspirin, or any over the counter NSAID. They thin the blood and promote excessive bleeding. Aspirin, Motrin, Aleve, Ibuprofen, Excedrin, and Advil are all off limits.

Sennosides- 15mg- as needed (laxatives)

In addition to constipation from other side effects, it’s also just harder in general to get it out because of how sore your muscles will be. There’s no shame in it, it happens to the best of us.

Diphenhydramine- 50mg- 1 a day (sleep aid) 

-Altered mobility, what’s up with that? There are going to have to be some life style changes you make to enable getting around your space.

This is my set up:

Laptop, water, trash can, meds and extra supplies all within reach

Extra pillows to support my back

Lamp with a on/off button extension cord. I think it was originally for christmas trees but it’s nice to not have to reach up and turn the knob

Power strip with chargers

I’m sleeping on the couch because it’s 1. Closer to the bathroom and 2. My actual bed is a loft which isn’t exactly surgery friendly.

I covered the couch cushion in an extra sheet to make it less scratchy and in case of any leakage (There hasn’t been any though)

The name of the game is accessibility. I’ve been lucky to be able to move around and be up and about, but it’s still better to have everything within arms reach. The only issue I’ve run into with my set up is that sitting up is pretty difficult. Particularly with how wide this couch is, it’s hard to maneuver myself up and out

Also, get used to squatting down to pick things up, instead of leaning over. When you squat, you aren’t engaging your torso at all to reach something, which is ideal here.

Try and stick to chairs that have some sort of back support. I’m used to sitting on stools in my work area and that’s just not sustainable after surgery.

-Hygeine Full stop, you’re going to have to be gross for awhile. This (I suspect) is also why they ask you to go off hormones for awhile before surgery, because I’m definitely a lot less sweaty and gross than I would be otherwise.

You can’t shower until you get your drains out, and the ok from your doctor. This is to reduce the risk of infection and to keep soap out of your sutures. Shower gel is pretty much a no until everything is healed, unless it’s like ultra-sensitive, and unscented.(Double check with your doctor though) My boyfriend came over two days ago to sponge me down and wash my hair. Bar soap works well, because it’s easier to control where the soap goes, and it’s more sustainable. 

Do not try and bathe alone. Period. It’s not worth the trouble or pain, and you run the risk of getting things in your sutures

Washing your hair is going to be a bit of a debacle. If you have longer hair, brushing it regularly will help distribute the natural oils and help prevent them from building up. I personally don’t like dry shampoo, but others swear by it, so worth a shot. I’ve also talked to people who treated themselves to a salon visit, to get their hair professionally washed which also sounds lovely. My boyfriend and I managed with me leaning over the edge of the tub and him pouring water over my head. The important thing is to keep soap from running down to your chest.

For me, washing my face is really important to feeling clean. My skin is naturally oily, and I had to adapt my routine a bit, because my normal method is splashing a lot of water on my face. I’ve been learning to take the more civilized route and using a damp cloth to wash off the cleanser, like probably everyone else was already doing :P

I’ve seen a lot of people recommending wet wipes, to at least pull some of the gross off, and if that works for you go for it. I’ve only used them when I take off my compression vest to get some of the oil off of my chest gently.

-Your new chest Other surgeons wrap their patients up differently, but the only rule for me was not to wash the area, and that I had to have the vest on while I slept. Fingers crossed tumblr doesn’t nerf this one but this is what my situation looks like.

(CW: Stitches If you’re sqeamish, you might want to skip this, I certainly would)

The yellow sponge things are sewn on top of my nipple grafts to keep them in place, and then there are strips of medical tape holding the sutures together. Because they’re sewn to my body, I don’t have to worry about them shifting around, but nudging them even a little bit really hurts. The area on my chest went from super sensitive, to itchy and tender, to itchy and numb, to numb and tender. All of your nerves are either completely fried or severed, so even the most delicate sensations can feel really uncomfortable. My chest wasn’t ever particularly sensitive before surgery, so it’s weird being sensitive (but also not?) now.

When the compression vest is closed, I just have a couple layers of gauze pads on top of the stitches to keep them protected. I don’t really have any bandages, although I’m pretty sure that’s not the standard. The compression helps everything fuse back together correctly and squeezes out the fluids into the drains. (I’m making a post on that soon, I’m waiting to get my drains out first.)

I’ve left my vest unbuckled the past couple days to get some room to breathe, but I kept it closed the first 3 days and that seems to really help with minimizing the drainage. (The less drainage the better)

EDIT: I took my first shower in a week here’s my advice for that

Showers- As relieving as it is, you do still need to take some precautions. My shower is a stall with a fixed shower head, if you have a removable one then you’re in good shape- just get someone to get it down for you first. (No reaching over your head!)

- If your nipple grafts are still healing (which they probably will be if you got them), I highly recommend “transparent dressing covers”. Mine came in the box of extra gauze I got from CVS, but an overlarge water proof bandaid will probably do as well. They’re essentially just cling wrap (saran wrap w/e) for injuries. Theoretically you couple put them over the whole cuts? Imo that’s more trouble than it’s worth, you really can’t feel anything- but do what makes you comfortable.

-As always, different instructions for different procedures etc etc- the goal is to keep soap away from the incisions. Water is ok, but I was trying to avoid that as much as I could too. The good news is that all of the nerves are severed, so the discomfort isn’t as bad as getting a normal cut wet in the shower

- This took some experimenting, but the optimal position for me was back to the wall the dials are on. That way you can lean over (from the waist not the chest!) to get your hair in the water, without risking it dripping onto you. That being said, I have pretty thick, med length hair, so adjust as needed.

- I’ve been trying to switch to bar soap anyways, because it’s more sustainable, but personally it worked well for me. (Definitely make sure you can get a good grip on it though, pain killers can make you clumsy and it’s a bitch to crouch down to get it if it drops) My instructions were specifically to keep shower gel away from the incisions, so I just used bar soap.

- I didn’t do this, but retrospectively, keeping a clean sponge or a wet cloth on hand to get your arm pits would be pretty choice. Since you can’t lift your arms and in trying to keep soap away from your chest, it’s hard to get your under arms damp enough to get soap on, and then harder to rinse out.

- Getting out of the shower, make sure you have towels in easy reach. I’m pretty vigorous trying to dry off, because I hate the feeling of being wet, so I had to consciously slow myself down. Drying your hair goes more or less the same way as washing it, bending from the waist. There’s probably another method (getting someone else to help you ideally lmao) but because your can only really move your fore arms, this is the only thing I’ve been able to find that brings everything within reach.

- If you have a hair dryer, it works wonders for drying off hard-to-reach places. I was having a hard time getting my back fully dry, but pop that baby on and your warm and dry in seconds. 

Please let me know if you have any specific questions, my dms/ask box are always open, and I’m sure I’ve forgotten things.

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

while i think OBJECTIVELY, okumura’s arc was the absolute worst, i also agree that kaneshiro’s was a close second. honestly, for me personally, kaneshiro’s is worst because of my personal hatred of makoto and the fact that the bank arc is never criticized elsewhere (usually praised for the music, makoto’s awakening, and the dungeon of all things) in comparison to okumura’s arc which is universally hated (both in story and dungeon)

I dunno if it can be objectively tbh, writing wise that is (it’s hard to say something subjective is objective in general, nothing against you just....I’ve been grappling with this myself tbh). I do think if there was a measure to something being objectively bad writing wise.......I’d ask these questions (like I’ve said, I’ve been thinking a bit on this for awhile kfdjaslfa;): Is it consistent?, Does it contradict?, Does it make sense? .....first two can be grouped together tbh (and tbh P5 is littered with all three regardless lfkdjsakf;) But yeah I do know I’m hella biased against Makoto (tho it’s because of how dungeon 3 played out that caused me to hate her) so like there’s that. 8U

Anyway time to make an argument as to why the fandom should adopt Kane as the worst arc, under cut:

Dungeon design I won’t defend it, it’s a slog (tbh anything after Mada goes on for waaaaay to long, needs more substance if they’re gonna make us slog through the dungeon for that long, gimme some cutscenes damnit), it really hurts my eyes (I love blue, tbh deserts are my worst enemy with games, cause they hurt my eyes the  most, but they did something with Oku), and I know people HATE the air lock puzzles (I love them aklfdjska;jfa they aren’t that bad tbh, you just kinda go forward). The puzzles are the only reason I don’t mind it kfldjsafj;akjf;

Ngl whenever I think of Oku’s arc writing wise I’m just...”yadda yadda bs fight, yadda yadda go into dungeon meet Haru/Mona, yadda yadda won’t make up, yadda yadda Anne found Haru, yadda yadda having a nice talk with Haru, MAKOTO CHASES HARU AWAY, yadda yadda Haru tries to run us over (did Mona tell her or did she do it on her own, this would be INTERESTING TO EXPLORE ATLUS!), yadda yadda mona got kicked, Haru in trouble, say we will help Haru, go in dungeon, Haru now full Persona, slog through dungeon, Oku’s been doing stuff people have already told us he is doing! :O SHOCKER! slog through dungeon, slog, slog, Oku fight, he bad, Oku dead, Haru says how her dad was poor. Done. 

Is it a boring ass slog where Haru gets sidelined for a dumb fight, a fight that should’ve been written better? Yeah. Now is it consistent/does it contradict? Fore the most part yeah.....I think......There are some questions raised about Goro and the Metaverse (and how Futaba is a shit Navi *cough* good job detecting him when you guys dragged him in >.>....ngl makes me think she......she’d lose to Rise/Fuuka in terms of locating, aka I don’t think locating people is Futaba’s strong suit). But everything else? Yeah, Ryu’s/Mona fight started with Futaba having a moment on the beach and built from there. Only thing really jank is I think it’s Yusuke/Anne who flip flop on thoughts on Oku (I remember this point more from the P5 crit video tbh). And PQ2 lies about why they went after Oku iirc (or there was more to what was going on and yeah....oversimplified it), but that’s PQ2. And they seem to be surprised by what’s happening to the Robots.....despite.....knowing he’s like that..... Does it make sense? Stupidly bt yes, it’s not fun and boring but yeah. Tbh I really need to refresh myself with Oku’s dungeon (I ought to pick Royal back up sakldjfa;jfl blame the move and Smite tbh), because it’s just......bare......and simple....and dumb....and shallow....and boring. (if you have something to add I’d love to hear it, I really need to refresh myself on it cause....Kane’s is just....so much worse imo). 

Ok so low key, surprised people even like the dungeon’s design. Is it cause it’s a bank? Cause it’s kinda bland, doesn’t help Kane’s the least developed antagonist in the entire game (you’d think they counterbalance not seeing him irl with the Shadow but nope). It’s just grey walls and piggy banks. Not really a puzzle (or what is one is easy/can easily have the solution looked up so it’s not really testing the player). I don’t really care for the music (I only think Sae’s and Royal’s is worth listening to iirc, but I also don’t care for P5′s music in general.....). If you like Makoto I can see you liking this dungeon (other than the music) but that’s it. I still don’t get what’s so great about her awakening. She summoned her Persona and hit enemies with it? Great. Is it cause it’s a bike? Or cause she hit enemies with it? I mean I guess if you like the bike (y’all know I hate the thing ksladjf;a so many issues and I think it looks boring/ugly tbh). I swear to god tho, if it’s because she stops her foot.....Anne literally broke out of steel/iron (?) shackles, disarmed a shadow, jumped several feet into the air while swinging a heavy ass steal(?) sword. Anne’s showcased Persona user’s strength, Makoto’s gonna need to raise the bar A LOT higher than “I stomped my foot cause I was angry and then I beat shadows with my persona-I’m special. uwu” :/ (ngl was disenchanted with Yusuke/Mako(and Futaba I guess)’s awakening, Anne’s showcased power, MC showcased blood/brutality, Ryu’s showcased the pain, Futaba’s was just P4 so nothing special, Haru’s only stood out after all that because of how hammy it was, but Yusuke/Mako/Futaba I didn’t care for cause it was stuff I already seen and wasn’t anything new). 

....anyway...onto my three questions for dungeon 3.....Is it consistent/does it contradict? .......so like.....the better question....is when doesn’t it contradict? Anne’s character? We’re gonna act like it’s more her fault so we can make Makoto look better for when we force her on the team, doesn’t matter that we’ve been showing/stating that Anne didn’t know about Kamo’s abuse towards Shiho because of the miscommunication she was having, we’re gonna make it so that she should feel guilty for not having helped Shiho....even tho she WAS helping her just for a different issue. Iirc Mona states something about having Mako be the key, and then the NEXT GOD DAMN SCENE Mako’s acts like it was her idea:

Hi key had a freaking shit fit when I saw this. What do you mean you had this thought? How many people wrote these scenes without communicating with each other???? Mona had the idea??????? Which is why we even brought you along in the first place????? The hell????? It just doesn’t feel connected at all???? 

The game acts like she’s so smart suddenly, and even takes shit that she didn’t even come up with. Acts like she can def be level headed when she LITERALLY JUST RAN INTO A MAFIA DEN CAUSE SHE WAS TINY BIT STRESSED! Claims she has all these adults on her ass, when it’s just one (who backs down when she says no...AND IT WORKS), and the other who is just trying so hard to be a parent and a sister (who they keep wishy washy so we can like her later cause see she’s not all bad! uwu poor Sae ;w;). Acts like her arc is about adults telling her what to do and getting in her way and probably the reason she didn’t help with Kamo....EVEN THO SHE SAYS SHE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING CAUSE SHE DIDN’T CARE! And while it’s contradicted in retrospect, iirc it’s in her CoOp where she’s like “being a prim and proper prez won’t help me here” (or at least claiming she was one) when like/????? no she did illegal shit this entire arc, which fkldjsaf;jskjsfadf FREAKING LAUGHABLE she is after us when she is 1) stalking, 2) taking illegal recordings, 3) taking illegal photos, 4) harassing us in general like????? you’re the criminal Makoto (tbh her, Futaba, and Goro are the real criminals of the PT skldfjajf the only illegal shit happens cause of them). 

Then there’s the plan scene:

Makoto: What’s your guy’s plan? Ryu/Yuske/whoever: We kinda just go in and look around? Makoto: oh you don’t have a plan? well good thing I’m here! Me: What’s your plan Makoto? Makoto: We’re gonna go in and look around! Me:  (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

Pre Mako: We worked together to come up with a plan to attempt to sneak the treasure out! Post Mako: You don’t plan????? Good thing Mako’s here! We’re not going to attempt to steal the treasure by sneaking it out, instead we’re just gonna walk in there.....that’s it, no plan, and when there is one it’s gonna suck ass realistically but we’re gonna make it work through the power of ~plot convenience~! Me:  (ノಥ,_｣ಥ)ノ彡┻━┻

Mona: Oh Makoto called to apologize for getting your number via Leblanc. She must be ok! Me: Mona she threatened my livelihood, has been stalking me for weeks, wants me to go after a dangerous criminal that could risk my life AND livelihood otherwise she’ll just destroy my livelihood, wouldn’t help with our investigation one gd bit, chased away my one gd lead.....and..Do....do you think....she’s....”not bad?” Is that where your standards lie?

Game: You just need to change the person’s cognition and ya golden! Me: Well Kane said we are his customers, can we get in without Mako? Game: Nope! Me: Why? Game: We just need her in the plot is all. Me: But we COULD go without her. Game: 

Me: ????? BUT YOU WROTE THOSE RULES AND SAID THAT THEY WERE KANE’S CUSTOMERS?????!!!

