#if you don’t then you’re better off not being a pedant like me

[queenburd]

Things that drive me mad for stupid reasons: how the narrator says “schedule”

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

When Harry came running into his study one bright October day, the first thing Voldemort thought was, Didn’t I lock that door? Years of living with the boy – well, man now – hadn’t yet inured Voldemort to him constantly being underfoot and getting into places where he shouldn’t be.

His second thought was that the flush of exertion colouring Harry’s cheeks was rather fetching. Even if his hair was more of a windswept bird’s nest than usual and the knees of his jeans were dirty.

“Vee, you gotta come with me,” Harry said. His breathing was just a little heavy, likely from running about like an excitable child.

“Oh, I ‘gotta,’ do I?” Voldemort teased in a deadpan tone, arching his brows as he watched Harry shift in place in the doorway.

“C’mon, don’t be pedantic; follow me,” Harry insisted. When he began walking over with a determined light in his eyes, Voldemort accepted his fate with a sigh, setting down his book and rising from his seat. Capitulation was better for his pride than losing, after all.

“Very well, lead the way.”

He pretended not to see Harry’s victorious fist-pump.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

When they reached their apparent destination, as indicated by Harry throwing his arms wide to present… something, Voldemort said, “What am I meant to be looking at?”

He couldn’t help but feel that Harry’s exasperated sigh was undeserved. “Leaves!” the man exclaimed, gesturing in front of them again.

“Yes, there are a lot of leaves,” Voldemort agreed slowly, wondering if the other man may have been caught with a stray confundus in the past hour.

“No, you–” Harry said, huffing out a laugh. “I raked some of the leaves into a pile. We’re going to jump into it.”

“We are not.”

“Uh, yeah, we definitely are.”

“Correction: I am not. You can do whatever foolish thing you like.”

“Vee, don’t be a spoilsport. Didn’t you ever want to play in the leaves when you were a kid?”

Tilting his head to the side, Voldemort gave it a moment of thought. “Not particularly, no. There weren’t enough trees around Wool’s to create an adequate pile, and the ground was too full of stones. I’ve never been fond of being dirty, either.”

“That is both sad and far too practical,” Harry said. “C’mon, a little dirt won’t hurt you, Mr. Big, Bad Dark Lord.”

“I’m going to remember you said that,” Voldemort threatened absently, glancing away from the leaf pile to watch the other man. “Is there a particular reason why you’re goading me?” 

Harry ducked his head, kicking one foot back and forth through the leaves and scattering them, though there were enough that it barely made a difference. “I dunno,” he said quietly. “When I was younger, I’d see some of the neighbourhood kids playing with each other in the leaves. I always had to rake them up and bin them immediately at the Dursleys'. It seemed like such a waste.”

And Voldemort was more than capable of filling in the bits that Harry wasn’t saying by this point. Sighing his defeat yet again, he turned away from the leaf pile, ignoring Harry’s disappointed sound. Then he let himself fall backwards, landing with a flump and sending leaves fluttering into the air around him.

Harry’s joyous shout preceded his flop into the leaf pile next to Voldemort by mere moments. Rolling back and forth and flailing his arms about with a smile practically splitting his face in half, Harry looked ecstatic. 

Reaching over, Voldemort plucked a leaf from Harry’s hair, letting it fall between them. Harry’s surprised eyes peered back at him, before they crinkled into happy half-moons behind his ridiculous glasses.

“Thanks, Vee,” he said far too sincerely for something so simple.

So Voldemort sat up, grabbed a handful of leaves and pitched it into Harry’s face, eliciting an indignant squawk. Before he could fully extricate himself, Voldemort was tackled back into the leaf pile, spitting out fallen foliage and rolling a cackling Harry off of him to pin the giddy man to the ground and stuff fistfuls of leaves down his shirt.

They both ended up flushed and dirty, but Voldemort couldn’t find it in him to complain.

[mayordeas-clone]

saw a take that peeved me in the vocaloid feed on bluesky but i don’t wanna be confrontational there + my thoughts are too powerful for a 300 character per post thread so im making it tumblr’s problem

due to my intense vsynth brainworms this is going to sound incredibly pedantic and annoying which is why i am posting it here okay here we go

the post was sort of a ‘callout’ of a creator who uses synthv for covers of fnf songs or whatever. the general body was like “they write their own lyrics but they make the vocals using ai with a program called synthesizer v” (the implication being, “this person is an ai-using fraud, don’t support them”)

if ur in the community or like have a little bit of an idea of how ai is associated with synthv specifically this is a nonsense uninformed take (the ‘ai’ training is used for autotuning/cross language synthesis/some other shit idk but the point is it’s not the type of ai that like, writes the melody/lyrics for you and is voiced from random samples from unknowing providers but i’ll get back to this later)

ai is mentioned on synthv’s website (also vocaloid’s much to the detriment of news articles that report on hatsune miku) so it’s a common misunderstanding, whatever. it would be nice if people actually looked into the ways ai works in vsynth at least a little bit but in an age where artists are on the defense against the ai boogeyman i guess i sorta understand the knee jerk reaction to assume the ai in vsynth software like synthv is the Bad kind. annoying, but nothing new.

but i think what made this post rotate in my mind to the point of crystallizing into unnecessary rage is an add-on that was like “i just prefer my music to be sung by real people!” followed by “by the way, vocaloid isn’t ai, so no you’re not bad if you like hatsune miku music”

ohhh man this actually did piss me off a little cuz wow way to really shout to the heavens that you have no damn clue what you’re talking about

firstly, i COMPLETELYYYY understand that the premise and general sound of vocal synth music is not for everyone. the computerized words, the unrealism, or even the fact that it’s not an actual person singing, like whatever that’s fine i get it. but like you can’t go around and be like “by the way vocaloid [aka hatsune miku] is chill don’t worryyyy” bc that line of thinking from my understanding doesn’t really make sense? miku isn’t a real person either 😭😭 her latest release even uses ai! (at least i think it does cuz vocaloid 6 has ai support but idk i guess that doesn’t matter) does she just get a free pass cuz she’s an internet darling?

miku is a piece of software where you write the midi for her vocals and input the lyrics so a slurry of samples recorded by saki fujita can be played back in an in-character singing voice. synthv is a piece of software with similar character voice databases where you do the same thing, write a midi and input lyrics so a database’s voice samples put it all together to sing back. the inclusion of ai in this process is to streamline the workflow for the user to automatically work out the pitch transitions between notes to save on time manually tuning, creating a more realistic playback. this ai, perhaps merely the inclusion of these two letters in the proximity of synthv’s marketing, is what makes synthv both Significantly Different and Inferior to miku.

the lack of ai with vocaloid (as far as op knew, cuz need i remind you vocaloid as of its 6th installment uses similar ai to synthv lol) making it Better than synthv sent the implication, TO ME, that op thinks that the ai used in synthv is the type that like, takes samples from other people without their permission to create the voices (then leading to the “i just want my songs sung by REAL people” aka not sung by dubiously gathered samples). i recognize this means of creating ai voices to impersonate other people and make them say things they should not without their knowledge or permission is CERTAINLY bad but like that’s not how any of this works if we’re talking synthv (you could argue this applies to those utau banks that make voicebanks for like sonic the hedgehog and shit but those usually sound like ass and are about as convincing as a sentence mixed youtube poop). maybe that’s not what they meant (i don’t wanna dig up the post cuz i don’t wanna be bothered and it’s probably gonna piss me off to the point of starting something which i don’t want) but based on my understanding of their point this is like. wholly untrue. in fact synthv voicebanks (particularly those from eclipsed sounds whose terms of service are free to read on their website) have special terms specifically designed to protect the voice providers of their databases BECAUSE of the extra realism in their voices (terms such as, “you can’t credit any voice work done with Solaria to Emma Rowley [her voice provider] or anyone else besides the software itself” in the case Solaria is used to say something objectionable and cast it on Rowley, that would be a breach of the terms and might even get your license revoked). shit like that is likely what people who are afraid of ai voices expect to happen but there were contracts signed to protect and inform the voice providers of what their vocal likeness is being used for + compensation paid to them for their work providing vocal samples SPECIFICALLY for this product. and ofc miku is the same. ITS THE SAME. BUT MIKU IS A FUNNY INTERNET MEME SO SHES FINE. GRRRRR!!!!!!

[chthonicarcher]

you’ll be interested to know I hadn’t actually read your response to me on AO3 yet at the time of receiving this ask! I haven’t looked at my AO3 inbox at all since you left your original comment, in fact. if you felt bad about whatever you said, you could have just deleted it at any point... (but it doesn’t matter. the entire thread will be deleted soon regardless!)

continued... ->

okay, so first: I do sincerely apologize for replying to your initial comment in anger. because yes, it made me angry! I should have waited until later to reply, when I wasn’t so annoyed anymore. but I didn’t wait, and I do regret that. and, as a side note, I did *not* actually intend to sound condescending—but, as I’m sure you’ve realized, intentions sure don’t count for much here.

because you claim in your ask that you *intended* to “kindly” let me know about an error you noticed in my fic. but what you actually did, though, was rudely ignore the chapters you had read and PRESUMABLY enjoyed (who knows?? not me, because you didn’t say shit about that) and instead decided to point out what you perceived as a math error on my part (which, I’ll only say this once more, because it doesn’t actually matter: I was not, in fact, wrong about in the first place!) and called it a day. WOW, THANKS!

pictured here: KINDNESS!

do you understand why that kind of thing might make an author feel bad? I mean, really, do you? it’s like you walked into my house, sat down at my table and started eating this cake I had baked for you *without uttering one single word to me* the entire time, and then abruptly stood up and left while loudly talking about how *you* would have frosted the cake differently. come the fuck on, man. even just *thinking* about writing things again is hard enough for me right now. I mean *nice* comments don’t even hit the same when you’re feeling bad about your work! *this* shit feels demoralizing. like listen, I get that you probably weren’t trying to be a dick on purpose, but please just...try to have more awareness of how your words could affect people? I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

by the way, some advice for the future, if you’ll pardon the condescension: if you ever feel an urge to get pedantic in somebody’s comments section, in MY opinion you should either a.) be their trusted friend already or b.) be very sure they are receptive to those kinds of corrections. and ALSO, in addition to those things, you should probably say literally anything else in the body of your comment so you don’t come off like a total dick. you don’t have to write a whole novel or anything, as appreciated as those are—even something as brief and to the point as “this was great” is a perfectly acceptable comment.

SIGH. so okay. so.........I’m sorry, but I think it’s really fucking interesting that you ALSO left this comment on cabin fic, which *also* made me feel terrible? you’ve really got a knack for that, it seems. yeah...actually, I’m going to go ahead and request that you stop leaving comments on stuff I’ve written? usually it really is true that more comments = better! comments are so, SO appreciated by fic authors...I mean, they fuel us. they really are all that’s keeping us going sometimes. but...in both of these examples...I really think just saying nothing would’ve been better.

and...that brings us to the elephant in the room. again, I’m sorry—I just don’t know of a way to approach this without being a bit condescending?...but, listen. if you *are* in fact a minor...then I don’t just need you to stop commenting on my works, I need you to stop READING them. both of the fics we’re talking about here are rated Explicit. minors are not welcome.

alright, with that out of the way: at the time of this posting, I still haven’t read your second comment on AO3. if you’d like to delete it before that happens, please feel free. I’ll be deleting the entire thread pretty soon regardless. I don’t need it sitting there festering and making my WIP fic any harder for me to look at than it already is.

with all that said? thank you for apologizing. and, again, I’m sorry for the tone of my response, too.

— 𝒜𝓇𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇

[naoreco]

hyperventilating freak isn’t a nice thing to say you have a point but i’m genuinely curious as to what you think people with anxiety are like behind the wheel. or if there’s some sort of scary experience you had you’re going off of. because bixel’s examples show him taking extra caution before making turns and merging or going at a safe speed (his phrasing) and even getting out of the way of others when possible. aren’t those safe things to do? it’s not like he was weaving through traffic and blaming it on anxiety. if you’re thinking of the risks of going too far below the speed limit i get that! but since bixel never said something like “it’s ok to go 20 under the speed limit if it makes you feel better” we wouldn’t be on the same page here unless you said that’s how you interpreted it yourself you know? give some examples. hell maybe taking too long to make a turn is actually dangerous and i didn’t know that. tell us that! give us a little something more concrete than Doing what everybody else does if you wanna help us drivers with anxiety on the road because everyone drives differently. perhaps we’re anxious drivers in arms too and you learned how to ease your own anxiety! how’d you cope with it while still being safe?

and speaking of that last point also excuse me being pedantic but you don’t know that bixel doesn’t also have anxiety. like that doesn’t make Hyperventilating Freak a nicer thing to say (some people’s anxiety is worse than others so while some of us aren’t hyperventilating behind the wheel some of us really could be. like how my anxiety isn’t that obvious behind the wheel until i have to make a left turn but my stepmom gets anxious enough where she often needs to pull over on the shoulder and/or take her medication. ETC) but it’s essentially a confrontational response in response to a confrontational response in response to an attempt to be helpful

I am BEGGING younger drivers. drive carefully. give yourself room. for fuck's sake use your turn signals and don't fucking weave thru traffic. this is not a video game, this is real life and if you get into an accident, you could get killed or kill someone else VERY easily

[noxtms]

dear mors ; we are pleased to inform you that your application for PERCY WEASLEY has been accepted to 𝐧𝐨𝐱 ! daniel david stewart is now taken. you have twenty four hours to submit your account, or else your role will be reopened !