Me: So Makoto can ride her Persona....that kinda shows they can all touch their Personas. Game: .......... Me: Why didn’t they try riding their Personas up to Kane in the first place?  Game: .......only Arsene has wings..... Me: I’m sorry but as Pennywise would say, “They all float down here.”  Game: 

PT: Man we sure do need a target! I wonder if there are any good leads Me: We literally just heard a rumor on the train this morning about a mob boss- PT: Man sure is sad we have no knew leads. u_u Me: I swear to god, I’m this close......I’m THIS close..... 

On a non Makoto related BS thing the game does this dungeon: PT: We need to go after bad guys! Me: What about going after the ones the police are going after! PT: No because they’ll take the credit. Me: Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow this says so much about your character, I thought it didn’t matter unless we were helping other’s? Did I just get teleported to the 5th dungeon for a sec? What’s with this BULLSHIT?  I get you need popularity for Mementos but first and foremost was helping people right? I’m not just bullshitting myself right???? So you mean to tell me, before it actually even went to your head, you already cared about popularity over helping people in general? Holy shit. You know, I give Junpei a lot of shit, but at least he and Yosuke have the integrity to keep doing what they need to do and not deciding not to do their damn job because people aren’t noticing them. You guys are horrible heroes. 

So yeah it’s not just Mako (or because of Mako, but most of it is because of Mako) that messes up the team/writing, even when she’s not related we get lovely pieces like that. It’s inconsistent and contradictory (Futaba is just as bad, it’s just aimed a lore elements that can easily be missed, rather than character/plot writing like Mako’s arc is). Lemme tell you, I’m literally having a shit fit every 2 seconds (btw I can go on about a 2 hour rant with probs each line like that’s how much I get tilted with this dungeon and it’s BS, lying straight to my face they think they can well I’ll just scream into the void! >XO) with both Mako/Futaba, but esp Mako. Oku’s might have a few contradictions or inconsistencies, but nowhere NEAR as many as Mako’s does. 

So now it begs the question.....does it make sense? No. Absolutely not. With that many inconsistencies/contradictions......how can it? Hell the premise makes no gd sense even knowing Humpty Dumpty is with the evil organization. Using her would make no sense, hell he has like a few suspects he could EASILY make a list without even asking around school (both Volleyball teams+track team+Ryuji+MC+Anne because he admitted to all that on stage next to the guy!) Hell it makes no sense why he’s part of the conspiracy when like......his position seems to do nothing for them. It’s just there for bullshit reasons, and to make Mako be put into a bullshit situation, it’d make more sense to hire Goro than ask a normal high school student to play detective (even tho Goro is probs the other one who provided a list, the hell are they asking the principal when they already used Goro?????) Hell, Kane targeting Syujin kids makes no sense, esp when their uniform is very recognizable! 1) They are already in the news for controversy (so unneeded attention), and 2) they’re connected to a fellow conspiracy member, why would you knowingly want to screw him over???? It just makes the conspiracy look dumber than they already look. 

Then there’s also the fact chars act dumber, either to make Mako look smarter, or to make it so she can join the team later. The whole arc smells of plot contrivance AND plot convenience. Literally bending over backwards to justify her joining when....the game accidentally wrote almost every way she didn’t need to join. 1) Found out about Kane before her, 2) Found his name without her help, 3) could use Personas to fly up to his dungeon if they tried it, 4) if for some stupid reason they couldn’t, they’d just make one of them a customer (hell probs just need to “join a scheme” like the other high school kids with the lackeys rather than run into his den himself, Kane seems to keep track of everyone) The game just doesn’t need her, but it realizes that and has to inconvenience itself and twist itself around to try to justify her. 

And this is probably only scratching the surface cause....it’s late.....but this is what I remember off the top of my head at 5 am. 

Like Oku’s is bad, but Kane’s is abysmal (oh, and at least with Oku we kinda KNOW why he’s crazy about power, Kane is more vague, which isn’t good for an already underdeveloped char). I don’t know why the fandom signed off on Oku being the worst when Kane’s around. Or even that “the game gets better when Futaba joins” (it doesn’t, the game was on a decline since Kamo’s dungeon, Futaba was just an apparent uptick from Mako, mostly cause it lacks the character/story assassination that Mako’s had) when the freaking way they handle mental illness should be a big red flag for everyone (the lore stuff? def will go over newbies heads, I get not everyone is a lore whore like me but c’mon, some stuff does make you question it tho even when you only look at P5). 

But yeah I think Kane’s has more writing issues than Oku’s does. Oku’s writing is bland, with one of the worst dungeons, but Kane has the worst writing and a very bland dungeon when you just....look at it.Kane does get shit, but I don’t know why Oku gets more shit, I get gameplay wise the dungeon can be frustrating, but my god......the writing in Kane is......just horrible all around.  

[hencethebravery]

TITLE: CS 0155 Data Witchcraft, 1/1 (Ao3)

SUMMARY: All the books and movies seem keen on operating under the assumption that magic is supposed to make your life easier. But apparently it was all lies, because being in one’s 20s seems to suck no matter what kind of spells you’re prone to casting. Emma Swan and Killian Jones, while “blessed” with the gift of magic, are certified emotional disasters—it’s a relief to know that at least they’ve found each other. A Contemporary CS Witches AU.

CONTENT WARNING (RATED M): Contains brief mentions of childhood sexual abuse; swearing; casual, non-depressing drug use; implicit and consensual sexual content between adults. The sexual abuse is mentioned in passing and not described in explicit detail. If you need further details before reading, feel free to send me a message!

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This was a story that I planned on finishing with about 9k. It ended up being completed about 41 words under the 15k limit, and imo it should probably be longer, but since that’s not an option, this is what we’re left with! I’d like to thank a few ppl that made this possible: @the-reason-to-sail-home, @pritkins-little-witch, @initiala, and @wellhellotragic for all of their time and helpful thoughts. This fic ended up being far more challenging than I had anticipated and I couldn’t have done it without y’all. Especially Tessa and Kat, you are both my shining stars. Thank you for never letting me give up on myself. Literally incredible freaking artwork that I cannot stop staring at provided by @clockadile and @princesse-swan, both found here and here (respectively). If you’re interested in listening to the soundtrack I made to suit the particular vibe of this story, you can listen on 8tracks, here. 

“Watch carefully that magic that occurs when you give a person enough comfort to just be themselves." — Atticus, Love Her Wild: Poems

i. ugly_duckling

Emma Swan learns about magic the same way that most children do—slipped in between the pages of a book. She is not granted the privilege of enjoying a conversation typical of most children; that of parents soothing the inevitable disappointment with the truth that magic is not real. The parents might, for the most part, keep the dream alive for a certain number of years. And so, for that certain number of years, the child will be allowed to live in a world where magic exists. That child will spend a few blissful years staring a little too hard at the creepy house at the end of their street; that child will throw a packet of salt over their shoulder, even at the risk of being yelled at by their parents after the fact. Most children will grow up feeling afraid, and not much can be done about it—but to be able to quell that fear, at least temporarily, with the suggestion that there’s a magical world at the heart of it all, waiting to be discovered? That kind of thinking might make the pain of all those unknown variables worth it, at least for most children.

Emma Swan was not most children. She was “most children,” in the sense that she wandered into a library and plucked a book off the shelf with a flying girl on the cover (she rode a broomstick and wore a black hat). She was “most children,” in the way she jumped off picnic tables and prayed that her feet would never touch the ground. But she was not “most children,” when she brought the book home and showed her new “mother” the particular book in question.

“Oh, you silly thing,” Mrs. Swan had so gleefully informed her, a sharp smirk on her stiff, something not quite right about it face. “Hasn’t anyone told you? There’s no such thing as magic.”

In the Swan household there was no such thing as magic. There was a roof over Emma’s head, and a hot meal three times a day, but in all other matters of importance, it may as well have been another orphanage. To make matters worse there was Betsy Swan’s husband, Mitchell Swan—a man who, on his very best days, could hardly summon the courage to lift his ass from the couch, and on his very worst, slip into Emma’s room every other night when his wife was asleep.

As a child, Emma would disappear into her own head, creating elaborate escape attempts from her supposed home. Sometimes she would don her own pointy black hat, put a spell on her own boring broomstick, and turn Mr. Swan into some small, nasty insect she could crush beneath her shoe.

When Emma turns seven, the Swans buy their first computer. It’s a Power Macintosh G3, which matters little to Emma at the time. At first, when she overhears them talking about it, Betsy mentions something about a mouse, and she finds herself unnaturally excited at the prospect of there being an actual animal in the house. That is until she actually sees the thing, and becomes confused and disappointed at the sight of this small, oddly shaped piece of plastic attached to a length of cord. She stares curiously at the blackened screen for a few moments until Betsy returns, yelling at her to get her “behind” away from the most expensive thing in the house.

Like most major developments that might occur within the pages of any generic fantasy novel, Emma makes her first acquaintance with the digital universe in the dead of night. Closer to midnight, if we’re being specific. A clock chimes from the dining room, and the Swan house is blessedly silent as she sneaks down the hall, past the flickering light of the television, the soft sounds of Mitchell’s snores emitting from his armchair.

The machine sits quiet and imposing atop the desk in the office; the light from the moon casting an eerie glow about the room, the dark screen a seemingly infinite void staring back into her wide, curious eyes. She sneaks a glance back towards where she came, expecting to hear Mitchell’s heavy footsteps, or Betsy’s cruel laughter, but she’s only greeted with silence, the odd creak of an old house.

When she finally works up the nerve to power it on there’s a kind of yawning, high-pitched static that hits her ears in a not entirely unpleasant way. It’s just enough that she finds herself overcome with the urge to open and close her mouth comically wide, like when your ears pop inside the cabin of an airplane and you have to re-adjust all the loose air inside your head. There’s a sound afterwards, a low hum that would never really go away. In later years, she would come to understand that there’s always a vague humming associated with most electronics. What was different in Emma’s case was the sound beneath the hum, or rather, the sounds.

She would learn to ignore them after a time, picking and choosing the most relevant or useful voices. Sometimes they were people, other times they were… something else. The first night she boots up the Power Macintosh, it’s all white noise, and she assumes it’s a thing that everyone can hear. It’s a lot of excited whispers, so hushed and quickly spoken that she has a difficult time making out any one word or phrase.

“Hello?” she utters quietly, still silently praying for the Swans to remain asleep and unaware of her trespassing. “Is there anyone out there?”

The humming cacophony of distant voices and dissonant beeps are the only answer, as if her own voice has gotten lost in the din, and her eyes search the desktop until they land on an oddly familiar image of a piece of paper. It is unlike any other piece of paper she’s ever seen, this bold, flat image outlined in blocks of color—untouchable, and with no discernible smell or texture. She has stumbled upon a word processor, a blank document with a blinking, vertical line that waits and waits.

The moon grows a bit brighter in the wake of her excitement, but Emma is too eager to notice the way the darker corners of the room become less so; even the way in which the computer itself has begun to emit its own soft, illuminated ring of greenish light, as if the office has been submerged in water.

“Hello,” Emma writes slowly, one key at a time. With each selection of every letter beneath her fingertips sounds a satisfying clunk, and she grins as she continues, “My name is Emma Swan.”

The silence that follows in the wake of all those voices is nearly deafening, but there’s a clear answer that sounds from within the four walls of her newly christened safe haven; murky and quiet, getting comfortable from her place seated at the bottom of a pool, “Hello, Emma Swan. It is very nice to meet you.”

As it turns out, there is quite a lot about the Swans’ Power Macintosh G3 that they are not privy to. The Swans, in point of fact, seem to be ignorant of a great many things occurring out in the world and even in their own home about 99% of the time. They have never heard the hum of voices coming from the computer room, nor do they seem to receive the same kind of unsettling, predictive programming that Emma can suss out from within the apparent blankness of a darkened television screen. It’s a blessing and a curse. While it’s nice to know she’s not quite so alone as she used to be—while it seems as if she’s been able to lift a veil and spot the real world underneath, there’s still the reality of the Swans always hovering in another room, at her back, or in her bed.

Betsy catches Emma on the computer late one night about a month or so after her first midnight rendezvous, and the subsequent consequences are about as bad as she assumed they would be. There’s a harsh smack to the back of the head, even harsher words, and a rough tugging of her arm towards her bedroom door, tossing her inside and slamming it shut before Emma can say a word in her own defense. She cries and seethes, the tightness at the back of her throat a painful and vicious reminder of the fact that she is little more than a prisoner.

And while Emma stewed inside her room, her small feet pacing back and forth from door to window and back again, Betsy Swan had tried and failed to turn on her new computer after it had shut off quite unexpectedly. It’s screen remained stubbornly dark, and there was Betsy, angrily and futilely attempting to turn it back on, only to give up about 20 minutes later, returning to her own bedroom, mumbling to herself about how they would have to lug the fucking thing back to the store.

It’s all a bit of a different game after that. Emma has to be more careful about how and when she visits that place she’s found behind the curtain. She’s sure to cover her tracks online, deleting files or browsing data as if she had never been. She spends the next few years doing her best to become a ghost—in both of her lives. Within the walls of her “home,” in the hallways at school, and in the cold, impersonal well of the Internet. She studies everything as carefully as she can, but does her best to leave as little an impression as possible. She excels a little too well in her typing class at school, earning her some impressive marks from a teacher, so she fumbles a few weeks later and drops down a grade.

It goes on this way for two or three years, and it’s about when she starts yearning for more that she obtains a bus pass and starts regularly visiting the library. It is during these regular visitations that she meets Lily Page, and wonderfully, her life is never the same.

Emma is close to turning eleven when she gets a private message from a user called “spyro-huntr3ss” on a public message board. At first her instinct is to block the user—she’s been around long enough to know that people are scum wherever you go, even in this digital world where she had felt so safe at first, this place she had decided to call her own.

“I know what it is you’re trolling for,” her mysterious new contact, likely trying to get her age, number, or address had sent, followed by, “and I can help you find it.”

From what Emma has been able to discern thus far, most people using the Internet were just as oblivious as the Swans, which was disappointing. She had been hoping, in vain it would seem, that once she’d been able to locate more users that they might be able to help explain it. The humming, and the voices, and the stories in the static—the songs lost in the high-pitched chorus of a dial-up tone. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be. Most people thought she was being metaphorical, or just plain paranoid. Message boards were a breeding ground for those folks made of cracks and dark places; lost people looking for patterns and meaning where there were none to be found.

The unsettling shiver that shrieked down the length of her spine had her head swiveling atop her thin, spindly neck as if she were some kind of anxious, wide-eyed owl; her mouth going dry at the sight of her own name staring back at her in bold, black text. To her profound relief, the library appeared to be just as empty as it had been when she walked in that morning. Not many people would brave the snow-filled streets a few days before Christmas to hang out in a public library, but then again, not many people had the Swans waiting for them at home.

Emma felt her heart beat anxiously in time with the blinking cursor inside her text box, a taunting slowness that seemed to be daring her to refuse the offer. She glimpsed at the library entrance and observed the snow falling heavily atop the empty city streets, tried to ignore the sickeningly sweet melodies of holiday cheer emanating from the head librarian’s office. The truth had been all she ever wanted, wasn’t it? From the very first moment she’d realized that she had come from nothing, that no one had wanted her, and could that be true? From the feeling of Mitchell’s hands and eyes where they shouldn’t be—wondering if all fathers were like this. From the first time she’d booted up the Power Mac, the ghostly chorus ringing in her ears, always ringing, ringing, ringing—

Lily’s “truth” is every bit as exciting as Emma’s painfully beating heart had hoped it would be. That yes, Emma Swan, there is a world behind the world and you have been invited to be a part of it. The people who are “in charge?” Those people that have hurt you, that have convinced you that you don’t matter, that what you might want for your life doesn’t matter—those people are powerless here. But not you, Emma Swan, not us. We’re the powerful ones now.

It takes her some time to truly trust her new informant, “spyro-huntr3ss,” who, while forthcoming about the realities of this world, the potential for what they could do, of what was waiting for them a few years down the line, was quite tight-lipped concerning personal details of her own life. Which was understandable, if not a bit frustrating, especially since she had known Emma’s name without having asked for it.

According to her new source (Emma’s not certain “spyro-huntr3ss” will ever be a friend), there are ways to pick apart the cacophony of sound constantly washing over her in dizzying regularity. There are also, blessedly, ways to tune out the noise. “Invest in a good pair of headphones,” had been one of the first things she’d advised, and after Emma, not yet a teenager, trapped between the freedom of the web and the reign of her parents, had quite logically argued that she had no money for such things, Lily had “laughed,” a peaky mechanical noise echoing in Emma’s ears.

Despite the fact that she was still technically a child and living under the Swans’ supervision, Emma had never in her life felt so independent. If not for her inconvenient need to eat and drink every once in awhile, the Swans might have forgotten she was there at all. There was of course the unfortunate recurrence of Mr. Swan; still coerced by some dark, unspoken perversions that it was his God-given right to appear by Emma’s bedside every few nights. Until Lily had learned of it, of course. It had been a secret Emma had always kept to herself, except for that first night she had run to Betsy, hoping for a savior and finding a stern hand instead. A disgusted voice of disbelief, calling Emma the sick one, the wrong one. “Mr. Swan would never do that you wicked little thing,” she had hissed into Emma’s small, red face. “You’re lucky I don’t send you right back to the orphanage for this disgusting stunt.”

And of course, Mitchell had found out, because the dutiful wife informs her stalwart husband of every single thing going on in their house, and he had made damn sure that Emma never said a word of their “visits” to anyone, especially not Mrs. Swan.

They had been messaging one another back and forth for about two years before Lily discovered her dirty little secret, and Emma was quite happy to finally be able to think of her as a friend. Even still, she had never been tempted to reveal the truth—she was embarrassed and ashamed, and she assumed that Lily would never speak to her again should she ever slip-up. Ultimately, it had been Emma’s penchant for frequently keeping extremely late hours, coupled with her recent cell phone acquisition, which she had been keeping underneath her pillow.

Emma had only recently started cursing, and found that it was one of the few things she genuinely enjoyed. It made her feel like she was older than she was, and the older she was, the closer she was to being free of this fucking place.

When she wasn’t getting lost within the dark, less than reputable corners of the Internet, Emma learned that she loved to read. Lately, she seems to have gotten into the habit of reading the same kind of story—the same kind of journey, over and over again. She’s read these stories so many times, in point of fact, that she’s begun to seek out these same patterns as they might appear in her own life. Is this beginning? She might ask herself, stepping off the bus and colliding with a polite stranger. Is this the end? She would nervously wonder, thinking she had heard footsteps outside the door to the computer room.

Staring at Lily’s direct yet subtle offer on the screen, she knew that this must be one of those moments; the moment where the story is about to take a turn, and no amount of deus ex machina, or praying, or wishing will ever bring back the life you had once lived.

Mitchell Swan is stunned to find an ungodly (and almost certainly illegal) amount of money in his bank accounts the next day, and he arrives home from work in an alcohol-fueled panic. Emma watches the two of them, quiet and unbothered from the darkened hallway as they titter and yell at one another like a pair of screeching birds. Her phone feels warm in her pocket, and she smiles at the thought of what’s in store—all those atrocious, sickening pictures hidden away on his work computer. What will the world think of you, Mr. Swan?

ii. jkillian@aol.com

Killian Jones often feels trapped by the city—little more than a lifeless, concrete prison; he despises nearly everything about the place. And to make matters worse, he has the misfortune to have been cursed with the burden of having too reliable a memory. It is far too easy to be able to slip back, back, back—all the way back until he’s suddenly standing in the middle of his mother’s garden. Until he can hear her voice in his head, laughing, singing, scolding. In these brief yet harrowing moments of nostalgia he can almost always hear her tears as well; her cries of pain that he had been helpless to alleviate. Logically, he knows he had been little else but a boy when she had first fallen ill, but it matters little. He feels responsible for her illness, even more so for her eventual death, alone and searching for a son that was no longer there.

Killian and Cordelia Jones owned a farm about five hours north of the city. Mr. Jones is long gone, and Killian, while in possession of an exceptionally good memory, remembers little of the man who his mother assures him was his father. She maintained his innocence for many years, wanting her son to know that he was loved, but as he approached a certain stubborn, righteous age, she had been forced to admit that no, he was not the man that Cordelia had hoped he would be.

“But it has not a thing to do with you, my love,” she said quietly, allowing him the benefit of thinking she hadn’t noticed his tears. It was truly astonishing that she never once raised her voice to the boy, especially given his behavior in later years. It was almost always at a level tempo, calm and direct, with just a hint of an Irish brogue that her own mother had possessed, although Killian had never actually met the woman.

“She wouldn’t have put up with your nonsense for a single moment.” Shaking her head at the sight of a broken lamp, or a carton of milk left to spoil on the counter. “You are one lucky lad.”

His mother insisted that the Jones’ were a lucky family. But as an adult he would come to believe that they had never been anything other than cursed. It would always be unclear to him exactly why that was, but he assumed it had something to do with the magic. That was always the case, wasn’t it? “All magic comes with a price,” says every single fantasy novel he had ever read, every magically-inclined film he had ever seen. Their downfall, in later years, seemed to him inevitable. If his mother were still alive, he would have asked her, “Did our family make a deal with the wrong demon?”

His bitterness, however, would still take a few more years to develop. As a child, he was enthralled with the sight of the vines and the flowers crawling their way inside the house. The way his mother would reach her hands deep within the soil and a few moments later, up would sprout the stubborn seeds. Cordelia made their living with her magic, often receiving visitors from the surrounding towns looking for quick-fix solutions to their various troubles. They would often come late at night, or when he was out in the fields, trying to make things grow or flourish, or wilt, as the case may be. But when he would see them walking nervously down the drive, quietly knocking on their aged blue door, he would drop whatever it was he was working on and try to sneak a peek at their meetings.

“What do they ask you for?” he wondered one night as she tucked him into bed, his eyes wide and curious, bright with all kinds of vivid imaginings. “Love,” she answered happily, bringing the blanket up to rest beneath his chin.

“Love?” he asked with a grimace, as if he were about to become infected with a terrible disease at the mere mention of the word. “And sickness,” she continued, chuckling at his obvious disapproval. “And loneliness. Or success in their businesses.”

“Can I help?” he asked sleepily, feeling the effect of the chamomile tea his mother had made him drink every evening before bed.

“One day,” she answered, kissing him on the forehead. “Soon.”

Ten years later and he’s not so sure how she would feel about the kind of man that he’s become. What he’s been using his “gifts” for. The harshest parts of him imagine telling her that heis helping them—helping them forget how terrible the world can be; the blissfulness of ignorance. And if he makes some extra money in the process? Well, then so bloody be it. He can almost imagine himself cruelly bragging of it even, taking pleasure in the heartbroken, disappointed look on her thin, pale face.

It hadn’t started this way, to be sure. Initially, the plan had been to go to the city temporarily, to make some extra money to afford the kind of medicine that would keep her alive for longer than just a few months. Of course she had been lying to his face when she had suggested it. Made him think that there was even the slightest chance that she would live another six months. Unbeknownst to him, she had apparently contracted an illness that even magic couldn’t cure (wasn’t supposed to cure, according to her).

“Then what good is it?” he had yelled despairingly, trying to ignore the pitying look on her face from where she was laid up in bed; small, weak, and complacent. No, not complacent.

“Accepting,” she had sternly tried to correct him. “Magic is not meant to prolong that which should end. You know this, Killian.”

But he had been too angry, too determined to seek out a cure, and Cordelia Jones, knowing her son, knowing his stubbornness, his inability to give up, to grapple with the helplessness of being human, had suggested that if he went to the city, used his abilities to make some extra money, perhaps they would be able to afford the medicine that could save her life.

“And take the cat, would you?” she had asked on his way out the door, shakily calling after him from where she dozed. “I want to make sure she’s well-looked after.”

Chammy was a calico with poor eyesight and an even poorer temperament. Most of the time. If you gave her some extra food or a good brushing she might deign to sit with you on the couch for a bit, but most of the time she was content to sit on a ratty armchair that he had pulled in off the street, her ears and tail flicking at the stray vines or weeds when they would grow too close.

The plan had always been to return. As soon as he had stepped foot off the bus, he had felt suffocated. By the polluted air, the distracting, flickering lights, the sounds and smells of too many human beings packed into one place like sardines in a tin. With Chammy’s crate in one hand and a packed duffle in another, he had wandered angrily through the streets until he’d found the shitty apartment he had managed to rent from a property owner who lived nearer to the farm.

“It’s not much,” he had warned Killian, clearly uncomfortable with the knowledge that Mrs. Jones was wasting away at the back of the house somewhere, “but it’ll do for a time.”

“I’m certain it will,” Killian had answered with a bitter grin, “Thanks for your help.”

Dealing in illicit substances hadn’t been the plan at first either. He had seen the kinds of services his mother provided; there wasn’t really a “modern” term for what she practiced other than “holistic medicine,” which wealthy business people in coastal cities seemed to love opening their wallets for. Unfortunately for Killian, he had never had much of a head for such things. The plants he had managed to cultivate back home, for himself and his friends, the kinds of things the local cops had busted him for on more than one occasion, those were the kinds of things he was good at. However, getting scolded by the cops back home was one thing, winding up in a city prison was quite another.

It had taken many frustrated evenings of trial and error, and even a few angry customers, before he was forced to admit to himself that the “healing” part of it was simply not where his true talents lay.

“This is good shit,” one of his recent acquaintances (the people you sell to should never really be considered anything more) had told him late one night from their perch on his fire escape, “You could make some good money with this.”

And that’s where it had all started; a steady stream of high quality product, and more than enough people willing to pay top dollar for it. He had been just about ready to afford the medicine, the whole reason he had moved to this awful city in the first place, to retrieve the cure and bring it back to his mother, when he had gotten a call from his landlord that Cordelia had passed in her sleep.

“I’m sorry for your loss, son,” he had said quietly in a grating tone of pitying condescension, “you should come back soon, collect her things. Figure out what to do with the place.”

“Yeah,” Killian had barked back, his vision going fuzzy and his throat tightening, “Thanks.”

And he had planned to return home for the burial. He knew that was what he was supposed to do. He had even gone so far as to get a babysitter for Chammy, had bought a bus ticket and packed a bag. Only he had smoked a little bit too much one morning (in preparation for the nightmarish journey home) and when he returned to himself a few hours later, found that he had missed his bus by several days. There were a few voicemail messages, mostly from people back home who had watched him grow up—some of them angry and scolding, others sympathetic and patient, reminding him that legally the farm was still his, that he could take as much time as he needed.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and suddenly it had felt too hard, and he was too much of a coward. So, ten years later and here he was—still trapped in his box like every other human-shaped sardine he would often glare at on the subway. He has managed to turn the apartment into something of a home, bringing in some potted plants that he had encouraged to grow a bit above their station. It’s something of an oasis in an otherwise barren hellscape, and while it is rare for him to not feel the occasional pang of regret and longing for what his life should have been, there’s still the nagging cowardice that has left him paralyzed in a life that feels unnervingly unfinished.

If he’s awake before sunrise, odds are whatever he thinks might be at his door at such an hour is more than likely a figment of his imagination. Especially if that figment is a grumpy, petite blonde who looks suspiciously like a Daria reject. Most of that blonde hair (imaginary as it is) would seem to be stuffed into an old, slouchy beanie in desperate need of stitching, but a few stray hairs have escaped to fall across her charmingly furrowed brow.

“Well, I must say this is a surprise,” managing to speak despite the dry mouth and still being half-asleep. “What do you say we continue this meeting at a more reasonable hour? Or preferably never? Never also works well for me.”

Normally he might not be so inclined to such rudeness, but a figment is a figment, and he needs his eight hours if he’s going to be remotely personable throughout the day. And drug dealers are famously nothing without their personalities.

One of the admittedly lovely, yet sadly fictional, woman’s eyebrows shoots quite delicately upwards, and he makes note of her especially twitchy fingers moving restlessly against her folded elbow. “Are you always this rude to potential customers?”

“Only when they interrupt my beauty sleep, darling, now if you’ll excuse me—”

He goes to close the door, only he’s found it blocked by a smallish, military-booted foot stuck between it and the frame, the ends of said boot all soft and scuffed; an experienced leather shoe on a tiny blonde female with impeccably groomed eyebrows. He should probably start laying off the more experimental strains. This was an unusually vivid hallucination.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re very pretty,” she says hurriedly, her own tired eyes trying desperately to meet his, “but I haven’t slept in about three days, so, could you maybe help me out?”

“I’m not in the habit of selling to imaginary wom—ow! Bloody hell, what on earth was that for?”

Her fingernails are painted a formidable shade of black, which was an odd detail to have stuck in one’s mind when they’re in the midst of pinching your chest hair unexpectedly viciously. Her eyes were also a little less tired, a lot more manic, and a particularly vivid and enticing shade of green. It made him think of something—a specific memory, locked away somewhere at the back of his mind where it was supposed to stay .

“I can assure you, I am very real,” she says on a grin, her hand still twisted up in his flannel. “And like I said, I am also very tired. So, please?”

It was the sudden, gentle note of desperation in her voice, paired with the residual nipple pain at the very least, that had his circuits re-firing a little bit better than they had earlier. A familiar kind of exhaustion, an intriguing feeling of despair that he had often felt stirring painfully within his own heart. It was the fact that, while he had only known this woman to be real for a few seconds, he knew that the gentility of her voice, the sudden nervousness—that these were hard things for the slight girl with the pale hands and heavy boots.

“My apologies. Please,” smiling and opening the door wider to allow her entrance, he gestures a hand inwards as she walks into the living room. Staring at the stiff slowness of her movements, the way she filled the space around her—that was when he had suddenly remembered. The sight of the farm in the heat of late summer and the dramatic, end-of-day light that would cast the garden in a fiery glow. The smell of the dirt under his bare feet, the warm flesh of ripening tomatoes. And was that his mother’s voice, calling his name from the porch?

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” she answered, no doubt distracted by the unusually green and “lively” look of the place. Not to mention Chammy’s guttural chirps at her feet. “It’s Emma,” she said, extending a thin, still hand. “Emma Swan.”

“Emma Swan,” hoping his grin was a little less frenzied than it felt, “Killian Jones.”

iii. vwthi3f

From the outside looking in, most people would probably suspect that the soul-crushing heartbreak, betrayal, and subsequent imprisonment would have left Emma Swan yearning for the so-called “carefree days” of her youth—but those people would be wrong. It would be safe to assume that those same people had probably lived fairly standard, mediocre lives, and there’s nothing wrong with having lived such a life. Mundane lives such as these, they’re usually of the pain-free variety. Aside from the occasional missed birthday, disappointing grade, or sneaking liquor from the cabinet before they’re able, childhood tends to pass quickly and blissfully. It’s one of those things that adults often recall with fondness; they imagine that if they could go back in time to an age before bills, home ownership, and a number of regretful sexual encounters, that they might be truly happy again. Emma Swan had dreamed of the mundane life even before she had started living with the Swans, and certainly afterwards she had desired it moreso. She wished that her pain (and even now, the labeling of her past as “pain,” felt pitiful and tiresome) was the kind of story you didn’t mind sharing, instead of the harsh, ugly thing that she preferred most people not know. Even if they were your friends.