⧼  daniel david stewart, cismale, he/him   /   are you satisfied? -- marina and the diamonds + trembling hands from spell damage, annotated books with broken spines, a pair of spectacles that won't stay up, forgotten tea cups going cold. being all the wrong things, checking all the wrong boxes -- you know what you're meant to be, but do you even know who you are? do they even know who you are? it's not something an owl can buy. being wrong, being so, so wrong, so unfathomably wrong with no means to escape. surviving on quiet resistance, weaponized incompetence: wielding beaurocracy like a wand. you fake your superior's signature and watch impassive as he pays for your crimes. you burn dozens of records, you buy them time-- it starts a man hunt. "drown your sorrows, my son." "you'll tell me", you beg, and he does. you're on time-- not quite. it's enough to apologize, but it's not enough. it's not enough time. it should've been you. you think they think so, too, the wary, mournful looks that line your every path. they want you here, that's true, but they don't want you. how many times can you be the one to apologize? your career is saved by a war. you're forced to watch it crumble to bits before your eyes, to move back in with your parents. they keep your job out of pity but you resign because you can't hold a pen. you feel like you peaked in highschool. crashing and burning and hating how freeing it feels. you pick up the pieces, one by one; steady and methodical the way you've always done. you sit through far too many rounds of physiotherapy: first you can hold a glass, then write, then you can do up your buttons without a charm. eighteen and eighty, all at once, and neither here nor there -- not soon, anytime. you apply for jobs below your paygrade and still get denied. you're "too risky", they say; a liability, too much of a target. "abandon all dreams of a career, find a reasonable job regardless." you move out of your own accord and still feel like you've been kicked out. you never did like to do things one day at a time, but there's not much of a choice, now. you live with the weight of failure on your back. you lie in bed with those nightmares and still get up for your nine to five. you can be better, this time -- do the right thing from the start.   ⧽   ━━   hey, isn’t that PERCIVAL IGNATIUS WEASLEY? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the THIRTY YEAR OLD pure blood WIZARD is a GRYFFINDOR alumnus who has gone on to be a PUBLIC RELATIONS MANAGER for PUDDLEMERE UNITED. i’ve heard they can be quite DRIVEN & INSIGHTFUL, but i don’t know… they came off very PEDANTIC & PRIDEFUL in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?   [  mors, nineteen, gmt+1, she/her   ]

[everlasting-elegy]

When You’re Sick | Asmodeus, Barbatos, Leviathan, Lucifer

For @mylenapony11 I hope you get better soon!! And I think the sickness somehow traveled across the ethernet because my nose is killing me right now skdfjksdfj

Genre: Fluff, Comedy Word Count: 1k

Asmodeus

If it was anyone else, Asmodeus would be staying well away from them. Have you seen what colds can do to one’s appearance? He’ll need extra foundation and concealer to cover up the red nose, the eye bags, the drained complexion, he simply can’t risk it

But when it’s you, the pros most certainly outweigh the cons. Not only can he pamper you when you’re sick, but if he accidentally catches your cold, then that means you can pamper him and give him all of your attention in return. It’s the perfect plan!!

Of course, Asmo is ever diligent on skincare for you during your sickness, almost sounding like a home remedy fanatic. He’ll use only skincare with all natural ingredients for the skin to absorb and to heal you that way. He gets rather creative, making his own face masks for you to wear, being so cautious as to only use human world ingredients

Unfortunately, Asmo does retreat to his own room when night comes but he’s pedantic to ensure you’re in the perfect state to get better. He places a heated blanket over you, he may even lend some of his very own blankets and quilts to ensure you’re warm, and he’ll leave the room spraying perfumes to supposedly ‘get the sickness out of the air’, only to frantically stop when he realises you’re choking from the aromatic air

Barbatos

Barbatos had likely seen this coming, and it was far too easy to bring you to Diavolo’s castle for you to recuperate. All he had to do was mention your poor state and Diavolo was fascinated with ‘seeing a sick human’ and how he had the best resources to make you better

In one of the many spare rooms of Diavolo’s castle, you were kept under the watch of Barbatos, Diavolo and the Little D’s as you recovered. But ultimately, it did end up backfiring slightly, as Diavolo observed you diligently, it meant Barbatos had to continue doing his typical errands, spending time away from you

But some of those errands will include you, and he was more than happy to oblige. Despite Diavolo’s wishes to participate, it will be Barbatos who will be taking your temperature, spoon-feeding you medicine and wrapping you up in blankets. As butler, he must ensure his young master doesn’t get sick of course

Still, at the end of every night when Barbatos can retire to his room, he’ll take a detour to where you temporarily reside. There he’ll ask how you’re faring, as well as giving you some pastries he baked as sustenance for the night. He’ll gladly stay by your side until you fall asleep, it is a butler’s duty to ensure the guest is content after all

Leviathan

Levi is very reliable and responsible when it comes to your wellbeing, a little too much at times. He’s never relaxed, constantly checking up on your temperature and jolting at every sickly sound you make, rushing to your side to make sure you’re okay

His general anxieties make him catastrophise a lot. You could just have a cough and he’s worried you’re on death’s door. He’s already rambling on about how he’s ready to go on a hero’s adventure to find the magical ingredient to cure you, like those isekai heroes. As long as you’re better and if you… maybe… want to give him a reward for finding a cure… like a peck on the cheek or something... he'll do it!

Levi likely ends up spending the most time with you when you’re sick. His activities of watching anime and playing games don’t require you to physically exert yourself and can provide ample entertainment when you’re not sleeping your sickness off

He has no concern with catching your sickness. If he gets sick he’s now entitled to some days off at R.A.D. where he can just binge watch anime. He’d love for you to take care of him during those times but he’s so embarrassed to ask for your presence and it’d be absolutely humiliating if you re-caught your cold because of him

Lucifer

Is conflicted. As much as he wants to dote on you and give you all his attention he, for one, can not risk getting sick as well and secondly, he would rather dive into the depths of the seven layers of hell than have you realise just how much he wants to take care of you

He’ll give you days off of R.A.D., that goes without saying. There’s the expectation that you’ll get better reasonably soon for you to catch up on work anyway. And you will be having catch up study sessions with him, he just needs to be there to supervise you and ensure you’re not distracted by any of his brothers… yes, that’s all there is to it

Just because he won’t be able to frequently come to your aid does not mean he’ll let you forget about him and what he’s doing for you. You’ll get Akuzon deliveries for various items for keeping warm and suitable remedies, the delivery demon mentions how Lucifer paid for it. If the other brothers pay you a visit to your room, they’re grumbling about they’re here on Lucifer’s behalf, it’s clear the eldest threatened them to tell you the last bit

Still, Lucifer does what he can. When you stir awake from a nap, you’ll find some medicine lying on a counter beside you, or some tea that is still piping hot. If your sickness has persisted for a long time, you may awaken to see Lucifer pulling your covers up to your chin, telling you to be more careful and not let the covers slip

Obey Me! Masterlist

[gaphic]

I know most of the advice to fanfic writers is to ignore your hitcount, and while hitcount IS bullshit, I also think it’s valuable to know if there’s anything specific impacting your numbers. So, for the fic writers: a brief list of Things That Might Be Preventing People From Reading Your Work, Roughly In Order A Reader Encounters Them

Bad title. By ‘bad’ I don’t mean ‘stupid,’ I mean self-deprecating or inscrutable. If your title gives the impression you don’t like your own work or leads people to expect something you’re not offering, you’ll lose them. Titles aren’t that important on AO3, I know I mostly ignore them, but they’re still the first thing people see!

No ships. Nothing for this one, sorry, ship fic is just more popular than gen fic

Overtagging. This risks the reader getting overwhelmed when they see your Wall Of Tags, and leaving them uncertain whether the thing they’re searching for is actually significant or just mentioned in passing. Restaurant menus don’t list every grain of salt and sugar!

Undertagging. This risks readers not being able to search your fic, or not knowing what to expect from it. Restaurant menus don’t just say ‘pizza,’ they list the toppings!

No summary/“I’m bad at writing summaries.” Your summary is your last line of marketing before your reader either clicks or scrolls past! It’s your last shot! Do not leave it empty! I know summaries are hard, but in a pinch you can just copy paste a juicy sentence from your fic! It’s fine!

First person narrative voice. Number one thing that makes me, personally, click away. Nobody likes it.

Second person narrative voice. This is getting more popular in recent years, but it still puts some people off. *Not applicable if your target demographic includes homestucks

No paragraph breaks. This makes your fic scan as an impenetrable wall of text. It will feel hard to bite into, eyes will just slide off.

Poor grammar/general text formatting. If you are not highly proficient writing in your chosen language, find a beta reader. People tend to think this is harder than it is- if your fic isn’t super long, a lot of pedantic autists like myself will beta it just for fun! Don’t be afraid to ask people! Just clarify that you want a grammar check, not a full script edit

EDIT: should’ve clarified this to begin with, but NONE of these things reflect on the quality of your story, or are ‘should’ statements!! This post is ONLY describing the things that (for better or worse) ping a readers lizard brain, and may prevent them from being able to engage with a fic they would otherwise love!

[flusteredloser]

sugar sweet

richie tozier x fem reader

category: fluff, fluff, literally just fluff

word count: 3,3k

content warnings: swearing, stealing, slight nsfw (sexual innuendos... bc it’s richie tozier), a driving scene written by a bitch who can't drive, overbearing fluff, sonia

a/n: hello here’s a lil soft fic i wrote in a hyper state today <3 i had ‘beverly’ by ben wallfisch from the it 2017 soundtrack stuck in my head while i wrote the ending so !! enjoy

🎡

"sweetheart, if you don't put your head back in, i'm afraid i'm gonna have to marie antoinette you."

you laughed dismissively at his empty threat, feeling a grin take over. you let the wind crash against your face and through your hair, the scent of sea salt softly filling your nose. if richie thought that you were going to give this feeling up, oh, was he wrong.

despite what he was saying, the sight of morning sunlight streaking through your flying hair and your torso poking out the passengers' window was one richie wished he could get used to. despite his nagging for the past half hour, ranting about the dangers of vehicular manslaughter and mishaps, he couldn't help but beam at your laughter. 

he almost hit himself in the head for getting all worked up about safety like eddie always did, but it was something he found himself doing often with you. keeping you safe and sound was one of the few things that kept him from staying up all night. besides, you guys were going to see eddie and the rest of the losers in a bit anyways. the designated role of the pedantic worrier would soon be shrugged off richie's shoulders.

keeping one hand on the wheel, richie’s free hand never left the edge of your knee, not once in the hour-long drive. no matter how far you reached your body out his car's window, his fingers stayed glued around you. you never said anything about the gesture apart from placing your hand over his. being his was something you never got used to, but you were far from complaining.

"richierichierichie i think we're here!" you exclaim, ducking your head back inside the car.

"you sure, dummy? the massive ferris wheel and circus tent means we're close to the carnival?"

your hand leaves his to go shove his temple, "fuck off, rich."

"i know i know, you're really excited," he taps your knee, "so am i."

he pulls into the parking lot, expertly navigating his way through the crowded area before finding a space. an empty space which was coincidentally beside a sketchy beat-up minivan painted with "URIS," in fat letters.

richie laughs, "what are the fucking odds.”

his hand moves from the skin on your knee to the back of your seat, his body shifting to face the rear. you subtly eye your boyfriend sitting in the driver's seat and tried not to physically express any of the thoughts firing in your mind right then. dear god, did he look good today. you end up shamelessly staring at him as he strains his neck to squeeze his way through tight space. his knuckles turn to this ghostly shade of white when he flexed them against the wheel, his rings glinting under the sunlight.

once he finally put the car in park and shifted his weight back to you, he catches your gaze. throwing a wink, he pulls out the keys and stuffs his belongings into his jean pockets. 

you’re sure he has zero clue about the effect any of this had on you. sure, he was your boyfriend but sometimes you found yourself feeling scared at how much you liked him. this boy has you wrapped around his finger and he barely knows half of it.

you reach over and run your fingers through his unruly hair a couple more times, enjoying the way the curls bounce back. “you look so good, rich.”

he rolls his eyes at your remark, but you don’t miss the way a small blush reaches tips of his ears. “enjoy it while it lasts, i can’t let the guards recognise me again.” 

“i still can’t believe you got fired and banned on the same day, rich. that’s genuinely so impressive, you know that?"

richie rolls his eyes but you see the hint of a grin on his face, “you going soft on me, sweets?”

“could never.” you ruffle his hair, letting your nails glide along his scalp and you laugh at the way his head naturally tips back. richie had no clue why the feeling of your hands in his hair that made him short-circuit, but he wasn’t complaining.

“do we really have to go see them...” richie groans, grabbing your hand and placing it back onto his head when you pulled away.

“richard tozier. i did not pester you to drive us an hour away just so you could fold at me playing with your hair.”

he side-eyes you. “why did i agree to this again?”

“because every day for the last month you wouldn’t shut up about ‘taking eddie’s slushee v-”

“ed’s slushee virginity, riiiight,” he breaks out in a smile, “jesus, can you believe sonia never let him near one in his entire life?”

you tug his fringe towards you and the rest of his head followed, “well, now that he’s all alone there, someone’s got to be there to guide him through his first time, right?” 

he faux-pouts back at you, the mischievous glint in his eye sparkling brighter. “fine.”

finally, you let go of his hair and he pecks a kiss against your cheek before putting on his sunglasses and tipping his cap further down his face. opening his car door, you sit there dumbfounded as you watch the 6'2 disguised dork clamber out of his side with your tote bag on his shoulder.

he glances back, offering a hand as if you were going to climb out on his side as well, “c’mon, we don’t have all day.” and richie made sure you knew that by dragging you through the park, evading the guards left and right in under a minute. it was only so long before you spotted a group of idiots wandering aimlessly. bev’s bright red hair was the instant identifier, and watching this bill’s lanky frame grab a fistful of stan’s curls to yank it about sealed the deal. 