From her prison cell, she often tries to make a list in her head of all the good things that have happened since leaving the Swans. Those times when she’s feeling a bit lonelier than usual, or after she’s spent a little too much time thinking about his smile. As if breaking one’s heart was the worst thing that could happen to a person. And sure, prison is pretty miserable, but it’s not a foster home, and it’s not the Swans. Prison has designated computer time, and there’s no sneaking down darkened hallways at night. And the prison system, unsurprisingly, knows very little of magic, which is how she so easily bypasses the archaic security software, reaches out across the void, and finds the comforting, if not vaguely biting, words of an old friend.

At the very least, she is gracious enough to avoid coming right out and saying “I told you so.”

One of the first things she notices about Lily Page (and isn’t that just irony at its finest) is her hair. It’s long, dark, pin straight, and some of the thickest she’s ever seen. She always threatens to chop most of it off, but never does (and never will), despite Emma’s playful needling. Unsurprisingly pale, with deep red lips and black, wet eyes that always make it appear as if she’s on the verge of tears. “Ask me if I’m ‘okay,’ one more fucking time, Swan,” she would frequently threaten before fleeing the room. She would eventually, and begrudgingly, admit that being on the receiving end of someone else’s “concern” made her feel slightly nauseous, which Emma had found to be pleasantly relatable.

Lily had been living in a very small studio at the tip-top of a tall, post-war building in the financial district. It was a charming place to live, but not particularly well-suited to housing two people, so they found another. As Emma had already been led to believe, money wasn’t much of a concern when most of it was digital these days anyway, and while they couldn’t go for something especially lavish (so as not to draw too much attention to themselves), it was still a nicer home than Emma could have ever imagined as a child.

The feeling of safety and comfort in her own home is one of the good things on her list. If nothing else, one of the very best. Having the security of a door with a lock on it—a roommate who always knocks. The first night in their new place she has the best night of sleep she’s ever had, and when she woke up in the early afternoon the following day, her blankets unmoved from the night before, her door still blessedly shut, she had to muffle her relieved sobs with the absurdly soft pillow beneath her head, lest she force Lily into an awkward moment of interpersonal comfort she often found distasteful.

“I’m better online,” she had humbly conceded after an awkward, consolatory pat on the back. But it was okay. She was still the best friend that Emma had ever known, and besides, she wasn’t great with people either.

Their apartment was a veritable hive of high-end, up-to-date tech. The walls practically hummed with it all, the various cords trailing in and out between rooms, framing windows and doorways. Another thing to add to the list; the small touches that made it both a home and impenetrable fortress from which they might change the world if they had a mind to. She’s got the friend, never really had one of those before, but on top of that, she gets a teacher—she gets power. A lot of it. She also gets an iBook G4 with 1.5 GB of memory (that she manages, with some magical prowess, to enlarge to around 3 or 4). She loves that it fits in her lap, that she can feel the warmth of it against the tops of her thighs when she hasn’t powered it down for 48 hours. The sounds of the keys beneath her fingertips, loud and decisive, wary of her at first, but after a few weeks, craving her touch.

“We all have different strengths and weaknesses,” Lily had explained over coffee, twirling the length of headphone cord round and round her finger. “You seem to be especially adept at Research.”

Emma huffs. “Couldn’t anyone be good at that?”

“Not when it involves talking to corpses and seeing the future.”

“I don’t think they liked to be called that,” Emma had said uncomfortably, turning the sound down on the phone in her pocket. “Well,” Lily answered smartly, forcing down her cold coffee with a grimace, “that’s why I’m not so good at it, isn’t it?”

Emma eventually learns that when Lily says “Research,” it doesn’t necessarily mean traditional forms of information gathering. She could hop on Google and find an article, probably quicker than most, sure, but what Lily really means is communication and knowledge; she means dipping her fingers into the void and coming back with Truth. Apparently there’s a whole freaking dictionary of witch-related vocabulary that she’s missed out on, and funnily enough, it’s not online.

“Where anyone could find it?” Lily explained, dropping the aged, poorly bound manuscript onto Emma’s lap, “Analog has its uses.” Knowledge is good. Answers are good. The world is vast and old and it’s all in one place, just waiting for her to hit the power button.

It sounds stupid, but she could eat ice cream whenever she wanted. It’s one of the good things, and as Lily had informed her, it’s also one of those things that kind of made her just like everyone else. “Most people enjoy the privilege of being able to eat ice cream whenever they want,” she said, distracted with something or other on the screen in front of her, “congratulations, you’re finally normal.”

There was a note of sarcasm in her tone (surprise, surprise), but  Emma couldn’t suppress the grin that had appeared on her face at the thought of being just like everyone else. If one were to totally ignore the “tech-savvy witch,” thing, obviously. Eating ice cream, “just like everyone else,” while a good thing at first, would ultimately return to bite her quite firmly on the ass, but for a while it had been Rum Raisin and Moose Tracks whenever the hell she wanted. Mercifully, it was sold cheap at the corner bodega and sometimes she would wander out of the apartment mere hours before the sun was due to rise and buy herself one or two pints (even though there were several unfinished sitting in the freezer). She met Neal Cassidy during yet another trip to the store in order to indulge in one or two flavors she hasn’t had the pleasure of trying yet. Like Cherry Garcia or the one with the caramel-filled chocolates shaped like fish. Lily had referred to the fish-shaped chocolate as a “crime against nature,” but she could be a tad dramatic sometimes.

“Gotta cure those night-bites somehow, I guess, right?”

Emma Swan dislikes and distrusts men as a general rule. So when she heard a distinctly male voice at her back, had sensed the way he stood over her, she had felt uncomfortable almost immediately. Her phone started to buzz quite incessantly in her pocket, despite the fact that she had left Lily sleeping and no one else had her number—she had, mistakenly, ignored it.

Emma had never entertained the prospect of a romantic relationship before Neal. At that point in her life she’d been getting closer to 18, so she knew it was about “that time,” but it had never really been something she wanted to pursue. She had only just started getting used to the feeling of Lily sitting next to her on the couch; the non-threatening way she might bump their hips together when she moved past her in order to get to the fridge. And it’s not like he managed to get under her skin quickly (if anything she remembers noting that he had quite the punchable face), but there was something about him she had found charming, and unfortunately she was not quite as repulsed as she might have expected herself to feel.

“What?” she had asked with some confusion, hoping her facial expression was not quite so dumb as she imagined it to be.

“Late night cravings,” he clarified, nodding at the ice cream in her hand, “I know the feeling.”

She managed to surmise he was talking about being high, not that she would have really known. But she nodded anyway, finding herself in the familiar predicament of having to pretend she’s “in on the joke,” so to speak. She had never done any kind of drug at that point, but she had preferred he assume she knew what he was talking about and let her off the hook, rather than come off as some kind of dense pre-teen. Luckily for her it had worked, and he simply smiled and walked off, snagging a candy bar and shoving it into his pocket as he went. Despite the obviousness of the lift the clerk had failed to notice, and Emma rolled her eyes, finally pulling the buzzing phone out of her pocket.

Idiot, read a text from an unknown number, the less frenzied hum of a few dozen voices scrolling in the darkness of her closed eyes, infinite, vertical rows of ones and zeroes. That’s a walking prison sentence if we’ve ever seen one.

Emma stares up at the ceiling of her bleak, unremarkable prison cell and thinks about how she might yell at those numbers now, if she could. Thinking they’re so smart all the time just because they’re dead. Or, ya know, “untethered by their human forms,” or whatever the fuck. In yet another teachable moment, Lily had tried to explain that while most of the time she was in conversation with the dead, sometimes she was just reaching out to other Techies wandering around in the same playground as her.

“You shouldn’t trust everything they say,” Lily had warned, “I know it seems like they know everything because they’re ‘one with the machine,’” her eyes rolling, “but most of them are just as lost and fucked up as we are. There’s no power greater than your own instinct.”

It’s too bad Emma never really got around to the whole “trusting herself” thing. Especially when it came to Neal Cassidy—the first boy to make her feel special. The asshole who had given her a taste of what it meant to love and be loved only to rip the still beating heart out of her chest and squish the particularly sensitive parts between his toes. Not that she had known that at the time. At the time she had simply been relieved to know that she wasn’t completely broken. That someone could care for her, that she could care for them in return. That she could bear the feeling of his hand wrapped around hers (ignoring the fact that she was often bothered by the unusual sweatiness of his palms).

When she’s not walking in circles around the prison yard or in the computer lab, she’s replaying her memories of the last year as if they were disassociated segments of a silent film—a distorted, desaturated mess of key scenes that would ultimately lead her to this very moment, to this hard bed beneath her back. That’s usually when the bad begins, when she goes back to adding good things to the list.

The dead ones always want to know because they’ve forgotten, and they’re hoping that she’ll be able to help them remember what it was like, being alive. Please, Emma Swan, please bore us with the details.

It’s not quite so bad at first. They flirt a lot, which Emma finds fun despite never having really done it before, and then there’s her first kiss, and the first time having sex she actuallyenjoys, and running through the darkened city streets without a care in the world. There’s sharing her story with someone who seemed to care, a lover and not a friend; who upon learning of her abilities got a gleam in his eye that she would live to regret ignoring. There was getting high for the first time and trying not to feel hurt when he had laughed at her obvious inexperience, despite having promised that he wasn’t going to. It was stupid to ignore the hint of warning in Lily’s eyes when she started spending more nights at Neal’s place. Not to mention the dozens of ominous text messages from unknown numbers.

Emma had become defensive and snarky almost immediately. Taking offense at the suggestion that she couldn’t handle herself in her first grown-up relationship, as if she wasn’t a smart, experienced woman with a good head on her shoulders.

As it turned out, the “babysitter” probably would have been helpful. Maybe the babysitter would have been able to stop her from transferring all of those large, traceable funds into Neal’s accounts. When she has a difficult time conjuring up another good thing to add to the list, his smarmy voice pops into her head instead, reassuring her that “no one would ever find out.”

Three years and one prison sentence later she often finds herself haunted by her own words. Disgusted with herself for betraying the one person who had never been anything other than kind in a world full of monsters. “All’s well that ends well,” Lily had said in greeting upon picking her up from prison, her face hidden beneath the shadow of a baseball cap. “Breathe in that sweet, sweet freedom.”

The only useful thing that Neal had managed to leave in his wake, aside from a renewed sense of disgust with humanity as a whole, was the innocuous drug habit. She didn’t consider herself to be an addict by any means, not that an actual addict would admit to such a thing, but she certainly imbibed more frequently than she might have predicted a few years earlier. The problem (if you had to call it that) was using it for normal human things that most people were able to accomplish without the chemical assist—things like sleeping.

Emma has always had trouble sleeping. It was unsurprising given her history, but as it turns out, staring at screens almost 24 hours a day doesn’t really help the situation either. She had tried a handful of other remedies over the years: a hot cup of chamomile tea before bed (that always made her have to pee right on the edge of sleep); some user generated playlists comprised of soothing instrumentals (except for that one “experimental” song at the end that left her heart racing); charge and cast spells left waiting in her camera roll, various hand drawn sigils or long strings of emojis (while effective, often accompanied by odd dreams). For whatever reason, the weed had been the most helpful. She had felt ashamed at first; good little girls don’t use drugs after all (sounding suspiciously like Mrs. Swan in her head), but it was like Lily always said, “If it works, it works.”

4: urbanfarm3r@gmail.com

While their first meeting had undeniably fallen on the rougher end of the friendship spectrum, there’s something about her that insists upon a second. Especially after he’s had more sleep, and his charm is significantly more effective. He’s held her hand for an almost inappropriately long few moments before he comes to his senses and asks after her problem—what is it she’s in the market for? It’s as she’s said, “trouble sleeping,” and he reminds her that his product, while almost exclusively well-received is a bit, shall we say, “stronger” than the usual fare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, glancing suspiciously around his oddly lush studio despite it being midwinter.

“My methods can be a bit,” pausing for effect, a bit of vague handwaving for emphasis, “unusual.”

“‘Unusual,’ like laced, unusual?”

“Good heavens woman, no,” he says hurriedly at the angry look on her face, frustrated with his seeming inability to form sentences this morning. “Let me show you.”

Normally, he might not be so inclined to reveal his “gifts” to a new client, but as he surmised from their awkward yet brief conversation at his door, there was just�� something about her. And for whatever reason, he got the sense that she wasn’t about to be shocked or frightened by his admission. He leads her over to a large, round window that looks out over a dismal alleyway. The tops of other apartment buildings with decrepit looking antenna rest precariously on their respective roofs. The glass of the window is warped, evidence of the building’s rather respectable age; dotted with air bubbles and flecked with dirt and pollen. The window itself, while framed by some aesthetically pleasing distressed brick, is also encircled by a rather impressive wreath of thick, green vines.

Beneath the window he’s setup his appropriately named “Alchemist’s Table,” complete with ceramic pots and glass test tubes, even an old microscope he had acquired at a middle school auction. “You some kind of mad scientist?” Her words sound a bit sharp, but they’re nowhere near harsh enough to hide the curiosity and wonder in her voice, and he plays along with a bit of a “mad” grin.

“After a fashion.”

He shows off a bit after that, there’s no denying it, sticking a finger into a pot of soil with a small sprout peeking out of the dirt. A young and fragile thing. Emma watches, entranced, as it begins to grow and stretch itself into being, and after a few seconds, a small, pale green strawberry appears. “It’ll be ripe enough to eat in a few hours,” he says casually, reining in his laughter at the look of shock on her face, “if you’d like to stay for a bit.”

While he’s used to women finding this particular trick alluring, he finds himself quite surprised at what she ends up saying instead. “You’re one of us.”

“Sorry, love, one of who?”

“Us!” she says happily, her hands clapping gently together, “I’ve never met a non-Techie before.”

“A non-what?”

“Do you not know?” she asks, suddenly sobering, her head tilted endearingly to one side. At the blank look on his face she smiles softly, her earlier fidgeting having evaporated at the prospect of revealing this apparent truth. She leans close enough that he can smell the sweetened coffee on her breath, and an oddly familiar floral scent that seems to stem from the blonde tips of her hair.

“You’re not the only one,” she divulges in an excited whisper, and he becomes abruptly alarmed at the likelihood of falling in love with this strange woman who ended up being undeniably  real. “There’s more.”

The smoke tastes sweet on his lips. She’s not sure if it’s magic or something else. Something unique to whoever or whatever he is. They kiss on the first day they meet and she’s not quite sure what that says about her. She’s fairly certain that it says more about him—that perhaps there is something a bit irresistible about a man who has briefly wondered whether or not you truly exist. Which is ironic, because for the first half of her life it was all she could do to make sure that people knew she was there, but that was mostly so someone would feed her or give her a place to sleep. It was only after she had stopped feeling so hungry that she had hoped she would disappear.

“I have a question,” she starts, taking a hit off of his “free sample” while trying not to marvel at the trail of pinkish smoke that escapes from in between her lips. “If you were so sure that I wasn’t real, why did you even talk to me?”

When he exhales the smoke is blue rather than pink, and when it meets the colorful cloud above their heads it blends together in shades of vibrant purple. She can’t help feeling like she has stumbled into a scene from Alice in Wonderland, having found herself in a strange land with an excitable man (who likes to leave empty mugs scattered about his home), as well as the literal toadstools and the rather odd sensation akin to falling down a rabbit hole.

“Rather pretty for a figment, I suppose. Wouldn’t do to ignore such a lovely, imaginary thing,” crushing the the last of the joint against a small, porcelain plate, “might hurt her feelings.”

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she almost ignores it. But it was hard to forget about the nightmare that had ensued when she had ignored it the last time, and she pulls it from her pocket with a polite “give me a minute,” gesture.

She snorts at the sight of the word “airs,” her mind conjuring a 16th century French courtesan in a dramatically large dress, and silently warns her heart not to get it’s hopes up. Me too.When she looks up from her phone his head whips away too quickly for him to have been doing anything other than staring at her, and she wills the inevitable blush from her cheeks.

“We should exchange numbers,” she says suddenly, “for when I need more.”

Thankfully he ignores her rather abrupt request and pulls a most surprising device from his pocket that has her temporarily forgetting the way he had been so obviously observing her earlier. It’s a Motorola Razr V3 (launched in 2004), and the only thing funnier than the phone itself is the offended look on his face after she bursts into loud, obnoxious laughter at the sight of it.

“I’m doing my best not to feel quite so hurt right now, Swan.”

“I’m sorry,” she gasps in between her embarrassing bout of giggling, “I just didn’t think you could even get your hands on one of those things anymore.”

“It may not be your ‘high-tech’ nonsense,” he goes on proudly, “but she’ll do in a pinch.”

“Oh, Killian,” she says sweetly, “I’m sure she will.”

They start texting with a frequency far more reminiscent of an honest to goodness friendship rather than that of a business relationship, and Emma finds herself having to reassure the small, frightened girl inside of her that the whole thing won’t end in disaster. He’s not Neal, she thinks desperately, trying to trust in the hopeful parts of herself without succumbing to the bitter voice inside her head that struggles to forget the less admirable parts of humanity. What’s another potential stint in prison for such a pretty face, after all?

The first night she tries what he recommended, a strain he refers to as “Sailor’s Delight,” she dreams of the ocean. It’s an especially vivid dream, unlike anything she’s ever experienced—she can smell the sourness of low tide; taste the salt on her lips, and feel the warmth of the sun on her face. First thing in the morning she reaches for the phone beneath her pillow, her fingers flying across the screen.

She hesitates briefly before sending that last text. While it’s true her mind feels calm and her body re-energized, her heart hammers wildly inside her chest—the tiny fists of an anxious child warning her of the inevitable. While her own nervousness is enough to give her pause, she does try and take comfort in the fact that her “ghostlier” comrades would seem to have taken a backseat for the moment.

His texts often arrive in the form of mini paragraphs. Full sentences and words bundled together and sent to her as if they were handwritten letters. She can see his fingerprint on each and every one, a dirt-stained brand that conjures some unknown, vast greenery made of hills and fir trees, winding back roads and cloudless skies.

“He better not track any dirt in here,” Lily warns her the evening before he was supposed to be coming by to drop off another batch. It was to be his first visit to their apartment, and Emma could not be more nervous if she tried. She’s been back to his place a few times since that first visit, but allowing him to come here had been an unexpected offer on her part. Not that it matters, she thinks calmly, what do you care what he thinks?

“Don’t be such a snob, Lil.”

Lily’s mouth is full of frosted flakes as she leans against the refrigerator, glaring at the back of Emma’s head. “This shit’s expensive, and I don’t have time to fix anything he manages to break.” She suspects a note of jealousy in Lily’s ire, so she decides to cut her some slack, pressing a kiss to her cheek with a guaranteed dirt-free visit.

“It’ll be fine,” she says, heading towards her room to straighten up for no other reason than the fact that it has been a while. “Besides, aren’t you curious?”

A playful shout at her back, “Not nearly as curious as you, my little thief!”

The next morning he’s standing at her door holding a potted plant. “It’s a succulent,” he says happily, his hair sticking up in all directions. He smells like the city after it’s been sanitized by a particularly cold frost, and she wonders how he’s managed to keep warm in a half-buttoned flannel and a knitted scarf. “Notoriously hard to kill,” he assures her, shoving the thing into her hands, “I’m sure you’ll get along famously.”

The brief facade of confidence he had displayed while foisting the plant upon her departs rather suddenly at the sight of her apartment, and he looks all kinds of adorable and confused at the otherworldliness of it all. She supposed it would look rather intimidating to a person like him, surrounded by all those green things. Not that the wires and the screens were any less alive—they were just better at playing dead.

He does have some dirt on his fingertips and beneath his nails, but Emma finds herself quietly charmed by the sight of it; the deep impression of his prints highlighted by the dark soil permanently staining his skin. It’s been getting harder and harder to pass off their brief moment of intimacy as a one time thing. Especially when she can’t seem to stop thinking about it. Especially when she does stupid things like noticing his hands and trying not to recall the pleasant sensation of their roughness against her cheek.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says teasingly at the awed look on his face, “this is the most secure room in the city.” With a few magical fortifications no one and certainly no obscure, supernaturalthing was getting past the barriers they had implemented when they had first moved in, and it had only gotten stronger over the years.

Lily pops her head in from the kitchen, most likely with the intention of embarrassing her only friend. “Hey, Sprout,” she says, glaring at Killian from behind her thick curtain of hair, “don’t touch any of my stuff.”

“Don’t worry about her,” and Emma takes a moment to stick out her tongue in Lily’s direction. “She’s trapped in a state of perpetual grouchiness.”

“I heard that.”

There’s something incredibly momentous about the occasion of his entering her room. Lily had only hung out in there a few times, and Neal had never even been inside (she had spent all their nights together at his place). It’s her favorite time of day, which helps. Late afternoon, which often brings a light that seems warmer than at any other time—and with those big windows, the ones she suspects Lily had a hand in ensuring were a fixture of the apartment, the light falls and frames the room in a buttery yellow that makes winter feel that much further away.

In a probable attempt to diffuse the tension of Lily’s condescending nickname (and subsequent scolding), he laughs and runs a hand through his hair, making it bigger than it already was.

“Well, she’s charming.”

“She’s a good friend,” Emma says quickly, irritated with her sudden urge to leap to Lily’s defense as if he had said something wrong. Which he hadn’t.

“I’m sure she is, Swan,” he reassures softly, “it was only a joke.”

Then comes the urge to apologize, which she knows she has no reason to, and fuck, there is no reason why this should be so hard . He takes a seat in a large armchair she’s tucked away into a corner of the room, his eyes making quick work of all the unfamiliar equipment. The curious awe with which he observes her space gives her pause—takes her back to the day when she had first seen the Swans’ new computer in the room at the end of the hall. Forbidden, yet waiting for her all along.

“Make sure you keep her in the light.”

“Who?” Confused by the pronoun and wondering if he’s been seeing imaginary women again. “The plant,” he explains, gesturing towards the small, green twig in her hands, “make sure she gets a decent amount of sunlight.”

A part of her wants to remind him that she’s shut up in the dark most of the time. That was why she needed the drugs in the first place. Aside from the few short hours pre-sunset when she would, occasionally, open the curtains. But he looks so hopeful, she doesn’t really have the heart to deny him. “Sure. Sunlight.”

In the days following Killian’s visit to the apartment, all of the various cords and sundry start growing towards the sunlight as if they were starving for it. She even starts to notice some small weeds pushing their way through her keyboard. It doesn’t seem to be a problem at Lily’s end of the apartment; her equipment seems to have stayed blessedly put, but Emma’s room is another matter entirely. She even goes so far as to make a post on a message board where other witches have been known to frequent, despite the fact that they usually have terrible advice and she’s generally better off not having spoken to them in the first place.

She attaches a picture and hopes for the best, but unfortunately no one seems to have a clue. Someone does suggest watering them and seeing what happens, but that seems incredibly stupid, so she deletes the post and moves on. Or she tries to at any rate—pretends that there is nothing at all odd about her frequent compulsions to text him anytime a meaningless thought enters her head. The way she starts opening her curtains for a few more hours each day; the feeling of the sun on her skin becoming a welcome part of her routine, as opposed to a cruel reminder of the world that exists beyond the walls of her bedroom.

Their odd, somewhat unlikely friendship grows and flourishes like one of Killian’s plants. It is not without the occasional thorn or weed, like most relationships. The both of them are not without their mutual baggage that stings when you poke at it. Neither one of them can help messing with the other’s wounds, it would seem. Emma had always been under the impression that picking at the thing made it worse, but Killian insists on acting as an infuriating salve that alleviates the pain and leaves the injured place stronger than it had been before.

Beyond the niceties of being one’s drug dealer, getting to know another person can be quite difficult, which had been expected. From the very first, Emma had betrayed an innate desire to keep parts of herself hidden from others. Her passion for witchcraft—the excitement with which she had explained her kind to him that first meeting, it was a good trick, but it wasn’t long before he would come to realize that Emma Swan would rather place a curse upon herself than share the sordid details of her past with anyone.

It had been in the aftermath of his own unburdening—his sudden desire to finally reveal to her all of the messy details of his own life. About his mother, her passing, how maybe he was living a life she had not wanted for him. Emma had been nothing but understanding in the face of his admission, just as she suspected, their unexpected kinship made his pain an easy pill for her to swallow, but that didn’t mean she was necessarily ready to reciprocate.

“I barely tell Lily things about my past,” she had shouted angrily, her arms folded defensively in front of her chest, “why the fuck would I tell my drug dealer?”

“Oh, is that all?” Spoken into the sudden, sucking quiet of his apartment, forcing himself to ignore the painful look of regret on her face. She could wish away her words all she liked, he refuses to be anyone’s whipping boy, no matter how damaged they are. “Then you’ve gotten what you came for,” he said, patiently opening his front door for her convenient departure, “and you let me know should you require my services again.”

Her facial expression could not have been more pained—a fervent desire to take back what she had said, to offer an apology and admit to him the facts of the case. The fact that he had, quite unexpectedly, become one of the more important people in her life. The fact that she often daydreamed about the hour or so in which they had forgone the illusion of platonic friendship. The fact that she often considered the Killian-shaped hole in her future where he would almost undoubtedly be. But, alas, stubbornness won out, and she stormed away, so swiftly and in such a rage with herself that she left her jacket behind. A weathered, burgundy leather number, soft to the touch and smelling vaguely like an electrical fire. At least she’d have an excuse to see him again.

He waits a few days. Keeps his phone buried in a drawer beneath all of his socks and underwear, resisting the urge to send her a text, to wonder if she had sent him one. Eventually, he returns the jacket with a proposition. “Come with me,” he says, not quite begging, but with a breathlessness that he does find mildly humiliating. “Please.”

They take a bus upstate, far enough away from the farm that he doesn’t feel claustrophobic, but with enough distance between themselves and the city that he feels like he can finally breathe. They wander through small, sleepy towns full of charming coffee shops and bookstores, grabbing a cheap breakfast before venturing further into the countryside, stumbling through various trails and parks suggested to them by the locals. “There’s a particularly nice spot,” remarked the older woman who had served them coffee, “right here.” Marking up the paper map that Killian had insisted they buy.

It is a bit nippy further north, and despite the fresh smell of earth and rain, their noses still turn pink as they walk through the woods. The “nice spot” in question is a ledge of rock that overlooks a large, clear lake that sparkles in the sun. A light mist hovers over the top, and when he takes a quick peek to gauge Emma’s reaction, he is momentarily stunned at the way the sunlight has fallen across her face—how it has betrayed the sheen of wetness that seems to be gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“Swan?”

“It’s not a nice story,” she begins after a few moments of quiet. “I don’t like to tell people. Because it’s just not…” She huffs in frustration, turning away briefly to face the sun, staring out over the water as if it will be able to finish this conversation for her. “I don’t want people treating me differently.”

He hesitates before gently pulling some stray hairs from her chapped lips, and when she looks back at him it feels as if he’s been punched in the gut. Having never seen this particular look on her face before; perhaps moments away from arriving at this emotional plateau, only to shutter it away at the last moment. It is glassy eyed and fragile, her nose wrinkling and her hands fidgeting with the ends of her sleeves—it is a choked admission of all the horror she has known; of her adoptive family, her villainous “father,” the computer at the end of the hall, the young girl waiting at the other end who had stormed the tower and rescued her from a cruel fate.

When the tale is finally done, and he pulls her into his arms, the sun has moved higher into the sky. The fog has evaporated completely from the surface of the water, and now it merely shimmers. Their legs dangle over the rockface, and he presses a firm kiss against the side of her head. “I swear,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, “you are still the same person you were before. And if it seems as if I look at you differently—” He considers his words carefully, her fingers tapping nervously against his upturned palm, “It’s because I am more in awe of you then I was before.”

Her kiss is a salty, stinging thing against his tongue, and he can still feel the occasional soft hiccup resonating from the back of her throat. “I’m tired,” she admits quietly, her head rolling against his shoulder.

“Aye, love,” giving her another squeeze, a brief kiss to her cheek that reddens under his lips. “Let’s go home.”

It’s the fact that he never actually asks that makes her want to do it. That and the fact that he has bared his soul to her on multiple occasions and asked for so little in return. And quite honestly, there’s not much left he could do to her, given the fact that she’s spilled her damage all over him anyway.

Their feet hang over the fire escape out Emma’s window, the chilly spring air keeping it brisk yet refreshing. A hint of warmth that reminds the world of the impending season. “If you could,” she begins gently, taking a sip of their shared beer, “would you want to talk to her?”

He nibbles at his lower lip in response, an infuriating and distracting movement that has her discreetly pinching the top of her own hand. “I’m not sure,” he admits quietly, looking a bit like someone who feels ashamed by who they have become. Although, if she had the strength, she would have stopped him in that moment, reminded him that there was nothing to be ashamed of. That he was every bit the sweet, loving man his mother had suspected he would become. “Not sure she’d very much want to speak with me, if I’m being honest.”

Her heart breaks at the sound of his nervous, self-deprecating laughter, but she keeps her earlier, enamored thoughts to herself. While he’s lighting a cigarette she pops back into her room quickly, grabbing her laptop and returning to the ledge to face his sadness; the light and sound of a sleepless city, awaking slowly from a long, hard hibernation.

“I can’t guarantee anything,” resting the quiet machine on her lap, trying not to twiddle her thumbs, “but we can try.”

When she boots up the laptop, a soothing hum ignites in her fingertips and rushes through her veins. Now this, this she can do. She can feel his nervousness from over her shoulder, can see his fingers peeling the label away from the bottle out of the corner of her eye. “Relax,” she says softly, closing her eyes, her fingers flying across the keyboard. She’s not sure how much time passes, but at some point, in the midst of all the chatter, she hears it—a song that sounds familiar even though she is certain she’s never heard it before. “Do you hear it?”

He doesn’t seem to, not at first, not until she increases the volume on the laptop and slides it carefully onto his lap. “Take as long as you want,” pressing a kiss to his temple before standing and returning to her room, “I’ll be right here.”

It’s hard for her not to let her mind wander, to consider the particulars of a conversation that he’s been waiting to have for years , a voice and a face that he’s been tortured by everytime he closes his eyes. She had never even really considered looking for her own parents. What would she even say to them? Thanks for the childhood trauma, I have multiple lifetimes worth of debilitating baggage and it’s all thanks to you. And what would they do, anyway? Apologize? Fat lot of good that would do.