“stanley, darling,” richie yelled through the crowd, “if you wanted someone to pull your hair that badly you could’ve asked me nicely.”  “shut the fuck up, trashmouth!” stan yelled back. “wait. rich?”

you walk over and sling your arm around bev, “you guys haven’t been waiting long, have you?”  she grins at the sight of you, “no, but if i have to hear mike argue one more time that the high striker is apparently ‘broken’ i’m going to kill somebody.”

“do me a favour and kill me, bev!” stan’s voice cuts through, followed by a shriek when richie too grabs a handful of his hair. 

bev’s hand leaves yours to go smack both boys upside the head. “y’all better stop acting like children before i get fucking fired. i’m not going out like dumbass richie here did.” she eyes the rest of them, who all halt in their tracks.

“yes, ma’am,” the chorus sighed.

🎡

"ed's, i swear on your mother's smokin’ bod that blue is the. best. flavour. there's literally nothing wrong with it."

"you just called blue a flavour, richie-”

"because it can be. it doesn’t matter if blue and red colouring are the same, you can feel the difference.”

"no, i really can't. i don't understand how the colour blue could possibly be-"

richie groans, "fine, eat your mommy's packed lunch like the big boy you are." he teasingly starts to wave his cup in front of eddie's eyes.

"quit it, rich. if eddie doesn’t want toxins in his body, leave him be." ben interjects before sipping his own neon drink.

the boys huddled together around a picnic table they had managed to snatch before the carnival’s lunch rush swept over. richie and bev used to work in the carnival last summer, the two-week period spent with one another supposedly being “worse than the devil’s asscrack.” the comment itself earned richie five slaps, one each from the boys, and a high-five from bev. that was until richie got permanently banned (which you still don’t know how) and now bev carried on by herself whenever they roll back into derry. 

currently, you and bev were on your way back from the concession stands, attempting not to spill anything. you each held at least four bags of carnival foods and drinks in your arms, bev also balancing the few candy bars she stashed under her shirt. teeter-tottering your way back to the boys, richie burst out in laughter at the sight of you struggling. 

“as graceful as a job you’re doing with that, sweets, do you want some help?” he smirks, already swinging his leg over the chair.

“nope, nothing to see here,” you groan at richie’s smug grin. “rich, i swear to god if you come near me i am going to-”

“hurt me, hit me, murder me, mmhm. i’m sure you’ll do a whole lot of damage.” he winks, swiping the bags from your arms.

“freaky.” stan muttered, churning his slushee with the straw. you grumble at richie’s endearing irritating act of heroism and plop yourself next to stan empty-handed. 

“here, you want some?” stan raises an eyebrow, offering his blue slushee towards you.

“thanks stan, but he’s got my...” you glance towards richie, half-expecting to see him distributing the snacks, only to see him aggressively nudge the slushees in eddie’s face. “you know what, i’ll take it.” 

stan scoffed, “what, you thought i was offering this from the depths of my generous heart? i thought you knew me better-"

the sound of plastic crinkling and eddie’s yelp cut through stan’s sentence. 

you look back at the sight of richie threatening to pour the ice into eddie’s hair, eddie shrieking and wildly missing punches at richie. dear god, your boyfriend was such a menace. richie and eddie never spent a day where they weren’t at eachother’s throats though, but anyone with a pair of eyes could see that they deeply loved one another. rich had that effect on people, you think. he was rarely overtly loving, but it’s not like he needed to be. you guys just knew.

ben smiles sweetly between you and your gaze on richie. “you’re staring again, y/n.”

you immediately snap out of it and go to slug ben in the shoulder. “was not.”

“was too.”

"was. not."

"was too!"

you narrow your eyes at ben who sheepishly smiles in innocence. he reaches over to grab a couple onion rings from your bag to which you lightly slap the back of his hand. he groans, trying again from another angle, “just because i pointed out your goo-goo eyes at trashmouth?”

bev snatched a couple rings from across you and threw them at ben. he chuckles gleefully at the perfect catch. “you know, he’s not wrong,” she points out.

“for the last time, i wasn’t staring,” you groan.

“not about that, genius. the way you’re absolutely whipped for that dick.” she smiles. “i mean,” you barely conceal your smirk, “the dick is pretty g-”

"not what i meant," bev sighs while the rest of them groan at your words.

“seriously though,” bill asks with genuine curiosity, “how did you even end up together? how do you even like someone that much?” bev tuts from the other side, “tread lightly there, denbrough.” 

“shut up, you know what i mean. it’s trashmouth we’re talking ’bout here.” bill grins, “it’s a mystery how someone can shut him up so quick.”

you laugh to yourself, thinking about the few times you get to see richie completely speechless. “it’s not that hard, you know?” you shrug softly at the way the losers nod. you may all pretend to hate the life out of him but he always had a special place in each of your hearts. “he cares with everything he’s got, no matter what. he’s always there for you even if you don’t want him to be. i just...i don’t think he’s been anything less than...” 

“-if you say ‘perfect’, i’m going to hit you.” stan says.

you roll your eyes at stan, “fuck off, but... but yeah. it’s so easy to love him and i honestly owe you guys an apology for being so annoyingly whipped for that dork,” you joke.

aside from the distant bickering coming from richie and eddie in their own little world, a silence hung over the six of you. it was too quiet. wondering if you said something wrong, you scan over them, only to be met with six variations of a smirk. more than confused, you chuckle nervously. “i was joking about the apology thing but if you really want-”

“you said ‘love.’” bev laughed.

“what?”

“you said ‘love,’” she repeated. “that you loved him.”

“i... of course i love him, he’s..” not trusting any more of the words coming out of your mouth, you cut yourself off and gather your thoughts.

of course you loved richie. each and every one of you loved your resident trashmouth, he was one of your best friends. the two of you were the closest of friends, an insufferable duo for years before you began dating. it might have only been a few weeks since he asked you out, but it’s not like too much changed from when you were friends. 

there was only more love, more affection, only slightly more sexual innuendos (majority of them were solely just to piss off stan). 

so of course you loved him. more than you did when you were friends. which he’s gotta know... right?

“fuck, maybe i do owe you guys an apology.” you joke.

“don’t think twice about it, this is nothing compared to him. if i took a shot for every time he went on some sort of love ramble about you, i’d be fucking dead.” bev replies, “and then he would carry on.”

you laugh, shaking your head in denial, “c’mon, he does not do that.”

“are you blind?” mike speaks up. “you’ve had him since the first day you joined us at the barrens. i can still see fourteen-year-old richie ogling you clear as day.”

you stammered at your response, tripping over your words. “mike, i think you broke her. she’s become bill,” stan teases.

you go to shove stan again and sorely miss. “anyways, my point is...” 

you avoid their eye contact and go back to churning stan’s slushee. “he has my heart, fuck, he’s got all of our hearts. like, is he an asshole? sure. does he get on my nerves every other day? definitely. will he be the death of me? probably. but i l-”

“i sure hope you’re winding up to something there, sweets.” 

you snap your head up from your dreamy rambling to see richie smirking next to you and eddie squeezing himself next to bill. you feel yourself go bright red at the realisation that he had been listening. 

“i- no. that was it.”  

“you sure? you going off about me... ‘but’...” richie pushes, quoting your words.

“richie, if you genuinely think you have redeeming qualities, i suggest some self-reflection.” stan quipped. “yeah, i was just pointing how much you bother us. no ifs, no buts,” you jokingly agree.

“mean,” richie rolls his eyes, shifting back in his seat next to you.

he’s gotta know... right? 

you wink and stick your tongue out playfully, to which richie raises an eyebrow at. he glances between the blue drink in your hand and your tongue, his gaze on your lips making you nervous. 

“now, what?” you sigh, wiping the ice from your mouth and pretending that you weren’t dying to know what was churning in that brain of his. 

“nothing,” richie shrugs smugly, “just that i’ve always wanted to know how my cock looked blue.”

the comment took you off guard, your instant blush only fuelling richie’s grin. without hesitation, you lean over with a faux-pout, an act that has richie’s eyes wide. “careful there, trashmouth,” you tease loudly. “you keep this up and you’ll see how stan’s looks blue.”

bev immediately gasps with her hand over her mouth, followed by mike’s stifled cackle as he slapped richie’s back. the rest of the group looks frankly stunned, and stan’s face is on a whole different level of red. 

richie doesn’t even look the least bit angry. his jaw is dropped slightly and he runs his hand over his jaw, trying to stop the chuckle that leaves his throat. if anything he looks proud. 

shaking his head with a smile, he slings his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer. “that’s my girl,” he grins.

“yeah, that for sure is tozier’s,” bill says.

there’s no way any of you miss the way richie’s face goes red under that comment and your heart skips a beat when he squeezes your side. when no one’s looking, you lean up and kiss by his ear, absolutely delighted by the deeper shade of red on his face. 

“darl, if you don’t stop that i’m going to go as red as stan,” he whispers into your hair. the both of you look back at the boy who’s trying to concentrate on his slushee and not the blush that’s continued to creep to his neck. “i’m actually getting concerned.”

you giggle, “shh, he’s fine.”

“no really, i give it a couple seconds before eddie pulls out his medical fanny pack,” richie says.

you look up at him as you’re tucked into his side, his arm still slung around your shoulder. his dark hair and eyelashes caught the sunlight, his blue eyes glinting as he glanced back. his lips were tipped into their signature cheeky smile, almost like a cue that he was going to say something out of hand. you felt the swell of your heart grow as he raised his eyebrows, prompting what he knew you were going to say. 

“you know, earlier...” you whisper, looking down to his hand intertwining with yours. “i just... i wanted to say that i... you know... that i-”

“i feel like i should be offended at how hard it is for you to tell me you love me, sweets,” he whispers back, clearly trying to keep a straight face.  fuck.  “oh god please, you know i-” richie shushes you, kissing the crown of your head. “it’s okay, i know.” you can feel the curve of his lips against your hair. “i love you too.”

trying to tame the aggressive blush and stupid smile that reached your face, you follow his gaze over to eddie. just like richie joked, he had this fanny pack laid on the table in front of stan. you weren’t listening to anything they were saying, but you watched the way stan was squirming from eddie, insisting he did not have heatstroke. mike stood right behind stan, pinching his cheeks and periodically wrapping his strong arms around stan to stop him from squirming. bev was leaning across ben and bill’s laps, joining in and poking her fun at eddie and you notice how bill’s hands traces figures along bev’s side. ben gazes at the group of them, chiming in every so often when stan’s quips got too violent. 

it was one of those moments you wish you could freeze. 

after a while, richie whispers into your ear. “do you think they’d even notice if we left for the ferris wheel?”

you break your eye contact from the group to gaze up at him. “nope, not at all. you think you can sneak us some tickets?” 

“please, you think i got kicked out of here for nothing?” he scoffs.

“is this how you’re going to get banned again?” you grin, poking his side, “stealing tickets for your girl?”

with a soft smile, he takes your hand to subtly stand and back away from the group. with stifled giggles, the both of you manage to make it at least twenty feet without the losers even noticing. the second you two were out of earshot, richie wraps his hand around yours and begins to run, “i wouldn't want it any other way."

🎡

[wench-and-jezebel]

NCIS Reaction: Minimum Security

Wench (@scripted-downfall) reacts.  At a later time period, and without having seen Wench’s reaction, Jezebel (@typicalopposite) reacts.  Comparisons may be made as a result.

“If my old man finds out I’ve been biking with you, he’ll kill us both” “I’ll get you a ride.”  Sounds like they might not just have been biking, if’n ya know what I mean.

[“Don’t get your thong in a twist”]

“What if he doesn’t stop?”  “Oh, he’ll stop.”  Buddy, I’m not sure I’d be so certain about that

Ohhhhh, the poor bike :(((( 

I understand him being pissed about the bike, for real.

That doesn’t change the fact that the guy’s already dead, I bet y- [Aghhhhh’ ☠️☠️☠️  Well he ain’t gonna be wishing shit lol]  WHAT DID I SAY!!!  (Should I start keeping a prediction counter?  I think I should.  Prediction Success: 1)

[Aight imma say it. Gibbs is handsome.  There I said it.  Add it to my weird list]  I don't get this one, but that's not much of a surprise to me these days alksdjf  [Idk it’s his smile. Kinda Tom cruise-y but 🤷🏻‍♀️]

I love the sections of the intro belonging to Tony and Abby.  His lil wave?  Her lil jump?  So cute.

Blegh.  BLEGHHHH.  “RUN THE GUT FOR ME.”  BLEH.

Ducky’s assistant’s name is Gerald, btw.

If not gallbladder stones, then… Diamond smuggler?

“They’re stones, doc.”  Diamonds looking possible.

Oh, come on!!!  EMERALDS???? 

[Emeralds.  Well shit]

I’m so annoyed now.  I think diamonds should count.  The point was there; “gemstones” was the correct answer.  I just didn’t get the exact gem right.  Hmph.  Now I’m unhappy.  You know what?!  I got the gemstone part right, so.  (Prediction Success: 1.5)

I also got the smuggling part right, so… (Prediction Success: 2.5)

[God I’m glad Tony brought his hair back forward.  The slicked back wasn’t it.] Agree.

Tony being linguistically pedantic makes me happy; I relate

TONY BEING SO HAPPY ABOUT GOING TO CUBA MAKES ME SO HAPPY TOO!!!  HIS CACKLE?!!?!  MY BELOVED. [Tony is so happy]  (Same Brain Cell — SBC — Count: 1)

[Sir how many times you gonna swap which way you’re wrapping that cord]

Oof, NCIS agent is involved.

“The women I date think the smell of sawdust is sexy.  That’s probably why I don’t date many women.”  Gibbs.  Ma’am.  Excuse you.  Sawdust is amazing.  The smell is awesome.  I would not date Gibbs, but the sawdust is not the issue.

All of these characters spilling Gibbs’ coffee… damn, what a waste.

“The Navy’s giving us a priority ride today.”  TONY FINALLY GETS HIS PRIVATE JET RIDE!  He looks so disbelieving; he’s adorable.

Oh.  Okay, apparently it’s not a private jet ride, and is very uncomfortable, but still.

OH.  Apparently it is a private jet ride.  HAH!

Dude, this looks like the Criminal Minds jet.  [It looks like the criminal minds plane] (SBC Count: 2)

Gibbs bemoaning the comfortable seating because it’s not uncomfortable; madam, calm yourself.  A little comfort will not harm you.

Poor Tony, keeps getting his hopes up about the trip, only to have them dashed.  Then again, the last times this happened, things were then better than he expected, so maybe he’ll get his horseback riding et al. after all!

Okay, I suppose I should have said: Oof, NCIS agent might be involved.

NO BUT TONY PULLING UP THE AIRPLANE STATS ON THE TOUCHSCREEN IS SO RELATABLE; I DO THAT ALL THE TIME.  Whenever I fly (very rare occurrence), I always stare at the air temperature and watch it change alsdkjf. Gibbs actually looked vaguely annoyed-but-endeared, and I approve.

“Anthony DiNozzo”  Whoa, we’re being fancy

[HES CHEESING SO HARD. i can’t even]

[I love her hair cut]

I know she said “there’s a map in it”, but my subtitles got cut off and it reads “there’s a man in it”

Y’all are really not being subtle, ngl.

“So, is there something going down that I should know about?” SEE?!?!?!

Wow, they were even more unsubtle than I thought.

[I half-remember this one]

That scene change was… abrupt.

I like Tony’s shirt.

Are Kate and Tony gonna bicker over room placement

I KNEW IT.  (Prediction Success: 3.5)

Kate saying Tony’s sexist in past episodes and also being the character who pulls the “I’m a woman” excuse more often than anyone to get her way

[I love Abby]

Are they still bickering over room placement

Please tell me Gibbs takes the room they were fighting over

WHAT DID I SAY; HE REALLY WENT AND DID THAT! I’M ON A ROLL (Adding two becuase they were still bickering over room placement btw.  Prediction Success: 5.5) [He took the bed with the bath I love it]  (SBC Count: 3)

[Tony.  You child.  I love it]

IGUANAAAAAA.  [Oh man, iguana]  (SBC Count: 4)

Poor Tony aksdjflkasjdf. Pulling his gun on the iguana.  [HALT]

To be fair, if I woke up with a strange lizard on my pillow, two inches away from sleep-clogged eyes, I might flip out too.  Especially since it was hissing.

[The wink at the fact Tony sleeps in the nude, though.  Kate!  You dog!]

Kinda poor Benjamin, but also.  He seems annoying.

I love Abby’s choker.  And her gloves.  (My brother bought my sister fingerless gloves and didn’t get me any and now I’m left mourning what could have been.). Abby’s are still cooler than my sister’s though.

I know this dude… OH.  HE’S THE MUSEUM CURATOR IN THE MUMMY ISN’T HE

Tony being followed by the iguana saldkfj 

[That iguana staring him down. He like what he saw in bed lol]

“Might want to keep that door shut; iguanas’ve been known to wander inside”. Yes.  Tony knows.

[Tony’s whole damn looks change with his hairstyles]

I love the word “rapport”

“Did I say both of you?”  “Well, you didn’t not say both of us.”  “She’s kinda got a point there, boss.”  The Kate-and-Tony-versus-Gibbs interaction I always knew we needed.

btw, Tony calling Gibbs “boss” is adorable

Ooh, Gibbs, why you having Kate stay, huh?

Did.  Did they just randomly time-skip from him leaving to him coming back?  I’m confused.  [Did the video time skip… did it go from Tony leaving to Tony being back]  (SBC Count: 5)

[Lord Tony’s gonna be out there dancing ☠️]

“Shane.”  “Who’s Shane?”  “Alan Ladd.”  “Who’s Alan Ladd?”  BUDDY

“Why aren’t you praying?”  Don’t assume, Ka-  WHAT DID I SAY.  “I’m Presbyterian.”

IS HE ASKING ABOUT SHANE- I LOVE IT

“Oh, you young people don’t know what good movies are.”  Speaking as a person on the younger end of the gamut while still having been raised on classics, I can attest that modern audiences have suffered in movie quality.  In my opinion, at least.

“‘Splat’ isn’t violent?”  Love you, Tony.

“Are you here to check me out?”  Flirtatiously: “Define ‘checking out.’”  I SEE YOU, TONY

Buddy’s not even subtle rn, is he?  That was blatant flirtation.

[Tony. You blew that one]

I feel like pulling out Paula has some serious risks attached.  Yeah, she might be dirty, but she might not be, and her rapport is being screwed up as a result.

Tony playing the desperate flirt at the bar over here.

[She came back]

“If you don’t like me, then why do you keep coming over here for refills.”  “I like the game.”. “Me too.”  ngl, really hoping she’s not corrupt because the banter is decent.  And since McGee isn’t in this one, I’ve gotta take the repartee where I can get it.

 BUDDY GETS HIS DANCEEEE.  Tony, I’m so proud.

OOP-  That spin was slick; Tony, I commend you

— — — 

Stopping here because we’re at a scene change for the midpoint reaction!

I confess I’ve not much to say… It very much annoys me that this show has been very guilty-until-proven-innocent, without many instances where that changes; I mean, just from what springs to mind, there was the episode where the group was convinced the kid committed suicide; the naval folks were taking drugs; and now this, the ep where they’re all assuming that Cassidy is dirty from the fact that the vic had her (his coworker’s) male in her care.  They always assume, even when it’s illogical to do so, that the obvious is factual.  And I think that’s part of why I keep making predictions to the contrary, tbh.  I want them to be wrong because I want them to face their illogic each time, instead of getting lucky.  (But, I recognize, sometimes they’ll be right even if their logic isn’t sound, so I guess that’s fair.). Anyway, I want Cassidy to be innocent because of that, even if it doesn’t make sense given the story, but I’m not making that a prediction.

Mourning McGee’s absence; appreciating Kate and Tony, and Gibbs is not bad.  On we go!

— — —

I’m cringing just thinking about swallowing those emeralds; they look sharp.

Okay, I’m sorry, but I’m vaguely suspicious of museum-curator-translater dude.  Like, ever since I saw Shutter, where Ben’s lying to Jane about what the photo shaman dude was saying?  I never trust that translators are adequately conveying the message.  Call me cynical, but ‘tis true.

Tony dancing with Cassidy is so cute, I’m sorry.

Damn, Gibbs, be even more blunt about it why don’t you; that wasn’t harsh enough

Iffy acting, but I can’t tell if it’s actress or character

She really shouldn’t just hand over her apartment keys, I’m reasonably confident.

Tony looks vaguely conflicted about having to search Cassidy’s apartment

IGUANA.  [IGUANA]  (Damn, that one was blatant; SBC Count: 6)

��You were so excited coming to Cuba and riding on the jet” It’s true, Kate, he was adorably excited.

“You were the first woman I saw on my ‘endorphin high.’”  “Yeah, well.  We work together, Tony.  It’s like a brother-sister thing.”  Ma’am clearly has not seen any of the countless films, shows, fics, and irl interactions that feature in-office romances.  

WAIT NO I’M AN IDIOT; SHE HAD AN IN-OFFICE ROMANCE?!?!?!  IN THE PILOT?!!??! MA’AM, WDYM?!?!

“You might wanna take that chip of your shoulder”  Oh, of course, no problem; of course it’s okay that you searched my mail and my apartment and so on.  Not a difficulty at all.

“He blew his chance to get laid”  Oh, come on, Cassidy, it’s not Tony’s fault.  [He blew his chance to get laid. Poor Tony ☠️]  (SBC Count: 7)

Oh, are we back to terrorists again?  How.  Unique.  [TERRORISTTTTS]  (Okay, that counts.  SBC Count: 8)

Gibbs once again being vinegar-not-honey.

DAMN ABBY YOU’RE EXPENSING A LOT I SEE  [Abby ☠️☠️ racking up a bill] (SBC Count: 9)

Tony’s hair is floppy.

Did he notice that she had “Escada” perfume?  

I KNEW IT.  (Prediction Success: 6.5)

“Horizontal salsa” alksdjf ["Horizontal salsa"]  (SBC Count: 10)

I reallyyyyy want Cassidy to be good now that they’re giving Tony so much shit for caring about her.  [Tony’s done got smitten over one dance.  Buddy. 💕 *sigh*]

“Romance between agents, Kate.  It never works.”  Sir, shush.  Even if you’re speaking from experience, that proves nothing.  You’re not exactly easy to get along with. [And the romance between agents never working is coming off as an asshole rule/thought. BUT HE ISN'T WRONG AS FAR AS THE SHOW GOES]

I know my comment about the translations was about museum-curator-guy, but I maintain that it counts as half a prediction success since Sa’id was doing exactly that: not translating the whole conversation.   (Prediction Success: 7)

Abby and Ducky, again; I love you both.

[Ducky’s mother!]

DUCKYYYYY.  OMG, SIR!?!?!?  YOU’RE HILARIOUS, YOU SCANDALOUS DOG!  [You… dog? 👀]  (SBC Count: 11)

[Easter eggs ☠️☠️]

“My cursor has moved across places that would make Tony blush.”  Not Tony looking appraising!

IGUANA.

Protective!Tony is adorable.

Jeez, Gibbs, be harsher why don’t you; that wasn’t enough.

Cassidy, I stuck up for you, and now you be mean to Tony?  To make yourself look good?  Once again, these people need to stop tearing down their fellows as a means of increasing their own status.  I’m actually getting annoyed again by this.  [Tonyyyyyyy ☹️☹️☹️  “He bought my act.”  I hateeee the sad tony eps.  There’s a few.  Be prepared.]  (Does this count as SBC?)

Poor Tony.  [Poor Tony. “She’s good.” Tony’s face. Ya I agree 💔💔]  (That does.  SBC Count: 12)

“Eyes always give you away”  Poor Tony :(  [Sass tony! Get her GET HER (Eyes always give ya away)]  (SBC Count: 13)

[And she has the AUDACITY to look at him like a kicked puppy]  Like I said.  Don’t be mean to your allies to make yourself look good.

I. Do not trust this.  I’m waiting for her to pull an Elizabeth-from-24 and not go along with the plan.  Get pissed and try to kill him, or screw up the plan.

Tbh, I’m glad that didn’t happen.  I didn’t appreciate it in 24 (only partly because it was Misha who got attacked as a result), and I wouldn’t have appreciated it here.

“There.  Right there.”  I didn’t realize this was Legally Blonde: the Musical.

I’m impressed he didn’t notice the wire yet.

Did I mention, yet?  Poor Tony.

This situation was astoundingly mishandled, ngl.  [Damn plan backfired]  

[Well the back fire backfired also]  Literally lakdsfj

Poor Tony :(((  [Tonyyyyy]  (I’m counting that one too.  SBC Count: 14)

I appreciate Kate trying to help Tony.

Also, just saying, Tony is quite dashing in the suit.

TONY.  HE FINALLY GOT TO SHOW OFF THE TECHNOLOGY TO SOMEONE WHO APPRECIATED IT!!!  My goodness, he’s so adorable.

[Well his smile’s back at least.]

And that’s a wrap!

– – –

For the endpoint reaction… Be warned that I’m writing this with a killer headache (hah, pun unintended), so I’m not sure it’s 100% coherent, and it might be a bit short.

I’m glad that Cassidy wasn’t involved because, as I’ve said, they’ve got a bad habit of having snap judgements they make at the beginning be right all the way through to the end.  Unfortunately, this was about the most logical snap judgement of the series thus far, so I’m also vaguely annoyed it wasn’t right.  I’m deciding to wash my hands of it because it’s not like the characters will actually learn, but oh, well.

The writing was decent, I suppose?  Highly, highly lost as to how the hell emerald smuggling turned into terrorists again, but… I’ve given up on trying to track it.  I will say: there’s a slight possibility that reacting simultaneously to the ep is causing me not to notice stuff?  Or to track the plot?  But I doubt it.  I’m still good with Dark Angel, after all, and following it is easy.  But I guess I’ll just wait until we watch something else to decide; I legitimately cannot be sure whether the bad writing would be a little better if I were just watching it straight.  (Pretty sure not though.)

Gibbs was an asshole again, but not enough that I’m currently fuming about it, I suppose.  Kate was good; I liked her.  Abby and Ducky continue to be awesome.  McGee was notably missing, which is sad, but oh, well.

Summary of this ep: Tony deserved better.

Final thoughts as I type the end of this reaction: The chances I don't write something about this ep… Low.

[bigskydreaming]

Hi, I was reading your post about Jason punching Dick in the face when Dick revealed he fake his death was bullshit ( which it was) and it reminded me of an issue/question that has bothered me for sometime.