When he comes back inside she’s petting the soft edge of her succulent, somehow still flourishing regardless of her complete lack of knowledge as to how to properly care for the thing. His eyes are red and wet, and he tries to smile when he sees her obviously worried expression, only it crumbles as soon as she touches him, her hands coming up to frame his face with a gentleness she had not been sure she possessed. “Killian—”

“I’m quite alright, Emma. Thank you.”

It hurts to call the look in his eyes “love,” but she doesn’t know how else to describe the way he admires her with words of gratitude on his lips. It doesn’t matter what it is he’s thanking her for, whether it be the opportunity to speak with his mother one last time, her physical presence, or something else, it seems to encompass all of these things and more. The weight of this realization leaves her grasping for how to react, and in a moment of panic and a heavy, painfully beating heart, she presses her lips to his; aligns their bodies so firmly and precisely together that any suggestion of space between the two of them ceases to exist.

“Real enough for you?”

“Yes,” he rasps hotly against her lips, and the shiver she feels traveling down her spine and between her legs allows the terrifying rush of unwanted thoughts skittering elsewhere. “You are the realest thing I have ever known.”  

The sun shines bright and disarming the following morning. Having left her curtains open the night before, he is able to admire the sight of her eyelashes dusting atop her cheeks in the cleansing light of a new day. The world feels different. The only other time he can recall feeling this way was waking up the morning his mother had passed, sensing that something fundamental had changed, that his life would be forced to take a direction he had not expected. For the first time in years, he can picture the farmhouse in his head as if it were a photograph. Can smell the aged wood, the cooling stove, the chamomile tea brewing on the counter. Time to go home, he thinks suddenly, staring at Emma as she twitches mildly in her sleep.

The way the blankets have come to rest beneath her breasts, her hair splayed over the pillow, she looks not unlike some unnamed renaissance painting one might see hanging in a museum somewhere. Her skin smooth, soft, and warm, he can’t resist the temptation to run his fingers gently over her ribcage, observing the slight, sloping arcs of her.

“Hey,” she says quietly, stretching her arms above her head. “What are you thinking about?”

In the days, weeks, and months following this morning, he will freeze this moment in his head. The way she had looked at him, with a contented yet desirous look that had almost convinced him to put off the conversation for a few hours. Oh, how he wished he had. Perhaps, if he had waited just a bit longer, if he had considered how she might respond with greater care—if he hadn’t been quite so excited by the change in the wind.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said with a smile on his face, “that it might be time for me to return home.”

Hell, if he had even relayed the thought in a way that implied his wish for her to come with him. That he was by no means planning to abandon her , that in all of his visions of the future,of course she played a starring role. But in his haste to share the news, to embark upon this journey that he had awoken to find simmering beneath the surface, he had failed to consider the fragility of her heart. A vulnerability she often hid well, but to his eyes, not well enough.

“Oh,” responding with a deceptive pleasantness, leaving his side quicker than he would have liked. “That’s uh, that’s great, Killian.”

“I think you’ll like it,” he continued, oblivious to her discomfort, a point which he would absolutely kick himself for later. “Might take a bit to get the Internet hooked up, but—”

“Wait, did I miss something?”

For someone with so remarkable a memory, all of the words they throw back and forth seem to grow a bit fuzzy after that. Their voices grow louder and crueler than he can stand; they twist and turn inside the labyrinth of his mind with all the gentleness of a machete hacking through a jungle—sharp, incomprehensible things that end in one undeniable fact: he leaves, she stays.

A year passes. In the city, a year passes in rides on the subway. It passes in television shows and which bars you’ve decided to stop going to. Some new diet you’ve decided to try in lieu of really examining oneself as a person. On the farm, it passes in sunsets—in which vegetables take root at what time, and will they make it? Maybe, and he can hear his mother’s voice, if it’s their time. It passes in whether or not Chammy has decided if she’ll be sleeping at the end of his bed. Can he feel her small, humming warmth atop his feet? Winter. Has he lost track of her hungry chirps each morning? Spring.

The months without Emma Swan are dimmer than he can stand. Desaturated, cornerless days of trying not to think about the jagged edges of her hair. Or the way she smelled, or how she had curled around him in sleep with a fierce, desperate grip. Please, stay. Winter is hard, since winter was when it had all began. With beanies and boots, and pale hands reaching for his. He will wonder, occasionally, if she’s managed to keep the plant he had given her alive without his reminding her to water it. And then, inevitably, his mind will wander to the shape of her face, or the color of her eyes—and the months apart feel more like years. He writes a lot of e-mails that he never gets around to sending. Some of them biting and cruel; others quite obviously lovelorn. Pathetic.

Sometimes, when he stands in his cold kitchen waiting for the fire to take the early morning chill out of the place, he imagines his mother’s voice in the silence. Come now, Killian, she remarks playfully, it’s not all bad is it? And then the sun will shine through the bare trees, and Chammy will scratch at the door, and he’ll take a breath. No, not all bad. The only time he hears the honk of a car horn is when he drives into town for supplies. His lungs never feel as if they were in danger of collapsing (unless he’s thinking about Emma Swan, in which case, he finds himself yearning for the gritty, polluted haze of the city); and his feet feel rooted to the earth.

Life goes on—it grows.

Emma Swan returns to him in midsummer. All solid flesh and sinew, with striking green eyes that appear almost golden in the pre-evening sunlight. She walks towards him in the same boots she had worn the morning they met, only with more tape wrapped around the toes. She walks with a lightness that he had only managed to catch a glimpse of—that day at the lake, when her blessed history had come rushing through her lips like a waterfall after too much rain.

It feels like another year has passed when she comes to a stop in front of him, her bag falling heavily off of her shoulder. The both of them staring at the ground as if it will save them, her bag and his feet, toes wiggling in the dirt.

“Your hair,” he says finally, admiring the sight of the freckles that have begun to bloom across her cheeks. “I like it.”

Grown past her shoulders in the months following his departure in long, soft waves that he has often dreamed of running his fingers through. Only he’s not dreaming now, and has grown sick with waiting. “Thanks,” she begins to say, only he finds himself overcome with the sound of her voice, and before she can complete her thought he has snuck a hand against the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his—all of those beautiful words waiting in the lovely depths of her soul, and he is ecstatic at the prospect of being able to hear each and every one.

Eventually, he leads her by the hand towards his front porch, newly sanded and finished, replete with antique rockers and potted plants lining the steps. He thinks it might be polite to offer her a drink, to ask her about her trip, but he’s finding it difficult to do anything other than stare at their joined hands—his browned with the sun and the dirt, her’s just as pale as he remembers, only her polish has turned a friendly blue as opposed to the chipped black he can recall with such fondness.

“Lily says ‘Hi,’” she says, her voice thick with emotion.

“I have a hard time believing that.” His heart thumps at the brief, shy smile she sends his way, her knee moving up and down with a familiar degree of anxiety that he knows he still loves—even still, he knows, and although there are few things he knows, this he can say with certainty, he loves her. He places a hand on her knee and she stills, her eyes roaming over his features with a gaze so hungry he finds himself struggling to breathe.

“I’ve missed you,” she says softly, and he can practically feel her nerves buzzing around them as if they were sitting beneath a hornet’s nest, “I thought that, maybe, everything would just go back to the way it was, like always, but—”

Her hair lifts in a warm breeze that seems to engulf them in an almost eerie, magical quiet, and while he wants nothing more than to ease her fears, to reassure her that no matter what she says, he will never let her go again, he lets her speak her piece, her eyes meeting his once more. “I didn’t want it to. I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before you.”

When their foreheads meet, he thinks he might catch a flash of their future. In the next few minutes, they might move inside to find a bright, well-ventilated kitchen that he has renovated with his own two hands. She might meet Chammy with a pleased hum, cradling his old companion in her strong, steady arms. Would she then relax in the garden with him? Snapping pictures of his bare, freckled back with her phone, laughing and sending them to Lily even though she held little affection for such things. Installing wires and cables and slipping them beneath the persian rugs in the living room in order to maintain the illusion that she has fully embraced the country life.

Holding one another tightly each night, perhaps recalling the loneliness, the anger they had once felt and marveling at the seeming improbability of finding each other in such a vast, concrete sea. But for now he makes her tea. He tucks some strands of that new, thick hair behind one ear as they listen to the final, evening chorus of the birds, the water boiling in the kettle. “I am so very happy to see you,” he admits with a smile, relishing in the sight of her flushed, joyful face, “Emma Swan.”

[anxiety-trademark]

The week in review:

Raw 12/07 NXT 12/09 NXT UK 12/10 Smackdown 12/11

Raw:

Nia hyping up Shayna. That’s nice.

Shayna vs Asuka should’ve been a ppv match during Asuka’s reign. They don’t seem to care that much about protecting Shayna in tag matches, as she always eats the pin, so I’m not sure why they protect her so much in singles. She submitted Asuka (along with everyone else) in the elimination chamber, Asuka should want to prove herself better than Shayna. This is why I liked Becky’s reign, I loved the aspect of her collecting her debts against people who had wronged her, and the sideplates of the former champions she beat. That jacket was dope. The story was dope.

Man Shayna is so strong, that girl is built like a bull. I swear her bmi must be as low as Bayley’s.

How did Shayna of all people make taking a release German suplex look better than like a dozen other women in the past year? Good for her. Knows how to actually jump.

Lol so Lana willingly jumps onto Nia’s shoulders in the position of a powerbomb, and as Nia is walking her over to the announce desk, Lana sends Nia into it with a headscissors takedown. That’s great.

Lana’s just running away lmao.

Shayna just ate an L via rollup. See? Protection.

I was gonna force myself to sit through Dana’s backstage segment with Ricochet, but then Riddle popped up, and honestly? Can’t be bothered.

Welp I don’t do mixed tag matches unless they’re compelling... which this is not.

Hate: Asuka being a cheerleader for fucking Lana. She is the Raw women’s champion, does anyone remember this??? Terrible stuff.

Love: Asuka leaving Lana with some stupid mantra to repeat to herself before Lana turns to find herself face to face with Nia. Great stuff.

Nia just shaking her head as Lana slowly, oh so slowly, backs away. Fantastic. See this would all be a compelling midcard feud if the Raw women’s title wasn’t involved, is that a fair complaint? I feel like that’s a fair complaint.

Points to Nia for not breaking.

Highlight: Nia intimidating Lana backstage by merely looking at her

---

NXT:

Toni claims Ember stole her thunder, and honestly? I can see it. They both moved (back, in Ember’s case) to nxt the same night, and which one was given the promo time in the middle of the ring to start off the following week’s show? Not Toni. Who was propelled into a feud almost immediately against Dakota, a top player? Not Toni. Who got the opportunity to share the ring with former nxt champion Rhea in the main event? Not Toni.

Well apparently Io doesn’t like Toni lmao.

Io sets Toni up for the moonsault, and Toni rolls out of the ring. I criticize wwe for being predictable, but I’m gonna be honest when I say that I did NOT predict Ember running down from out of nowhere just to topple Toni. That was great. Shame this is absolutely leading to a tag match.

So Ember rolls Toni back into the ring and Io hits the moonsault... and then proceeds to pin her before she realizes what she’s doing and rolls off lol. Should’ve just committed, crowd would’ve counted to 3 for her and it would’ve been great.

That’s right Raquel, go destroy Ember in the name of Dakota. Can’t believe my second favorite performer on that roster isn’t there tonight. BLASPHEMY.

Xia out here striking wooden pegs and I can actually see the purpose. Boa getting the shit beat out of him? Not understanding the point there. They call it penance, but Wade is right, looks like torture. Guess it’s more of a mental thing though, right? Break the nerves and sensitivity?

*The Way celebrates their TakeOver victories* No.

Wow Ember gets the main event match again? Man, yikes for Toni. Cool for Raquel though, this is the furthest she’s gone in her singles career without Dakota.

That Eclipse onto those 2 chairs was brutal, Dakota is a trooper.

I really dislike Ember’s persona, and I would love to see her be humbled. She did jack shit on the MR and has the audacity to run back to nxt beaming with arrogance?

Nice, Raquel hits Ember with a boot to the midsection as Ember’s in midair, and she flies back a few feet. Impactful.

Why is Ember selling her lower back? Is that genuine? An ongoing injury, or something from WarGames?

Kind of a slow moving headscissors into a tornado ddt, but it’s such a beautiful move that I don’t even care.

Does Ember typically do her suicide dive through the bottom and second rope? If so, I’m beginning to understand why hers looks so friggin brutal. Peeps going through the second and top rope always kind of gracefully land on their opponents. Ember looks like a missile.

That’s cool; Ember’s crazy ass was climbing up some metal thing, Raquel goes over and pulls her off, Ember lands perfectly on Raquel’s shoulder in a one armed fireman’s carry, then Raquel tosses her face first into the ring post. Ember landed perfectly on the apron, too. Good spot.

Raquel is dangling through the ropes with her head near the ring post and Ember charges at her on the apron. Raquel eats a knee to the side of the head but puts her hand up between her and the ring post so she doesn’t accidentally smack her head against it. She’s very safe and aware of her surroundings, I’m noticing. That’s gonna take her really far.

That was a good match. I can see why Raquel is getting set up for a push. She’s safe, strong, sells well, has an intimidating look, and is serviceable on the mic. I can see the appeal.

Toni’s come to deliver a receipt to the receipt she received herself.

LMFAO Toni goes to pull up Ember and jumps when she hears Rhea’s music. That history runs DEEP. That was hilarious, she genuinely looks shook.

Oh that focus in Rhea’s eyes is great. Man she’s come so far this past year.

Rhea is such a solid babyface. She does all the right things as a leader of the division would without going overboard and coming off as a doormat. Asuka is the complete opposite; does nothing to help her division from unfair shenanigans, and when she does, she come off as an idiot.

Man that tension between Rhea and Toni is thick. They’re like the same age too, right? Their futures will be heavily entwined.

...Alright well honestly I was more enchanted by the concept of a Rhea/Toni feud, even though we’ve seen that like 3 times, than a rehash of Rhea/Raquel. I knew this was coming, but you’re kind of killing my vibe, here.

I actually really liked the Raquel/Rhea fight but I feel like they have subzero heat outside of an actual match. They suck at hyping a future fight between each other. Basically they’re the exact opposite as Rhea/Toni, since Rhea and Toni have like... never had a good match, yet always know how to sell one to me anyway lmao.

Highlight: Ember vs Raquel

---

NXT UK:

Jinny out here calling Piper a wild animal lol. Her in-match dialogue sucks, but I’m here for her as a promo.

“[Isla] has yet to really kick out of first gear [...] what does Isla Dawn need to do to keep her momentum moving forward?” She needs to literally move out of first gear and work on her stamina, holy shit. She’s one of the weakest in the cardio department imo.

Since I’m already being critical, Xia is super overhyped and I need everyone to calm down. She has a lot to work on before she should even be considered midcard.

Yes sure, Xia has technical fundamentals and literally nothing else. Oh she’s only 22? That makes more sense. Man the UK stars are young lol.

We’ve finally moved past wrist locks, miracles have occurred.

Imagine being a kickboxer and not utilizing that in your arsenal. Look at that, suddenly I’m actually being entertained by Isla for the first time. More miracles have occurred.

Xia “look at my fundamentals” Brookside, can you please explain who you’re yelling ‘come on’ to? There is literally nobody there. Are you hyping me up? Hm?? Hyping me up for another hurricanrana???

Xia very obviously helped roll Isla out of the ring there.