Why did people believe Dick was actually dead?

I’m not the most avid comic reader so maybe I missed something but it was always weird to me that everyone just accepted this especially given how Bruce was acting or should I say wasn’t acting.

This is a man when his child died another child had to come along and told him sir you are being too violent and emotional you need supervision. When his other child died he went all over the universe to bring him back to life because he knew it was possible ( which was happening at the same time), so why didn’t anyone think it was weird he wasn’t doing that for Dick. Can you imagine Dick really dying that soon after Damian it would be injustice Batman Version. You are telling me that Tim, Jason or Barbara didn’t think it was weird that Bruce didn’t also bring Dick’s corpse to the bring Damian back to life mission or mention it to themselves. Like what more likely Dick dead and Bruce is handling it well or that he fake his death to do something stupid and Dangerous after his partner/brother/ little bit my son the feelings are complicated died after he was knocked out and woke up to his corpse.

Oh man, this is like, the entire nature of my beef?

(Slight derail just to emphasize the fact real quick that Dick DID actually die, he was just revived quickly, but like, the trauma of his death was very real and its not like anyone was clued into Luthor having a resurrection backdoor built into his literal murder of Dick in the actual moment of it happening. So Dick’s death wasn’t fake, and additionally, he didn’t have anything to do with like, telling people about it, because he was literally comatose in the cave and recovering while Bruce was telling people....by the time Dick woke up in the cave, we already know that Alfred at least had already been convinced by Bruce that Dick was dead, so I have a kneejerk need to pushback against the Dick faked his death narrative by reminding people wherever possible that Dick had no agency in the spreading of that narrative. 

It happened without him being involved, and the only actual contribution he ever made to it was just not revealing he was alive before Grayson #12, after Bruce like.....emotionally, mentally and physically badgered him into accepting that doing so would be directly harmful to his family and he didn’t want to be the reason more people died when like, people had just died because he ‘let’ himself be captured and interrogated by Power Woman’s Lasso of Submission, did he?

SORRY TO BE PEDANTIC, just wanted to start this off on a clarification, even though I know the aim of your ask was very much in tune with the rest of my response. A lot of people don’t read the actual comics, so like, I’m never gonna skip over an opportunity to emphasize that the shorthand people use to refer to Dick’s death and the year he was with Spyral, is like, literally just shorthand for describing it. Its not actually an accurate description of how all that went down and who had the most hand in it).

BUT ANYWAY. BACK TO THE MEAT OF THE BEEF.

Okay so like, not only was the entire family and Bruce himself giving Dick shit for his death and Spyral, like, PAINFULLY egregious because it was literal victim blaming in every possible sense of the word....

None of it made a LICK of sense with ANY of their characterizations, and they ONLY all accepted it on face value because the Plot Demanded It, and when you're like, no, as a reader I say The Plot Demanded It is not a good enough reason for me to be like well sure, that makes sense......looking at the characters ACTUAL actions at face value pretty much just makes them all look like assholes?

Like, Tim has never gracefully accepted anyone's death. Ever. This is core characterization for him. He will go to the ends of the earth for his loved ones and to bring them back, prove they're not dead, refuse to let death be the final verdict for them. He was tempted to use the Lazarus Pit to bring his parents back to life. He refused to accept Bruce was dead long before he had any proof whatsoever of that theory. He tried to clone his BFF/future-husband Kon in his fucking basement like, dude was two whole inches away from going Full Dark Side in his quest to bring back a lost loved one no matter WHAT the cost.....and then you've got Dick unmasked onscreen, killed offscreen, and Bruce then reporting to the rest of them with zero inflection 'oh Dick's dead now. Its very sad' and Tim's just like, sure. Sounds legit.

I mean?!?!

And you're SO RIGHT ABOUT THE DAMIAN THING! Bruce LITERALLY LITERALLY LITERALLY went BEYOND the ends of the Earth, like, he full on chartered a fucking space ship to fly his whole family out to APOKOLIPS to bring Damian back from the dead by going to EXTREME lengths.....WHILE everyone else thought Dick was dead....

And not a single person looked at Bruce and was like, okay, not that we're not down to do this for Damian because we miss Stabby Smurf something fierce ourselves, but.....what the fuck is UP with you dude? Why aren't you displaying ANY hint of this same kind of energy in regards to your eldest son that you said you watched die right in front of you?

Like....I don't know that we were actually ever told that Dick's coffin was empty or had a fake in it, but like....this family of detectives who refuse to accept death, defy death, COME BACK FROM THE DEAD....not a single one of them said like, okay, if I'm gonna like, ACCEPT accept that Dick is dead and gone for good, I need to at least just see him one last time? That's literally all it would have taken for someone to realize hey something's a little wonky here. Where's the dead body, Pops?

Since when has Jason ever missed an opportunity to prove Bruce is a) full of shit, b) acting like an emotionless robot and all his kids deserve better especially when they've just like....died, c) just factually incorrect and wrong and jumped to a conclusion before it was conclusively proved, d) lying like a liar or e) all of the above?

Nobody even ASKED if Dick's body could be put in a Lazarus Pit? Yeah, Jason wouldn't necessarily recommend it himself, given what it put him through, but actually fuck that, I take that back, because I'm NOT actually of the opinion that Jason full on hates his life and actively spends every second of every day wishing he hadn't been resurrected, even if it had come with a huge buffet of additional trauma and pain.

And that's kinda what's implied when people just take it for granted that he would never be on board with any scenario involving using a Lazarus Pit to bring Dick back, because it suggests that based even just on his own experiences and feelings, he honestly believes Dick would prefer being dead and not have ANY further opportunities to be with his loved ones, his friends, help save the damn world again at some future point.....that Jason, projecting based just off himself, legit feels Dick would rather be dead than have another shot at life even WITH the downsides of Lazarus Pit usage? Nope. Sorry, I don't buy it.

Speaking of not buying it.....you know what was missing from all those soliloquies the others monologued at Dick about how they felt and were hurt and just devastated by his death, to such a point they can't seem to muster a single shred of happiness that he's NOT dead still -

(seriously, Damian was the ONLY person in ALL THE LANDS OF EMOTION-HAVING who expressed ANY kind of positive reaction to having Dick back. We were so fucking cheated of like.....ANY opportunity to have the characters show just how much they valued him by just being fucking HAPPY he was alive, no matter what else was involved....and then most of fandom compounded that by for years being like mmmm, no, Dick didn't get yelled at enough by his family for what HE put THEM through. Needs more yelling. More punching too. Bad Dick. Bad. This is the only way you'll learn not to die and get shipped off on a mission that you don't want but at least is to protect your family after being beaten into it by your dad whilst victim blaming you for dying in the first place. WHEN WILL YOU LEARN TO THINK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE AND THEIR FEELINGS FOR A CHANGE, DICK?!?)

- But like, BUT I DIGRESS aside....you know what was missing from all those monologues about how hard DICK'S death and ensuing year of basically exile from his loved ones was for EVERYONE BUT HIM?

We never got a single line of explanation as to what everyone else officially thinks even happened to him in the first place?

Like, did Bruce straight up just say oh bad news kids, your brother umm. Expired. Spontaneously. There's no one to blame, he just keeled over, its all very sad.

Is that how that went down?

You're telling me that the explanation of Dick's death didn't come with a single pointed finger at someone for this family of blame-happy vigilantes to like, BLAME for the loss of this brother they all mourned oh so much, they just couldn't help but blame him for all the hurt it caused them?

The family that in every other fic is like OBSESSED with avenging and being avenged and all things vengeful and even tangentially vengeance-y....like didn't ask for a single detail on whomst the fuck deprived us of our brother-having?

Where were the attempts on Luthor's life by Jason (who I mean, yeah I know it was in a previous continuity, but erasing that timeline doesn't erase my awareness of the time Dick killed Jason's murderer so like.....mmm, just saying, woulda been nice)....where was the rage directed at the Crime Syndicate and references to how seriously and personally the Batfam took making sure that they were PUNISHED for all this and would never be free to wreak havoc on their world or their family again? What did they tell Damian when he came back to life, and how are you going to tell me that this fraternal little ball of fury didn't aim himself like a cannonball at whomever the fuck had DARED take HIS Batman from him when Damian wasn't around to have his back?

Not only does everyone else's desire to be avenged start falling really flat the second you factor in hey maybe Dick feels "mmm what about MY avenging" sometimes, and why doesn't anyone ever care about doing that for him.....but also, y'know what REALLY sucks about the ONLY person we actually SEE being blamed for Dick's death and ensuing absence being like....Dick himself?

Not only were his family all super keen on making all of this HIS fault and HIM the bad guy because of how it made them all feeeeeeel (and meanwhile fuck his feelings, am I right Batfam hfaklshfklahfkla).....

They somehow found a way to justify prioritizing this OVER ever even getting around to blaming some villain for his death in the FIRST place, in the entire year or so they thought he was still dead!

Like, you couldn't come up with a single target in all that time, but Dick's back two seconds, and you don't even give him a chance to EXPLAIN before you're punching him, shutting him down with 'I expected better from you' and turning away with 'I don't want to hear it, why am I surprised Dick Grayson disappointed me again'?

afshklfhalfhalfhla

Make it make sense!

And like, it won't, cuz it doesn't, and it never will, and like I said at the top, the ONLY reason it all played out this way is because DC doesn't give a fuck about character development and deemed it necessary to go down this way for the sake of the plot (which was totes worth it, I mean, glad we sacrificed characters for this A+ plot which was clearly the greatest plot of all time and definitely justified every story choice made or not made around it loooool).

BUT.

BUT BUT BUT.

The problem isn't JUST that DC is stupid, even though that is an eternal mood and quite the problem.

Its that the SECOND large parts of fandom decided to play along with DC and just accept the story at face value, only add to it and play into it exactly as it happened in canon with no significant deviations, and like, heaping on the LITERAL abuse from Dick's siblings while ignoring the LITERAL abuse from his father....

THAT....is when all of this becomes relevant.

Because the second people decided TO engage with the reasoning DC gave for what Bruce did and how and what Dick did and how and just not mess with any of that and have it all play out exactly like that...

The second people are like, okay we're FINE with not just dismissing this story as OOC writing that doesn't make any sense, and actually VALIDATING it to various degrees by engaging with it as is....

That's when 'OOC writing' stops being an excuse or explanation for alllll of the above gaps in character logic and actions.

Because its like, when you had abundant chance to REJECT this story and say nope, this was bullshit from start to finish and I'm not here for it, when you were just as capable of transforming literally ANY aspect of this story you didn't like into something that made more sense to you....

And you chose not to.

That's.....accepting it as valid writing. You were like, okay, I'm game to just treat this as a thing that happened, just like they said that happened.

For the chance to give Dick shit for it, see. For the angst, see.

And that's when I'm like okay cool, so when engaging with this story as is and accepting it on face value and just delving into the characters as they were SHOWN interacting with and around these events......for the angst or whatever....

You guys just all decided en masse to just hop, skip and jump over allllllllll the opportunities for angst inherent in examining even ANY SINGLE ONE of the above lapses in judgment or hypocrisy on the parts of the characters (who don't get to be excused by OOC writing if you're not going to call the story an example of OOC writing, whoops).

And its just like, uh, what's up with that?

[wakaoujisenhime]

Hi, may I request headcanons or drabble about gom when they find that their s/o is wearing their teiko’s jersey please? Sfw or nsfw is all okay

A/N: OOH I like that idea my dear anon! I tried to come up with as many different scenarios as I could, so I hope that I was succeesful... please enjoy! (*¯︶¯*)

Tags: GoM x reader ✅  fluff ✅  implied nsfw ✅

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Kuroko:

ok so, you were sleeping over at his house today and you wanted to put something of his on, so you looked through his closet, and amidst his many shirts you found something you immediately recognized as his former basketball team’s jersey

you were simply curious how it would look on you so while Kuroko was in the other room preparing something, you went over to the big mirror in the hallway and looked at how surprisingly fitting his jersey was

“(Y/N), I finished prepa-“

“Tetsu, perfect timing! Look what I found!” you said happily and twirled around a few times, showing off your new find

he remained silent at first and just looked at you with his typical poker face, then he slowly walked up to you and gave you a back hug, burying his face in the crack of your neck

“God (Y/N)...how can you be so cute...?“ he silently asked and peppered your neck with soft kisses

you couldn’t help but giggle at that ticklish sensation which provided a great diversion for your boyfriend, who let his hands slowly slide down your body’s most prominent traits while his blue eyes stayed glued to how smooth your reflection looked like

his reaction was pretty cryptic and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was even happy or simply annoyed, so you asked him if you’d done something bad

Kuroko remained silent at first and then out of nowhere took your hand and began walking back to his own room

“T-Tetsu? What’s wrong?”

“In situations such as these it’s better for me to just show you the results of your little dress up instead of using words, don’t you think?”

with flushed cheeks you simply squeezed his hand and followed him back into his room, knowing that you’ll be in there for quite a while...

Kise:

you two went on a small shopping trip together and before you knew it time had slipped past your hands and it was already dark outside

Kise, as the caring boyfriend he is, invited you to stay over at his apartment and you agreed

while you were sitting on his bed and checking your social media he sorted out his closet saying that if he continued buying so many clothes he’d have to buy a second and much bigger one

when he usually did this, he separated his garments into two piles: one was clothes he’d give away to charity organizations and the other one was for you and his friends to choose out of

just as he was about to throw another one of his shirts you noticed a very familiar-looking piece of fabric

He must be quite out of it to throw this away...

you secretly took his jersey out of the pile, got up from his bed, and sneaked out of his room (which wasn’t a challenge really, with him being overly concentrated on whether to give that blue jacket away or the black one)

you headed straight for his bathroom and changed into his Teiko jersey

it fitted you quite well, sure it was loose at some parts but that was to be expected

after looking at yourself in the mirror from any possible angle you decided to go back and surprise him with your getup

“Kise, I think I might’ve found the perfect one for me...what do you think?”

he glanced back at you and just as he was about to turn away he halted, mouth agape, his expression a mix of pleasant surprise and full of adoration

within a couple of seconds, his arms were wrapped around your body, lifting you by the hips and covering your entire face with kisses

“I didn’t know you loved your jersey this much.” you joked as you played with his yellow and soft strands of hair

“Who said I was this happy just because of the jersey, huh?”

he twirled the both of you a few times before lying you down on his bed and getting on top of you, both of his arms trapping you beneath him as he brought his face down to your exposed collarbone and began trailing it up with his soft lips

“Though I’d love to continue watching you have it on, it’d be quite a shame if we got it dirty with what’s about to come, right?”

Midorima:

living together with a strict man such as him proved to be quite the challenge at times, but you somehow managed

he was a very tidy and clean person (his behavior almost bordered in perfectionism) so having a multi-shelved closet where his clothes were sorted by color, their individual usage as well as his personal preference wasn’t surprising

you once wanted to take a shirt from him and after begging him for what felt like hours he finally gave in, but under the condition that he’d get to choose one for you

so to put it simply: you never properly saw how his closet looked like from the inside and now that he was taking a shower you couldn’t withstand the temptation to sneak into his room and finally take a peek

thanks to his pedantic ways you were quick to grasp the structure he’d used and there was one particular pile of clothes that caught your eye, namely one which consisted of nothing but his basketball uniforms, all of them neatly folded and judging by the smell they were freshly washed as well

you smiled to yourself as you remembered that your typical tsundere boyfriend also had some softer sides on him that brought such rare but heartwarming behaviors to light

with utmost carefulness you took the very first jersey from the pile and held it up, revealing the dark blue number 11

looking at it now you wondered if it’d still fit him and just before you stormed out of the room to ask him, you thought of a better idea: putting it on yourself

with that said and done you sneaked back out, sat on the couch in the living room, covered yourself with a blanket, and pretended to play something on your phone while you carefully watched your boyfriend from the corner of your eyes

the moment he entered your shared bedroom you decided to wait a couple minutes until he’d dressed up so that you could surprise him with a hug (but the main reason was that you were scared of how he’d react if you not only snuck up on him while he’s still drenched and naked but also had a jersey on that he’d spend so much time taking care of)

you softly knocked on the door and heard a muffled sound that most likely prompted you to come in, so you did

luckily his broad back was facing you as he was busy cleaning his glasses and you used that opportunity to wrap your arms around his tall figure

there was no reaction at first but after just a couple of seconds he silently asked you whether something was wrong

“I have a small surprise for you, so could you do me the favor and...look at me?” you whispered in a rather sheepish voice

Midorima didn’t answer, but you heard him placing his glasses down on the nightstand so you took that as a signal and loosened your grip around him

“(Y/N)...! That–“

your small surprise had shocked him quite a bit and even if he didn’t say anything clear about it, it was pretty obvious that underneath his big palm, which was covering his mouth, a small blush was forming

the two of you just stood there silently and after what felt like an eternity he just sighed and sat himself down on the bed, burying his face in his hands

Now that’s a reaction I didn’t expect...

you were disappointed and sad of course so you muttered a silent apology and made your way back to the door

“(Y/N)...who said that you could leave?”

with a surprised but confused expression on your face, you looked at his sitting figure

Midorima leaned himself back and gently pat a spot on his muscled thigh

“I want you to strip for me...but make sure to keep my jersey on and when you’re finished, get your cute ass over here.”

Aomine:

you woke up rather unpleasantly

your entire body was sore, some spots hurting more than others, and to top it all off you had fallen asleep naked, too tired from last night’s fun to even cover yourself with a shirt or something of that sort

while you were questioning yesterday’s events your boyfriend continued sleeping peacefully next to you and sometimes a silent snore escaped past his lips

watching someone who was either sulking or grinning like a madman on a daily basis sleep like a small child warmed your heart

you gently caressed his cheek, moved some of his hair strands away from his forehead, and let your fingertip gently glide across his most prominent facial features

if Aomine was awake he’d rarely let you do all of these blandishments, but luckily he slept as deep as a bear during hibernation

you could’ve continued forever, but your body was starting to get cold so you got up as carefully as you could and tiptoed over to your boyfriend's closet and began rummaging around for one of his shirts, which easily covered half of your body

while you searched every possible corner of his rather messy closet you stumbled upon something rather surprising

at the very back, you found his Teiko jersey which in comparison to the rest neatly folded and smelled of detergent

you couldn’t hold back a cheeky grin as you remembered how he’d told you he wasn’t the sentimental type of person and that there would be no reason for him to own any keepsakes from his junior high days and yet despite all that he’d taken such good care of it

just as you were about to put it back in, a brilliant idea crossed your mind

you put his jersey on and walked towards his sleeping figure, moved the blanket aside, and then got on top of him, carefully lying on top of his upper body

the sudden weight on his chest disrupted his peaceful sleep and in accordance with that a low groan resonated from him

“Mm babe....what’s wrong..?”

“Good morning Aomine my love...care to open your eyes for me, I got a small surprise prepared for you.”

he grunted as he wrapped his arms around your body, pressing you further towards him, and whispered: “Just give me five more minutes and I’ll look....promise”

you pouted but refused to give up nonetheless and continued with your caresses from earlier, though this time you also planted soft kisses along his collarbone and his neck

he enjoyed it at first and even hummed in satisfaction, but as your lips trailed down lower, his abdomen tensed up, and even if he wanted to keep his eyes closed his curiosity failed him rather quick

just as you were about to continue you felt his hands take a tight hold of your hips so you looked up to him and were met with a pair of wide deep ocean blue eyes

a mischievous grin spread across your lips as you showed him your little surprise

“Look what I found, mister I’m-not-a-sentimental-type-of-person.”

and he did look, Aomine was in fact so flabbergasted that his mouth stood agape for quite a while, but no sound whatsoever came from him

“Hey, what’s wrong? I thought you’d like a surprise of this caliber? Don’t all of your pinup girls have that boyfriend shirt segment?”

just as you were about to get off of him he suddenly took a hold of your shoulders and within a matter of seconds flipped the position the two of you were in

you now found yourself under him, exposed to his cheeky grin and a rather lewd gaze that caused him to lick his lips with relish while he let his hands run down your entire body

“You just know how to rail me up don’t you babe?” he cooed as he slowly pushed his knee between your legs, “sleep’s overrated when I have someone as perfect as you waking me up like this, right?”

Aomine kissed your lips and smiled down at you “Now...be a good girl and let me thank you properly”

Murasakibara:

wearing something out of this purple-haired giant’s closet was never an option for you, the main reason being the obvious body build difference between the two of you and the second was because of Murasakibara himself

every time you went over to his apartment and wanted to stay overnight he’d cling to you saying how warm and fluffy you were and continuously refused to let you go

the first few times you had tried to wiggle out of his grasp but unfortunately, he was the stronger out of the two of you so with no other choice left you remained enveloped in his arms until sleep caught up to you

as time went on you steadily gave up the fight and simply let him do what he wanted

and then one faithful night Lady Luck seemed to be on your side since Murasakibara fell asleep before you, the poor soul must’ve been quite tired that even his usual iron grip around you loosened quite a bit

at first, you couldn’t help but smile at his vulnerable yet cute expression but after just a short while your mind truly grasped the possibilities that had opened up to you

with a small smile, you carefully got up and walked over to his room

you silently closed the door behind you and couldn’t help but chuckle at the slightly ridiculous situation you found yourself in, regardless you continued with your task and opened his closet for the first time ever

it was surprisingly empty and clean (with some minor exceptions, but that was to be expected) so you found yourself questioning just why your boyfriend was trying to hide his small collection of clothes from you so desperately

at first, you simply looked through his differently sized shirts, and just then you saw a bright blue one and wondered why you had never seen him wear it

after pulling it out you finally realized just what you were holding

His Teiko jersey...?

you were quite surprised, to say the least since Murasakibara good to never talked about his junior high days let alone even mention them

he had a mirror right next to his closet so you stood in front of it and placed the jersey in front of yourself

it was quite large for your own measurements, but luckily his former build hadn’t been as muscular and tall as that of right now, so you seriously contemplated on putting it on

you removed the shirt you were wearing and replaced it with his jersey

the fabric reached the middle of your thighs and its v-neck was so low that you could see some of your cleavage

your cheeks reddened at the sight, your embarrassment prompting you to remove it as fast as possible, and just as you were about to do it a low and drowsy voice called out to you

“(Y/N)-chin...? What are you doing?”

as you turned around to the source of the voice, you looked directly into the purple eyes of your giant boyfriend who was towering in front of his bedroom’s doorframe

“A-Atsushi! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted to-“ you stuttered as you tried to remove his shirt, but before you could even lift it his big hand took a grasp of your own and held it

“Don’t.”

that was all he said before pulling you into his broad chest and embracing you

he began kissing your neck and even after you reluctantly asked him what was wrong and if he’d been mad all he did was remain silent

after a while you felt his big and slightly rough hands wander underneath the jersey, exploring your naked skin and touching it carefully, afraid that you’d break if he got a little rougher

it felt good and you felt safe in his arms, but you didn’t mind if he didn’t hold back entirely

when you told him these exact words he immediately picked you up and wrapped your legs around his hips

“Atsushi, w-wait!”

“Sorry (Y/N)-chin, but you look way too sweet right now and you know me...whenever I see something yummy I just need to have a taste.”

and with that, you were carried back to the couch for a long and pretty busy night...

Akashi:

the first time you mentioned Teiko he actually smiled and offered to show you some of his keepsakes himself

you agreed of course and just some moments afterward he brought a medium-sized box to you and began showcasing all objects he kept from his junior high days

Akashi really had his way with words, he knew that disclosing as little as he could about everything would make you more curious than you already were...and he was absolutely right

you asked him about the photos with his teammates, about some of his gold medals, about some of the books he’d kept, and so on

in the end, he pulled out his jersey, looking at it with a nostalgic expression, and as soon as he’d noticed your wide eyes and seemingly interested demeanor a smile spread across his lips as he handed the piece of fabric to you

while he told you some funny stories about it you couldn’t help but wonder whether it still fitted him or not

“Would you like me to put it on for you?” he asked you, which made you realize that you’d accidentally spoken out loud

“N-No it’s fine, I was just...thinking aloud that’s all!”

he giggled and gently caressed your blushing cheek, leaning closer to it so that he could plant a soft kiss on it, but unfortunately for you, the two of you were interrupted by one of his butlers who apparently needed something from his red-haired young master

neither you nor he could hide the obvious disappointment from your expressions, but with no choice left but to step out for a bit, your boyfriend left the room

you sat there at first but when you looked at the jersey that was halfway in the box you got curious about whether it could fit you, so after making sure that the coast was clear you changed your top and looked at your reflection on the glassy door of one of his shelves

surprisingly it fit you almost to a T and it was just now that you realized just how different the two of you were built

this new realization is what took you so long to notice that the man you were thinking about had returned and was looking at you

“And here I thought you wanted me to put it on...”

hearing his voice made you immediately freeze up, as you felt the heat rise to your face you slowly turned around and saw his gentle yet mischievous smile

“I-It’s not what it looks like, I just...I just wanted to–” you stammered while your fingers entangled themselves in the hem of his jersey

Akashi began to close the distance between the two of you and with each step he took your embarrassment grew and grew until it reached the point where you just wanted to sink in a hole somewhere

meanwhile, your boyfriend had reached you and let his hands gently glide along your torso with a never-ending smile

he directed his eyes to the reflection of your back, pulling you into his chest, and was now doing the same he did beforehand

his gentle touch relieved some tension from your shoulders and you couldn’t help but whisper his name, an action that made him tense up now

“(Y/N), I need you to remain quiet for a bit, or else I might lose that last bit of control I have” he hissed out as you felt his grip on you getting stronger

“I-It’s ok Sei, just let me remove your jersey and we can go to your roo–”

your chin was suddenly jerked upwards, red eyes peering directly into your own as he answered in a low voice: “Who said that we’ll do any of it? I’ve already locked the door and removing the jersey would ruin most of the fun, don’t you think?”

[luxurybrownbarbie]

As a young smart girl, I have the ability to alter my appearance however I want and that should only be my choice. Do not shame us because we choose to take advantage of modern cosmetic procedures. Say something nice or say nothing at all, and if it’s not your own body, you can’t decide for anyone else.

I get enough shit for plastic surgery that bettered my life and left me more confident and happy than before. I made a choice that I will forever stand behind and only affected MYSELF. Respect others choices without them having to log onto tumblr and feel like the butt of a joke just because I chose not to feel miserable for x amount of additional years, due to delaying my cosmetic surgery until 25.

Honestly, I wish I could go back in time and advise you to wait to send this ask until 1) I fully recovered from the stomach flu, 2) my boyfriend apologized to me for being an ass, and 3) I had electrolytes and calories in my system instead of laying in my bed with a blinding migraine and a hatred for all human beings.

But I can’t, and you sent it, so now I get to be a bitch. Thanks!

I don’t know what you think shaming is, but in order to shame you, I have to actually care about what you do. And I don’t know you from a rando on the street, and now that you’ve sent this wildly pedantic and supremely obnoxious message, I certainly don’t care to.