I really need announcers to stop assuming every wrestler is about to do a suicide dive/is gonna fly/do a high risk move. It’s seldom they toss out this assumption and are wrong, but every time I’ve seen it the performer went to do a mere baseball slide beneath the bottom rope, having typically never performed a suicide dive before.

That was awkward. Isla did no offense as Xia went to grab her off the ground, but Xia backed off and just looked at her. Then Xia no sells a punch to the midsection. ???

Oddly enough, suitcase luggage being delivered ring side isn’t the strangest thing I’ve seen in this match.

So they’re props for a mid-match promo from Nina meant to distract Xia. Distracted Xia turns around and eats an awkwardly slow kick to the neck, which she awkwardly sells, before Isla wins with a... back body drop?? What a finish :/

Highlight: That fleeting moment where Isla entertained me

---

Smackdown:

Sasha gets to kick off the show? That’s a first.

Saw someone today say that Sasha only works as a babyface if she’s an underdog or if she’s generally more of a “fun” character. Said there was no positive energy around her as a babyface right now. Honestly her character sucks.

Also saw someone claim Carmella was a better version of Sasha and I’m not disagreeing with that sentiment. They should probably be on different brands in their current characters.

“How fast can I make Carmella cry” Sasha sweetie, you are the last person that should be mentioning making someone cry.

God she even has that stamp. Why is this girl not a heel? What the hell are wwe doing pushing Charlotte and Sasha as babyfaces? They gonna try to turn Becky heel again if she comes back before crowds return? Imagine a world where Charlotte and Sasha are babyfaces while Bayley and Becky are running around as heels. oof. 75% of the way there.

Carmella is great, truly. One of the best promos in the women’s division, probably in my top 3 tbh. Glad to see her relevant in the spotlight once again.

They really are 2 sides of the same damn coin.

Sasha shouldn’t need Bayley to prop her up anymore. Enough of that well. It’s bone dry.

To be honest, it does still feel like Bayley’s show; it does still feel like she runs things, and that’s a testament to not only her booking and her massive success over the past year, but also to how she carries herself and how far her character has come. She’s absolutely on par with Becky and Charlotte now imo (which is why I wanted her to win the Royal Rumble and potentially main event night one of WrestleMania, but I digress) she’s beyond the need of having a title to be the main attraction. I never thought the 3 of them would all surpass Sasha in accolades, star power, and promo skills... but here we are.

Bayley back there talking shit about Bianca rofl.

Omg that captain thing was great. Bayley is creative and fun, and knows how to keep herself from becoming stagnant or dull. Points to Bayley.

Oh Bianca kept those insults from last week’s online exclusive. I love when wwe tests shit in online exclusives, sees the reaction, and then has the talent run that same promo/interview on tv the next week. This happens constantly. Love it.

Friggin love Bianca’s shirt. wwe should’ve printed out a ton of them. I would’ve copped the coin for it.

Girl has legit receipts rofl alright.

Called Nattie the boat. Subtly hyping up her coworkers. Solid.

Lmao Bianca ran Bayley off with her receipts. This is fun. This is a fun feud.

“I’m gonna beat the disrespect out of Sasha,” that’s a good line.

See Carmella has been doing that cackle long before Sasha started it up, and she’s better at it too. Sasha just needs to change things.

Why is Carmella calling Reggie ‘Tommy’? Is this like a dig at his name not mattering or was that a screw up? Couldn’t have been a screw up, she would’ve improvised. Do I have his name wrong? Am I the dumb one???

I need to start watching Raw Talk and Talking Smack. They won’t be a part of these “reviews” (ramblings) but still. I feel like I’m missing out on a lot of fun.

So I know this partnership between Nattie and Billie Kay is super temporary, but I still find it curious.

Okay so Liv tags in Ruby, runs to her, and Ruby sweeps up Liv into a wheelbarrow before Liv rolls through and trips Ruby, driving her into Billie Kay’s midsection. I’m gonna be honest guys, stuff like that is cool to see, but you could’ve literally just speared Billie Kay and saved everyone a ton of time and effort. Work smarter not cooler. Maybe situationally that potentially wouldn’t be terrible, but that was terrible tonight.

“Natalya probably the most powerful in this matchup” lol SIR. Natalya is probably the most powerful in the entire main roster, and only Bianca could be a contradiction. Curious to know which one is stronger, pound for pound and in general.

...Is Ruby okay? I’m concerned. She goes to give Billie Kay a Riott kick before Liv even gets her part of their combo finisher in, and then after she delivers her Riott kick, she crawls over to Natalya’s corner. Was Natalya not in place for a spot or something? Is Ruby on 4 shots of espresso too many??

This match was serviceable. Obviously it’s meant to merely advance Billie Kay’s storyline, so.

*Mario Lopez weighs in on Sasha vs Carmella* I’m good thnx.

Was... was that sheet real? Does Carmella actually dance behind a real sheet that drops down for her to walk down the ramp??

Man I gotta hear Sasha’s awful remix twice tonight, shame.

Lol how is Carmella being a WrestleMania battle royal winner more impressive/important than her being a champion for like 100 fucking days??? She has wins over Asuka, Becky, and Charlotte. THAT is more impressive than winning that stupid battle royal. 

I guess I can see why Sasha being Snoop Dogg’s cousin is more important than some of her previous accolades, but jfc Carmella resume to casual viewers is dumb.

Someone in the audience had their camera pointed up to a ceiling fan and you know what? Points to that person.

I like the countering of each others’ submissions. Both scouted their opponent well.

Carmella will always be such a natural trash talker with a snappy attitude in the ring. I’m not saying her current gimmick is bad, but the trash talking princess of Staten Island will always live inside of her.

Minor petpeeve: I dislike when wwe cuts to commercial during a 10 count.

Sasha was not manipulated into tonight’s match, nor was her hand forced. Her ego spoke for itself.

Sasha has really graceful footing. She reminds me of a cat.

“Banks might have a dislocated shoulder after that,” “and if that’s the case, there’s no way Sasha can lock in the bank statement,” fun fact: Sasha went into her elimination chamber match in 2019 with a fucked up shoulder. She also ended that match the victor by locking in a modified bank statement using one arm and a bent leg. It was creative, it was cool, and it worked.

History tells me that when Carmella starts letting her frustration in a match show, she will lose rather soon after. That’s where we’re at.

“vintage Sasha” SHE’S 28 YEARS OLD WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT

Peep that Sasha slid herself back so Carmella could grab her as she climbed up the turnbuckles. Knows her spot.

Don’t do a jackknife cover on Carmella, you’re setting yourself up for the code of silence so damn easily.

Good transition into the bank statement though.

Good progression into a dq by Sasha as well.

OH SHIT Carmella just broke a fucking bottle of champagne over Sasha’s back. Is that gimmicked? Holy hell. It has to be right? That’s why it was a different color??

What a sound effect, oof. Oh Sasha’s selling that real well.

Lmao Carmella goes over and pours herself a glass, says “that’s good, really good,” before shaking the bottle all over commentary and Sasha. Carmella’s great at every character she plays, lesbireal.

Carmella needs to hop on down to nxt and teach those women how to trash talk in a match without fucking up. She’s fantastic.

Wow here’s Greg to FINALLY announce the winner. Yikes announcer, yikes.

This was fun.

Highlight: Carmella in general was fantastic tonight

---

*Smackdown easily shined the brightest. Everything was vastly entertaining and women dominated throughout the entire show. Loving the progression of everyone’s characters sans Sasha, but her match with Carmella was fun nonetheless.

[treebitchevan1]

I Promise {Connor Murphy imagine}

wooo first requested fic! This one is pretty heavy IMO so read at your own risk. ok i’ve never smoked/drank before so cut me a little slack if i messed up in that department. any who, requests are always open, and i’m pretty much okay with writing anything! any questions, just ask me. enjoy!

Warnings:Swearing, Drugs, ALCOHOL,Divorce/fighting parents

word count: 1423

Y/n had always been that girl. The girl that had the seemingly perfect life. She did, at one point. Have what you’d call the perfect life. Y/n had it all. Good grades, a solid group of friends, a loving boyfriend, a decently large house, you get the idea. Everyone idolized Y/n’s life. It was practically picture perfect. That’s what she wanted her peers to think. Y/n’s real life consisted of dealing with the stress of keeping her 4.0 average. The anxiety that seeps through her whenever she talks to someone. Having to listen to her parent’s marriage crumble little by little, every day. Having to constantly put on this mask to make sure no one can see how hurt she is inside.

Y/n slammed her locker shut, only to be met with the eyes of her boyfriend, Connor Murphy. Yes, Connor Murphy: the school freak show. Yes, Connor Murphy: the kid who hurled a printer at his teacher in 2nd grade. Yes, that Connor. Y/n had gone through that conversation thousand of times. Frankly, she got tired of it. To her, Connor wasn’t a freak, he was a beautiful soul that deserved the world.

“You look upset” Connor stated, looking worried.

“I’m fine, i promise okay? You don’t need to worry about me.” Y/n  replied, pulling the tall boy down for a quick peck.

    Y/n had never told anyone about her home life, not even Connor. He didn’t need to worry about her, he had enough on his plate already.

    As the two ventured home, Connor spoke up. “You’d tell me if something was bothering you, right?” Y/n sighed. “Yes, i swear Connor, please don’t worry about me.” “I just want you to be okay” Connor stopped walked, tugging Y/n to a stop. “Connor, I-” “Why don’t you come over tonight and we’ll de-stress a little, huh?” Connor suggested, tracing circles into Y/n’s hands.

“By de-stress you mean…”

    “It means you’ll just have to trust me, Y/n”

    De-stressing for Connor is getting completely shitfaced off of whatever he could find in Larry’s liquor cabinet, and getting so high he can barely remember his name.

So there Y/n sat, cradling a bottle of vodka, and giggling up a storm.

    “C-Con, I loOove you SO MUCH. Did you know that? SO MUCH” Y/n proclaimed, crawling over to her insanely high boyfriend, who just laughed and roped his arm around her.

This continued every weekend, Y/n would head to Connor’s house, get plastered, and call it a night. Y/n started to “let loose” as her boyfriend would say, and her grades started showing it.

    “Y/n?” Your mother called. “Care to explain why you went from straight As last month to… To this bullshit?” She shoved her tablet in Y/n’s face, showing her that she was pulling Cs in every class. Y/n shoved the tablet away. “Jesus Christ, Can you lighten up a little? It’s not like i’m failing. It’ll be fine.” Y/n scoffed, running back to her room. She slammed the door shut, lunging toward a drawer in her nightstand, and pulled out a baggie of weed, rolling paper, and a lighter Connor had given her over the past few months. Y/n heard her father start yelling, followed by her mother shortly after. Her parents had been arguing over every single thing for as long as she could remember Sometimes they’d fight over the dumbest things, i.e. what they were having for dinner or who didn’t clean up what. Other times, the times Y/n would drown out with alcohol, they’d fight over whether or not they’d have enough money to sustain living their current lifestyle. Or whether Mom was screwing the neighbors again. This night in particular though, was the worst of all. No matter how much Y/n smoked, or how much she drank, she couldn’t phase out her parents. It was nearly 2 hours of back and forth between Y/n’s parents, When she heard her dad let out one more “Fuck You” followed by a door slamming.

    The following week Y/n’s mother broke the news. Her parent’s were getting divorced. She wasn’t shocked, she knew it was coming. Y/n continued to block everything out, which ultimately led her to start blocking the important people in her life out.

    It had been 3 weeks since Y/n had found out about her parent’s incoming divorce, yet she hadn’t told a soul. She became distant from her friends, making snappy remarks every time they’d ask what’s wrong. Y/n had even started to distance herself from the one person who’d been trying to help the entire time. Connor.

    “Y/n, maybe we should ease up on the alcohol, eh?” Connor stated, growing annoyed at his girlfriend’s once again drunken state. Y/n rolled her eyes. “Not nearly drunk enough to deal with your shit right now, Connor.” Y/n mumbled, taking another swig of whatever she had in her hand. “I don’t know what the fuck is up with you, but i’d really appreciate it if my own fucking girlfriend would tell me what’s going on. That was the moment Y/n snapped. “You know what Connor, Go fuck yourself. You’re the one who told me i needed to “let loose” and now you’re getting pissed at me because i am? Fuck you. I don’t need this.” Y/n sneered, slamming Connor’s door.  

    Y/n ignored Connor’s texted for a week until he stopped messaging her. Y/n was officially on her own now. She had completely isolated herself from everyone, and she only got worse after her feud with Connor. She pitied herself. Over the course of her downfall, She managed to snag a fake I.D., since she wanted to experience the club scene. What Y/n didn’t realize is that clubbing isn’t exactly a fun activity to do alone.

    So there she sat. outside of the busy club, not knowing what to do. Y/n played back Her and Connor’s argument over and over again in her head. She absolutely hated herself for being so selfish and cold to the one person who cared about the person behind the facade. Y/n broke down. She couldn’t believe she let herself stoop this low. Y/n sniffled through her sobs and texted Connor her location.

    Connor hesitated, before slamming the gas, desperately trying to find Y/n”

She’s passed out, propped up by the walls of whatever dingy club she was at. Connor sighed, picked her up and placing her in the front seat of his car.

    Y/n awoke, laying in Connor’s lap. She looked up at him and he head shot up, not even caring about the overwhelming pain from her hangover. “Before you start apologizing, i want to. I did this. I convinced you that you needed to loosen up. So i made you drink. I made you smoke. I made you think it was doing you good and i turned you into this monster that ruined your life. I-I’m so fucking sorry, Y/n, You have every right to hate me I just-I wanted to know what was wrong, I just wanted to help, You don’t deserve to end up fucked up, I-I I am so sorry.” Connor had tears streaming down his face. Y/n looks at him, and her heart shatters. She did this. She made him feel this way. “Connor-I-i’m-I’m sorry, i shouldn’t have snapped at you, i shouldn’t have been so fucking cold towards you. You’re my everything and you don’t deserve to treated that way, I-fuck, I love you.” Y/n couldn’t control what she was saying, and in that moment, she knew she needed to open up. “Connor, I only did it to relieve stress. I never told you how fucked my life came out. My grades? Fucked. My friends? They all hate me now. My parents are getting a fucking divorce and i never told anyone. I kept everything in because i didn’t want people to worry about me. People think I have this perfect life, like i’m fucking Barbie or some shit. I’m not. My life is so fucked. I’m sorry i never told you anything I-I’m sorry, fuck, i ruined everything” Y/n confessed, sobbing into Connor’s arm. “Hey, Hey, It’ll be okay, i’m here now, and i’m not going anywhere.” Connor held Y/n close, rubbing circling on her back.

“Do you promise?”

    “I promise.”

[norman-reedus-gossip-mod]

bulk

--mod-- you know the deal

Anon: anon people don' like her cos she cheated on 1st husband and cheated on JJ twice. She sneaked around with NR all year. She set him up last week. She told stories to the papers (this was proven actually if you look). She is rude to people and even stalked his ex girlfriends social media and liked posts to make him to be a liar. She lies herself and sets up pap shots for herself all the time. She is a fake and the reason she doesn't get much work is cos people dontlike working with her.

Anon: There is indeed a girl on twitter who says NR was with his girlfriend. Someone asked if he was alone and she answered "con su novia" (with his girlfriend).