You can do whatever you want to your appearance! I don’t care. Get gills! Laser your irises so they become blue! Remove all of the fat from your cheeks until you look like the skeletons in Coco! Shave your ethnic™ nose until it’s a tiny stub if you want. Change your lips, eyes, nose, and hell, even your ears. Have fun! That changes absolutely none of what I said, which is, “You really don’t know what you look like until you’re 25, so you should probably wait.”

Did that hit a nerve? Because I can say it over and over again.

Clearly whatever surgery you had did absolutely nothing for your confidence, because you’re in my inbox losing your mind about me advising young girls to maybe hold off on making permanent changes to their faces and bodies before they actually know what they look like. I have friends who are more saline and silicone than skin and bone and they still say the same things I do, which is, “Wait! You don’t have to hit the surgeon’s table at midnight on your 18th birthday.” People tell me I’m self hating because I get keratin treatments and dye my hair. Do I spend my time going to them and writing sanctimonious paragraphs about how satisfied and confident I am in my choices? No. Because I am fully okay with my choices, and I don’t need to justify them to anyone. Maybe learn to stand comfortably in your decisions? I quite like it. It does mean you can’t cry in people’s inboxes about it though, sorry boo. 😢

I don’t give a shit what you log on to tumblr for. While I’m on here, I’m going to tell the girlies to get prenups, stop freaking out about getting older, and stop making permanent decisions about their faces and bodies until they actually know who they are and what they look like. I also talk about my infuriating and incredibly hot soon to be fiancé and my plans to take over the world during the commercial breaks. Fin.

[theggning]

I Hate the Alternate Ending of Blind Betrayal, and Here's Why!

DISCLAIMER THE FIRST: Massive spoilers for Fallout 4 abound. This post discusses Blind Betrayal, a quest with suicide as a heavy theme. Content warning applies.

DISCLAIMER THE SECOND: This post discusses cut OFFICIAL content from Fallout 4 that has since been repurposed into multiple mods. I am not criticizing any modders or their implementations of this content. Mods are fun and people can enjoy whatever the hell kind of game experience they want with whatever mods they want.

I am ONLY interested in discussing the original cut content as Bethesda had written it, and how it would have impacted the story and lore of Fallout 4.

So, yeah, it seems there was originally going to be another way to conclude Blind Betrayal (BB).

As described in this Kotaku article (citing this post by Tumblr user tentacle-explosion,) there are unused audio files of Danse’s dialogue that show an alternate ending to his pivotal quest. These lines are the only evidence we have of this ending (suggesting that it was cut fairly early on, as no other actors/characters seem to have recorded for it.)

From what we can tell, in this alternate ending of BB, Danse comes up with a possible way out of the sticky situation re: his identity as a synth. According to the Brotherhood Litany, he is able to challenge Maxson’s authority as Elder via combat. If you agree to this idea, you go with Danse to challenge Maxson. The Paladin and the Elder duel one another, Danse wins, and Maxson dies. Then Danse names the Sole Survivor the new Elder-- or with a hard charisma check, you’re able to convince Danse to take the job himself. It is unknown how the main plot would have progressed beyond this point, as there is no other evidence of what being (or influencing) the Elder would have been like or what choices it would have given you.

There is understandable disappointment in learning that this ending was cut. Choices in games are great, and it could have been fun to have multiple different options for how to resolve the quest. In many gaming circles, people complain that this theoretical ending is superior to the one we got and shouldn’t have been axed. The Kotaku article calls it a “way better” ending, and you’ll see many players lamenting that it wasn’t implemented, saying Bethesda was bad at writing for cutting it, etc.

So why did Bethesda get rid of the Elder ending of BB?

In December 2020, after the Fallout 4 Cast Reunion, Danse’s voice actor Peter Jessop answered questions in a private signing session on his Instagram. Peter Jessop is an extremely kind and gracious man, an avid gamer, and a huge fan of Fallout. During the stream, he reflected on the alternate ending and remembered recording the lines, but stated the content was ultimately cut because Bethesda decided it was lore-breaking.

Peter Jessop is right. Bethesda was right. The Elder ending of BB is a bunch of dumb nonsense. It sucks, I hate it, and I’m glad they got rid of it. And now I’m going to tell you why!

SIDENOTE: King Shit of Fuck Mountain

There is no wrong way to play a single-player video game. If you are having fun, then you are accomplishing the task for which the game was made. Good for you! Play it on easy. Play it on hard. Mod it. Speedrun it. Make up an intricate roleplaying scenario. Perform “challenge” runs. Kill everybody you see. Ignore the story and run around collecting wheels of cheese. Games are meant to be fun and there is nothing wrong with enjoying a game however you damn well please. This is especially true for RPGs like Fallout, which are designed with player freedom in mind.

There is an RPG playstyle I like to call King Shit of Fuck Mountain: a naked power fantasy in which your protagonist is the most powerful person ever, even beyond normal RPG plot significance. Through brute strength, incredible charisma, or having completed tons of quests for world-breaking artifacts and weapons, your character wields godlike influence, able to control people, factions, and the fabric of the world itself. A game enables KSoFM gameplay when it allows the player limitless freedom to gain as much power as they like with zero consequences to plot or storytelling.

A great example of this is the Dragonborn in The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. If the player chooses to pursue every questline in the game, one single person can become Harbinger of the Companions, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Nightingale and Guildmaster of the Thieves’ Guild, hero of the Imperial/Stormcloak army, the chosen one of like, 11 different Daedric princes, a bard, a Blade, and otherwise just, absurdly goddamn powerful in completely unrealistic ways. And that’s not counting DLCs. A fully-kitted-out Dragonborn is King Shit of Fuck Mountain.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with playing KSoFM if you like to. But I’m not a big fan of this style, personally. Sure, my first Skyrim character became KSoFM while I was figuring out the game, but after my first playthrough I preferred my characters become coherent figures in the story of the world. I pick one or two character traits and things that my Dragonborn is good at, focus on them, and make them part of some overall story. My honorable Imperial paladin werewolf is in the Companions, and hunts vampires on principle. My Argonian sneaky archer is a gleeful thief, but would never jive with the College or the Dark Brotherhood. I like creating protagonists who fit into these settings immersively. I don’t care about power fantasies or being in charge. I don’t WANT my character to be all-powerful, because that ruins my immersion and my little story.

Additionally, in a plot-driven story-focused game like Fallout, KSoFM tears the narrative apart. Skyrim is fairly light on story, so the Dragonborn can be the leader of the Companions and the Dark Brotherhood and whatever other factions without any of them noticing or caring. But FO4’s themes, faction drama, and the main thrust of the plot don’t work at all if the Sole Survivor is able to become too powerful or too influential. The Sole Survivor cannot become the leader of every faction, solve every problem, or eliminate every inconvenient bend of the conflict because it makes the lore of the entire setting implode. Thus, the game forces you to choose between factions. You cannot be with the Minutemen and the Nuka-World Raiders. You cannot be with the Railroad and the Institute. And you cannot become Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel.

So if you’re the kind of person who loves playing KSoFM, if you like plots that your character can “solve” with relative ease, or if you just think it would be super cool for your Sole to become Elder regardless of surrounding storytelling, then you might think the Elder ending sounds super cool. You are absolutely allowed to disagree with me here. Install all the mods and write all the fic and have all the headcanons you like. I respect that. There is no wrong way to enjoy a single-player video game. Have fun!

But if you’re a big nitpicky pedantic lore nerd like me, a fan of cohesive storytelling, or if you just want to hear how the Elder ending of BB absolutely fucking ruins Maxson, Danse, the Brotherhood of Steel, and the entire plot of FO4 from a narrative perspective, read on!

1. The Synth Thing

The Elder ending requires the stupid plot contrivance of the BoS forgetting about Danse’s synthhood.

One of the biggest problems with the BoS as an institution is their strict and dogmatic beliefs, which include a widespread dislike of non-human species. Perhaps more than any other non-humans, the BoS hates synths. Synths are, in their eyes, machines given free will, a violation of the sanctity of human life and the ultimate example of technology run amok. To them, synths are not sympathetic, they are not slaves, and they are not victims of circumstance. They are weapons that left unchecked will destroy all of humanity for a second time. Synths are anathema to everything the BoS stands for, and finding out that one of their most beloved and trusted Paladins is one is an earth-shattering blow to their integrity and sense of security.

It is completely absurd that the BoS would allow a synth within their ranks, particularly as they are waging war against the Institute, who created synths in the first place. It is even MORE absurd that they’d allow one to influence their Elder, or even worse, to become Elder. It completely undermines their mission in the Commonwealth, and the core tenets of their extremely rigid beliefs. No matter the Elder, no matter the Litany or obscure BoS law, no matter how valuable the Sole Survivor is as a soldier or how much influence they wield. Danse is a synth. He’s the enemy. He is physically the embodiment of everything they hate.

Not only wouldn’t they trust a synth in general, but the BoS specifically believes that Danse is an infiltrator for the Institute. Even Danse believes that he is a danger, that the Institute may be able to take control of him and use him as a weapon. Sure, we know none of this is actually true, or possible, but the BoS don’t know that. And given how quick they are to order Danse dead without even the possibility of surrender, I don’t think there’s any charisma in the world that’s going to convince them otherwise.

According to Peter Jessop, this, ultimately, is the reason why the Elder ending was cut. He talks about it around the 11:30 timestamp in his Instagram stream, linked above:

“We recorded an ending where you keep Danse alive and you take over the Brotherhood. But there was a question of content… there’s no way the Brotherhood, once they knew he was a synth, would let him be even the right hand of the person in charge.”

Bethesda correctly recognized the incredible narrative contrivance for the BoS to shrug off the reason they’re trying to execute Danse in the first place. Whatever other beefs I have with this ending conceptually, they all come in second to just what a big dumb leap it is to get beyond this first and most important problem.

2. The Complete Death of Conflict

The Elder ending of BB destroys the conflict of the quest, and potentially the conflict of the entire game.

Greed is a poison. There is no such thing as a perfect ideal or a perfect organization. Power corrupts. Humanity has the choice to build back better. War never changes. The Fallout games are full of themes, depicted by the characters and quests and factions we play out.

Blind Betrayal is rightfully praised as one of the most powerful quests in FO4. Not only is it well-acted, but it puts the player in a very difficult position. The BoS has given you clout and glory and free power armor and lots of firepower, but now you see the price: unquestioning obedience. You are ordered to execute your friend and mentor Danse for the mere fact he is a synth. Are you going to follow that unjust order? Are you willing to give up your principles on command? Or is this where you can no longer stay quiet and stay in line?

To be honest, I’ve always thought the fact you can talk Maxson out of killing Danse but still remain with the BoS in good standing was a cop-out. BB goes 90% of the way to forcing you to choose between a companion and a faction, and then chickens out at the last second to let you have both, if your charisma is high enough.

(I believe this has the fingerprints of Skyrim’s development on it-- Bethesda’s writers got nervous about doing another Paarthurnax choice involving the fan favorite Brotherhood of Steel. That’s right. Danse is the Paarthurnax of Fallout. Frankly, I understand why they chose not to go there, but damn, wouldn’t it have been wild? You want to run with the BoS? Then kill your friend and feel the burn. THIS is what it means to follow orders without question.

As for me, I’d pick Danse every time and sleep soundly without the company of shitty bootlicking dieselpunk LARPers- but I digress.)

Anyway, you know what would have REALLY been a copout? If the game asked you to make a difficult thematic storyline choice, and you solved the problem by just not choosing at all.

You are supposed to feel uncomfortable when Maxson orders you to kill Danse, because the game is telling a story about how it is maybe a bad thing to thoughtlessly follow orders without question. It is asking you to think about what the BoS is, what they are doing, and how they are going to run things, if you choose to let them “win” the Commonwealth. It is pointing out that there is no room for gray in the BoS’ black and white. That a good, loyal man may die because of the way he was made, through no action of his own. That soon, you’ll be killing other people on command. The Railroad. Fleeing Institute synths and scientists. Others, down the line. It all depends on who’s giving the orders. Are you going to follow those orders?

Eesh, that sounds thought-provoking and unpleasant and difficult! Let’s just skip it by killing Maxson and making ourselves the boss. Now we get to tell everybody else what to do!

It’s unknown what powers the Elder ending would have granted the player, or how it would have interacted with the other factions. There is speculation that you’d have been able to ease back on the BoS’ dogmatism, or change some of the later events of the game. For instance, perhaps you could talk the BoS down from attacking the Railroad, sparing popular characters like Glory and Deacon who must die in the normal BoS storyline. Perhaps you could have made the BoS a kinder, gentler faction and directed them to run the way you want them to.

If this was indeed the case, then the Elder ending would not only suck the gravitas out of BB, but torpedo the entire main plot.

If you can get rid of any and all downsides to siding with the BoS, why in the hell would players side with anybody else? With the player given total power, the BoS becomes a perfect faction with no drawbacks, no weaknesses, no tough decisions to be made. Screw slumming it with the Railroad or the Minutemen, let’s take over the BoS. Free power armor and a giant robot! Forget the whole intolerance thing, I hereby proclaim the BoS No Longer Problematic! Now to force all the factions to get along, completely removing all conflict and nuance from the plot!

That’s some real anticlimactic “tell Legate Lanius to go home and then he does it” bullshit right there. King Shit of Fuck Mountain!