Anon: Just my theory , norman's peeps wouldnt lie and def not sayingg " just friends" if norm knew he would dating her 2 weeks after they denied it , i think she is in love with norman and tries to get his attention as much as she can (and yes incl media) , norm know for sure she likes him so he might invited her AS A FRIEND to hangout in Spain or Barcelona (wherever they are)OR talk about stuff and thaangzzz , which i hope so he can make her mouth shut to call the media or her worthless attention. 😊

Anon: Mod what do you make of the pics with fans? Why would he take pics with fans if DK were right there? Maybe it's not even her. Maybe it was someone from the gallery. --mod-- I just assumed he was alone.

Anon: So you still think norman and diane are not dating? --mod-- Basically

Anon: sorry for English. I am so sad . Is he lie? How to trust anything from him? --mod-- Nothing's confirmed. Just suspicion and speculation

Anon: And i was about to say " i finally live happy in my Normie fantasy , hopefully that one person wont ruined it" , apparently i would say it too soon 😂 --mod-- So you're the jinx ehh anon

Anon: norman as a fuck buddy that is willing to travel to the other side of the ocean for sloppy seconds?! lol of course he denied...he doesnt have anything serious with her...what is he going to say now? oh this is my friend that i fuck now and again??like he comes like a major dishonest person regardless of their status. actually have nothing to do with that is the way he dealt with it. --mod-- Whys it gotta be sloppy tho.

Pinyah: This mean JDM agree with Norman and dk thing? --mod-- I couldn't guess

Anon: I personally didn't see the comment so maybe you can dig it up but someone on IG said the girl who took the picture of Norman and the unknown woman on his bike said it's his curator "Laurie". Again not sure if true because I didn't see her comment by myself. If she said it we could easily put the upcoming shitstorm to rest already. I sure hope it's right.

Anon: Yep Mod, look at normanreedustea. One of the girls who posted her pics with Norman was asked on Twitter if he was alone and she answered "con su novia" which means "with his gf". And why would she say this if it wasn't obvious it's his gf. Deeply disappointed and disgusted of him. No longer going to support him. Official lying is such a shame. Hope his reps and AMC are going to kick his ass for this debacle

Anon: Well ok I was in grammar school when HC(who can I just take a moment to say how cool and beautiful she is, goals people) and N were a thing, but I I highly doubt this is the same thing. Tbh up until Sky came out, I thought January Jones and DK were the same person lol All jokes aside, if this were his gf, or shit someone he bangs on the reg, wouldn't he I dunno see her more than occasionally hanging out? Like if I remember correctly didn't his child bride (CS) used to visit in GA? lmao. Mod?

Anon: To the anon that says DK stalks his exes, is this true? Cause that's a lifetime movie in the making I can totally get behind. Where's PRwife when we need her? She seems to know her shit.

Anon: I don't know who NR and DK think they're fooling at this point 😂 does anyone still believe they're not a couple?! --mod-- Me

Anon: 



Wow, a lot of people think Norman "owes" his fans the truth about his romantic life. He really, really doesn't. If you want to think he's a liar because his rep said he & DK are friends, OK. But maybe think about, if he did lie, are there reasons he might, including possibly the way fans react? Why would he put DK through that if they aren't even sure themselves if they're a couple? There are lots of reasons that he might "lie" that don't have anything to do with disrespecting fans.


Anon:

Hi mod, i just came to say goodbye and thank you for this blog <3 i think i'm done with the dk thing and i need a break from this blogs and stuff. I'm sad not because he's with her, but because he denied the rumors and, even if they are just friend (which i don't believe), he's not taking care of his reputation right now. At least he could stay away from her a pair of weeks of something, to shut the rumors, but he didn't. He deserves to be happy, i know, but i'm just done with him. Love you mod! --mod-- Well come by and say hi sometime I'll be here



Anon: 

I find it funny that Norman's people had that video removed. Shows how much we can trust him and his people.


--mod-- Who said he had his people remove it. You do realize that it had something on it the was supposed to be a surprise feature in the show right

Anon:

I don't get all the hate. He's a grown man and can be together with whom he wants. I don't like DK, but it's his private business. And he doesn't have to render an account of his private life. And if he says to the public that they aren't together to have at least some kind of privacy, that's totally fine bye me.





Anon:



Maybe I was wrong, maybe it's DK that has a magic 🐱, cause it sounds like he's risking his reputation and career on her. I just think he needs to either come clean, or she can pull the stick out of her ass and say something. I still don't think they're in a serious rs, but regardless, it's kind of shady. I mean if I had a bf and he was going to basketball games with other women and walking around acting single, I'd cut his dick off and feed it to him lol



Anon:

I don't want to shit on anybody's parade but have you guys seen the the accounts that has commented on the IG user's that posted those pic? Except maybe one or two EVERYONE shares the same things, saying the same things. It seems to be one person but with different accounts. This takes the credibility down a lot. Someone seems out to just spread gossip and ruin lives








Anon: 


Mod is it 100% confirmed that it's her? Maybe it's me but I don't think Norman would be taking selfies with Fans on the street while DK was standing beside him...?


--mod-- Nothing's been confirmed 



Anon: 


look, i always side eyed him for even being friends w her. having followed her career a bit before i even got in to TWD (after the QT movie), she just seems like a nasty piece of work, & I don't know what NR sees in her. that said, if he actually fucks someone on the DL, while getting his rep to officially deny even casually dating, then that would be as scummy a move as any desperate game she has played. possibly worse. i really hope NR is such a fucking lowlife 
and thats not to say NR can't fuck people casually, but to me, its one thing to have a fuck buddy or hook up w one nighters, its an entirely different thing to constantly have someone fly around to meet you, spend time together, fuck them on a very regular basis, and then deny that you even casually date. there is nothing wrong w saying "they go out but its not serious". its really gross to hide a woman, shuffle her around, fuck her, then say "we're just friend" while having her meet 2 fuck




Anon: Do people need their eyes checked those purses are not the same and neither are the boots go take a good look at them I swear as soon as people think it's DK they believe everything I'm giving norman the benefit of the doubt until I see her actual face

 
Anon: *Also to be fair, I can put on Twitter right now I saw Norman blowing dudes behind an Arby's, it doesn't make it true. Although he seems to be classier than Arby's, maybe In N Out?


--mod-- Dying 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣



Anon:

 DK posted a picture of her and Fabienne yesterday, and they were both at his Paris art show, so they're probably both just there supporting him for his Barcelona show



Anon:  Mod I have a theory: I think Norman has INVITED DK to the 2nd art show this time because of all the hate she was getting over the garage pics (even though it's obvious she *did* set them up) I think he's trying to show that he's still FRIENDS with her to the public. And maybe he thinks because he officially denied it that everything would be fine on his side. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. So he has to do something to clear the air AGAIN imo because this is only hurting him Anon: Ok, you can so tell that DK & NR are dating! N wants to keep it a low profile cuz he knows his fans tend to get a lil craycray and he feels bad for all the threats towards his gfs. Plus those pics from Spain... that's definitely her purse & shoes. Common. But honestly, N has gotta live his life and be happy; his true fans would support him. I may not like DK, and I doubt their relationship would last that long anyway 😂 ..but whatever. Don't let it bother ya'll too much. ✌🏻 Anon: 


Have to vent about ppl saying it's none of our business-True we have no say in what he does& he doesn't owe us explanation, but when we're spending our money buying into an image he puts forth on a regular basis & repeats in all his interviews only to find out that he isn't any of the things he claims to be, I think there's a right to be upset about who we thought we were supporting. It's not that he COULD be with someone, it's that he would have lied about it after preaching honesty. :( 





normanreedusdaryldixon32 :


I just want to say over the DK thing. 
I’ve been a fan of Norman since the boondock saints and now. I always supported him and I loved how cute, sweet, honest to his fans which he still is to his fans. In my opinion since he done the film ‘Sky’ he has changed. He says that he hates “dishonest people” but his acting like one. I do believe he deserves a woman who loves, respects, cares, supports him now matter what. But DK is not that type a girl as we all know. I hate the fact he lied to his fan or whatever. I also don’t understand 'if’ they are “friends” what kind of friend goes over to Spain to see them It doesn’t make any sense to me. I think Norman should get his head out of his ass and just think for once. Like a said before I do believe he deserve a woman that loves, cares, respects, ect. But DK is disrespectful, rude, mean, treats her fans like shit. I don’t want Norman turning into that person. Maybe he won’t turn into that person. But I just don’t get what does he see in her? DK must be so desperate. But now I’m so disappointed in you Norman. 😔





Anon: 


mod I saw on ig that norman's make up artist says she was with him today? is that true? because why would he have been riding around with dk, met with the curator and gone to a make up artist all in a day? maybe it's not dk? 



Anon: 


DK's style, behavior, and interests "suddenly changed" since she's been gunning for NR. She's seeking to trap him and she's just about there. She's as manipulative and inauthentic as they come. Hope NR thinks it's worth it, that and all the money he's going to lose to this scheming woman. Now is when he needs a true friend to give it to him straight, but everyone is afraid tip-toeing around the glaring issue. 


normanreedusdaryldixon32 : 


This is not a question: Seeing Norman on that bike with DK makes me so angry. Let me explain why because I've been a fan of Norman since the boondock saints. I loved how cute and honest to his fans. But now since he done 'Sky' he has been very disappointing lately. He says he hates people are dishonest but he acting like one. But do believe he deserves a woman who truly loves him and not just for his work or fame. But Dk is not that kind of girl she's so dishonest ect. It's disappointing Norman 




Anon: 


To the ones grasping at straws saying he didn't lie, you're leaving out the part where the denial said JUST friends. JUST meaning ONLY friends as in no romance. They also denied a romantic trip which the implications of that are a romance. But they denied the trip thereby also denying a romance. Sorry guys. He lied. 


--mod-- Question, does having say a friend with benefits, not saying that's what's going on, considered romantic?


Anon: 


So mod I respect your opinin the most. What do you make of all of that stuff with the biker girl? Do you think it's DK? And if you do, then what do think of the denial? It's very confusing if he issued a denial only to be caught redhanded with her again two weeks later. I can't figure out what he would be thinking. I also saw some fanselfies he was taking which is odd if she were with him. What do you think? --mod-- I'll be perfectly honest. I really just don't care. It doesn't matter if it's her or it's not. I think the denial still stands, I'm mean I've travel half way around the world to visit a guy friend, and no we weren't playing flesh Tetris. But again I  super unbothered and don't really care who's beast he's smothering 

Anon: 
This guy is just an ass. He is letting DK play people and he doing it as well. People hate cheaters and liars. You have both right here. Surely you don't deny the dishonesty? 



Anon: 
Mod, did you find out who it was on the bike? Was it her? --mod-- Nope




Anon: 


I'm telling you folks, if that video was taken down it was because it was bought by Reedus' folks. What a damn fool he is to risk so much on such a classless woman. Do you believe it was purchased before gossip rags got to it?

 


Anon: 


I can't stop crying. It just changes everything about him. He's not the same guy. he was so special and down to earth to me and now he is no better than anyone else in showbiz. He sells fans an image for money and he doesn't care about any of us. not really or he wouldn't have lied. He tried to trick us into thinking he wasn't with her and even released a pr statement saying they were just friends? I am so depressed i can't stop crying 


--mod-- You shouldn't cry anon. Just because he's made a few mistakes and maybe has tried to hide something, doesn't change him completely, we all do shady things in life but that doesn't change us completely. Sure he may have lied and avoided telling the truth but that doesn't negate the time and effort he gives fans. But I do understand why you feel the way you do 


Anon: 


i'm sorry to be rude but this man is ignorant as hell playing this game and clearly he doesn't realize just how this is going to back fire. He's risking it all for a tramp. DK has what she wants, attention. She is sacrificing NR in the process and he's just stupid. Hate he is such a liar and now proven to have no character at all. He made a lot of professionals look like idiots. What an asshole. What's your position Mod? --mod-- I don't have one. I'm not bothered by it.




Anon: 


Norman is a huge disappointment. Not only is he a LIAR but also a COWARD & a SNEAK. Not to mention a CHEATER!!! I lost all respect for him. He just lost a long time fan. 




Anon: 


Mod I can't even watch TWD anymore bc I hate Norman for LYING to his fans & sneaking around like we wouldn't find out. He thinks we're all stupid & doesn't give a shit about us. He disrespects his fans therefore I cannot continue to be his fan bc I need to admire & look up to someone I spend time following on IG, watching his shows, spending money on his movies, photo ops, merchandise, etc. He doesn't respect his fans so I don't respect HIM anymore. I'm done. Goodbye Mod & the nice ladies here --mod-- Farewell Dear Anon until we meet again



Anon: 


Hey Mod, I was looking at the pics and I don't think it's the same shoes as DK. If you look at the ones in the NYC pic there don't seem to be a distinct heel. The chick on the bike, her shoes have a heel you can see. Also, that's not the same backpack she has in the NYC pic. DK has a purple backpack on. The purse is the only thing that's fishy imo. 




Anon: 


It doesn't prove anything mod but I just noticed that DK's knapsack in the NYC pics are purple. The girl on the bike has a black knapsack. 


Anon: 
I kind of hope after this if he isn't giving DK the hot beef injection, he's fucking someone, cause this is crazy. If i were him I'd be putting in everyone --mod-- 🤣🤣🤣🤣




Anon: 


Is traveling across the ocean to visit him a gf thing to do? Hell yeah. But its also a wealthy person with a freelance/travel heavy career thing to do. Are they dating. I don't know but its obvious they're friends. With all that hate she gets from being connected to him this visit is a surprising choice to make but she's older than me so I guess she gives less of a crap about what bullies think. That's something to look forward to! lol

Anon: NR's reps denied the kiss rumor and the weekend rumor. This is the only official comment. There was no one saying they'd see each other ever again. 
 rebellacycle: 
Hey mod been reading all the posts on here on dk and norm . Do you think she will be at the art show if so that will be interesting. 



Anon: 


It seemed like there were quite a few fans around NR posting on twitter. If they all saw DK with him I'm surprised literally no one recognized her. Isn't she considered a famous actress and supposedly even more than NR * Anon: 


I want to cry. I believed him. I believed his denial and defended him against everything. How could he just lie like that? I know I don't know him but I never thought he of all people would do something like that to his fans. If he's really with her, I can't be his fan anymore. I don't want to watch Ride or TWD now 



Anon: 


I've always wanted Caryl to happen. I don't nos because I don't won't the beautiful MMB to have those disgusting, lying Norman lips on hers. 




Anon:

 
Oh look in that video there are two blonde ladies in black jackets. How's that for a fucking coincidence lol 




Anon: 


i hope this whole thing don't affect TWD, which ratings are already low :( 



Anon: 


Mod are we sure it's not the curator with her hair up? She has a black leather looking coat on from the vid. I know the purse and the shoes are a little bit suspicious but the hair may be just tied back and you can't see it in the pic. 



Anon: 


Uh, the NYC garage pics didn't "just happen". Diane paid Daily Mail and TMZ and tipped them off, seemingly without NR's knowledge. The accompanying articles were filed with misinformation yet somehow they know about his place upstate? So its pretty clear she wants to go public with whatever they do or don't have. IF he's sneaking around with her, he's doing it for himself because he doesn't want to even publicly acknowledge it. She clearly wants him to. That makes me kinda sad for her. 



Anon: 


Hello Mod, thank you for all you do. I always see eye to eye with you and appreciate your level head. I have never commented, but I want to say that no matter what NR & DK "relationship " is, was, whatever, or if she's in Spain or not,when his opening roles around everyone please be prepared, don't be naive, she WILL be there, taking pics, with fb and her "posse". This is about publicity for herself. I am not passing judgment, just stating what I think will occur and why. Take Care Mod.