Look, it might be nice if there was a perfect path like that to take through the game. It would be cool if our characters could be that powerful and the game was that tailored to our individual choices. On the other hand, “I change all the factions to suit my exact liking” might be a fun idea for a fanfic, but it’s an incredibly boring plot for a video game. “I get to make everything in the world exactly how I want it” is Minecraft, not a story-driven RPG with a complex and intricate plot.

It would be great if complex conflicts could really be solved that easily and effortlessly, but hey, you know what? War never changes.

3. The Assassination of Arthur Maxson (Literal)

Arthur Maxson’s death is too significant and fundamentally disastrous for the Elder ending to make any sense at all.

Hero, villain, leader, monster, tortured soul, brutal dictator, immature twerp, bearded sex hunk. However you personally interpret Arthur Maxson, there is no denying that he is a venerated, popular, beloved figure in the BoS. He is the blood heir of the organization’s founder, a powerful warrior, a brilliant tactician, and a charismatic negotiator. He is responsible for reuniting the East Coast BoS with the Outcasts, leading the new, stronger BoS with a sense of shared purpose. There is a damn good reason his name is Arthur and he named his ship The Prydwen, echoes of King Arthur and the legends of his glorious kingdom of Camelot. Arthur Maxson is so beloved that many view him as a demigod, a messiah sent to lead the BoS into a mighty and prosperous future.

So I’m sure nobody’s going to be upset when some wasteland jackass recruited a month ago stumbles in with a synth, kills him, and takes over his job. Right?

It doesn’t matter that it’s “honorable.” It doesn’t matter that it’s done “by the book” via obscure BoS rules. There is no codex or litany or rule so binding that it’s going to overcome the cult of personality around Maxson. There is no way that the BoS is going to accept the death of Arthur Maxson, a man whose reverence borders on worship, especially not when he is immediately replaced by a wastelander, or a synth.

The death of Arthur Maxson removes the unifying glue that’s been holding the BoS together since mending the rift with the Outcasts. Maxson’s death eliminates the one person that both sides of that conflict agreed could steer the organization in the right direction. Some level heads may try to keep the focus on the mission and the Brotherhood tenets, but Maxson loyalists will never forgive the new Elder for his death, and that amount of passionate righteous anger will not be quelled by appeals to the rules. The new Elder’s war on the Institute is basically over before it begins, when the forces splinter and start infighting over the change in leadership.

And this is if the new Elder lives long enough to actually give any orders. I give them around 24 hours after the duel before some angry Maxson loyalist “accidentally” pulls the trigger and “tragically” empties a clip into their back.

24 seconds, if it’s Elder Danse, the dirty synth abomination.

4. The Assassination of Arthur Maxson (Figurative)

The Elder ending of BB falsely pretends that Arthur Maxson is the biggest and only problem with the BoS.

In the Elder ending, as written, the conflict of BB is considered completely and totally solved by the death of Arthur Maxson. The core problem, that Danse is a synth and considered an enemy by the BoS, has not gone away. But by getting rid of Maxson, this apparently no longer matters. Nobody else is going to take offense to Danse’s nature or protest his presence. Nobody else is going to attack him or try to follow through with Maxson’s prior orders. Nope, that meanybutt guy who gave the order is gone, and everybody else is going to welcome Danse back into the fold like nothing ever happened.

I touched on this a little bit on an ask about Maxson a few weeks back, but a lot of people seem to believe that the FO4 Brotherhood of Steel is the way they are purely because of him. That he is the one making them treat non-humans as second class citizens at best, and enemies to be slaughtered at worst. That it’s his fault the BoS is so vehemently against synths and the Institute. That he is the one influencing their imperialistic tendencies, and treating the Commonwealth like territory to be conquered and people to be ruled over by their betters.

He’s not. That’s the Brotherhood of Steel, guys.

The charitable, altruistic, virtuous BoS that many of us met for the first time in FO3 were outliers. Lyons’ group was literally disowned by the rest of the faction because their kindness to wastelanders had gone so far astray from the “core” tenets. The BoS as a whole has always been exclusive, isolated, and seen themselves as “superior” to the average wastelander. They have long disliked or outright hated non-humans (and even Lyons’ BoS in FO3 use ghouls, feral or not, for “target practice” if they get too close!) The rigid dogmatism of the BoS is not something that Arthur Maxson started, but has always been part of their fabric.

Now, it’s true that Maxson is absolutely going hard on the BoS tenets, and extremely dedicated to upholding them. His BoS are the way they are and act the way they act because he believes that this is the way it should be. Is it possible that a different leader may be a little more flexible? Absolutely. Could a skilled Elder eventually show them the benefits of a softer approach and a more generous worldview? Totally. Is getting rid of Maxson and replacing him going to make that happen overnight, or going to make the rest of the BoS who supported him shrug and follow suit?

Nope.

Blaming Arthur Maxson for everything unsavory about the Brotherhood is unfair to him and also foolishly ignoring the deep, massive problems that are far older than he is-- problems that plenty of its members wholeheartedly believe are not problems at all. Getting rid of Maxson does not make the BoS kinder or gentler. Even pretending Maxson isn’t as personally beloved as he is, any new Elder who steps in and starts trying to fundamentally alter the way the BoS operates and what they believe in is going to face some major, immediate pushback.

Like, a full clip of bullets in the back type of pushback.

In the face if it’s Elder Danse, the godless freak of nature.

5. The Un-Redemption of Paladin Danse

Last, and my personal least favorite!

At first glance, Paladin Danse is a steely jackboot, a die-hard Brotherhood loyalist who fully and firmly believes in their cause. Many immediately dismiss him as a humorless brute, or completely ignore him because they think that’s all there is. But if you spend any time with Danse at all, you’ll notice a sort of weariness in him. He is tired, overworked, and his years of service are starting to weigh on him. He has watched friends, comrades, and mentors die in horrible and gruesome ways, and he suffers from PTSD. Though he has always been told that his own sacrifices, the sacrifices of his brothers and sisters have been” worth it,” he’s starting to question if that’s true.

After telling of the incident where he personally executed his best friend Cutler, who’d been turned into a super mutant, the Sole Survivor is able to console him:

Player Default: You did the right thing. Danse: {Somber} It's what I was taught. I don't know if it was right.

This line is an excellent summary of Danse’s entire character arc. He learns to question whether to believe what the Brotherhood has taught him, or to believe in himself. His gut feelings. His sense of justice and his own ideas of what’s right and wrong.

(In the interest of not turning this into an essay about Danse’s character, I won’t even get into how this also applies to his beliefs about his worth as a person. But keep in mind, that dimension is there, Danse just covers it up by making everything about the Brotherhood.)

During Blind Betrayal, after getting the orders to execute him and hearing Haylen’s plea for mercy, we may expect Danse to be ready to fight back or flee. But when you confront him in the bunker at Listening Post Bravo, he’s compliant and suicidal. Danse is so deeply poisoned by the BoS’ rhetoric that his own feelings or will to live don’t factor into the conversation. He demands that you follow your orders and execute him, because he believes, as the BoS does, that all synths are dangerous and must be destroyed.

Danse: {Stern} Synths can't be trusted. Machines were never meant to make their own decisions, they need to be controlled. Technology that's run amok is what brought the entire world to its knees and humanity to the brink of extinction.

{Confident} I need to be the example, not the exception.

Through various dialogue options, if your charisma is high enough, you are able to talk Danse off the ledge. He is able to consider, at least, that the BoS’ merciless judgment of him is wrong and that what he was taught isn’t right. He is a thinking, feeling, self-aware synth, and that makes him as much a person as any human. Danse is no danger to humanity-- and maybe, most synths aren’t either.

Danse is an example, not an exception.

Later on, if you manage to get him out of BB alive, Danse shows further acceptance of his nature. His approvals about synths begin to soften slightly (or many of them do, at least… it’s not perfect.) He is still struggling with his identity and reconciling it with his former hatred, but his dialogue suggests that he’s on the road to being more open-minded and understanding. Along with this, Danse learns that he has value as a person beyond the Brotherhood. He no longer needs to define himself with BoS beliefs or judge himself by how useful he is to them. He learns that he is worth caring about, worth being friends with or being loved because of who he is-- not what he is, in any regard.

[SIDENOTE: Many players, myself included, are frustrated that Danse’s arc leaves off sort of midstream there. Due to the open-ended nature of the game, we don’t get a real conclusion to his arc-- even though much of his idle dialogue doesn’t change and he still espouses pro-BoS sentiments ( an unfortunate by-product of writing for a video game) there is every indication that he’s started down the right path, but understandably has a ways to go.

Also, Peter Jessop agrees with us.]

Meanwhile, in the Elder ending, Danse doesn’t get a redemption. His entire character arc, actually, hits the skids and does a total 180.

He never leaves the BoS. So scratch the need for Danse to ever think about himself as separate from them. He never needs to question what they’ve taught him or whether they’re right or wrong. He never needs to find any worth in himself beyond his use to the BoS. Why would he? He might be the Elder. The BoS is all he needs to care about anymore. The BoS is all he ever needs to be, ever again.

And I think, most horrifying of all, this Danse never needs to change his mind about synths. On the contrary, one of the surviving dialogue files includes Danse’s speech to reassure the rest of the BoS of his stance:

Danse: I want to make one thing clear to everyone. This body might be synth, but my heart and mind belong to the Brotherhood. The Institute is still a tremendous threat to the Commonwealth. They possess technologies that need to be confiscated or destroyed. And even if that means I have to pull the trigger on my own kind, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.

Elder ending Danse doesn’t grow more understanding on the nature of synths. He doesn’t accept that synths are people, or anything more than technology run amok. He won’t even accept that for himself. Elder Maxson wasn’t wrong about synths-- they’re the enemy and they need to be destroyed.

But, see, he was wrong about Danse. It’s okay for Danse to exist in spite of his nature. It’s okay for him to never fully accept his own personhood, and to outright deny it to his kind. Because his body is a machine, but he’s different from the rest because his heart and mind belong to the Brotherhood.

He’s the exception, not the example.

CONCLUSION:

The Elder ending of Blind Betrayal is dumb, contrived, stakeless, character-derailing powergaming crap at its finest and I’ll happily dance on its grave.

People give Bethesda a lot a shit for their writing-- whether it be stuff they left out, stuff they left in, or stuff that they never, ever could have made work due to the limitations of writing for a video game. Plenty of it is well-deserved, or at least worth a discussion. But from the minute I found out about its existence, I have always wanted to extend a congratulations to Bethesda for cutting the alternate Elder ending of Blind Betrayal. It was a good choice. A very good choice to cut a very dumb plot that would have fundamentally altered the story they were telling, and characters that I’ve grown to love. I think the writers deserve some credit and a hearty handshake for the wisdom of this decision.

Now as for why Nick Valentine isn’t romanceable--

[sabraeal]

Consider: Obi is green-red color blind

A Color by Any Other Name

Written for @aeroplaneblues for a surprise birthday gift! Many months ago she mentioned wanted to see a colorblind Obi, and I said, WELL WHAT A GOOD EXCUSE TO WRITE THIS PROMPT JOANNA GAVE ME. I hope your birthday is a good one, filled with a lot more nice surprises!

“Are you ever going to introduce me to your guard friends?” Suzu asks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Or are you embarrassed?”

To say Obi is unprepared, would be an understatement; there’s a pork bun lodged between his teeth, his gloves not only coated in pig grease but also far less effective against steam than he’d thought they’d be back when he’d just grabbed a plump little blob off the stall. He’d laughed off Suzu’s concerns about protective equipment; after all, if smiths use leather gloves, they’ve got to be just as good as an oven mitt.

They aren’t. Not to mention the roof of his mouth starting to have a real good think about peeling off and having a vacation. Maybe even with someone who doesn’t eat entire dumplings straight from the basket.

“Wha?” he manages eloquently, nearly drooling spicy meat drippings onto the street.

“I know I’m not cool like they are,” Suzu continues, warming to his new thesis. If his sudden flush of confidence is any measure, he’s spent more of time composing his arguments for this than Obi’s ever seen him work on his actual defense. “And I’m no good with a sword. Or fists. Or really any implement that isn’t a scalpel, and any opponent that isn’t already anesthetized. But I am very smart.”

There’s a thoughtful pause before Suzu adds, “Some people do enjoy that, you know.”

What Obi knows is that this kid tried this conversation on for size in front of Yuzuri, and she didn’t even bother to warn him as a courtesy. See if he buys her any more meat-on-sticks when she’s ‘left her purse in the lab’ now.

“That’s not--” he takes a hurried minute to swallow-- “not what’s happening. I didn’t...”

Even know you knew I didn’t work for the pharmacy. His teeth clamp shut around that winner, and its friend, I didn’t think you lot would want to hang out with a bunch of men without degrees. Not only would that encourage Suzu to make a scene right here, right now, but if it got back to Jirou-- well, if he thought Suzu could turn any day into a disaster, the lieutenant would make that seem like a vacation.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he settles on instead. Similar enough in feel, if...creatively edited. “You scholar types tend to flock together.”

“Well, sure,” Suzu murmurs, stymied, “but we’re friends too, aren’t we? If all my friends are your friends, then all your friends should be my friends.”

Only an academic could talk about arithmetic with that amount of confidence, especially the kind that involved transitive properties and letters, and all sorts of things that made Obi’s head spin.

“Well,” he hums, one boot scratching his calf. “You would know.”

Suzu whirls on him, staring down his long fox-snout of a nose. “You mean it? You’ll really...?”

“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He twitches his shoulders, more casual than he feels. “It’s fine if it’s you.”

There’s always been a lazy lilt to Suzu’s eyes, but it disappears now, all the sleepiness gone to surprise. “Me? You wouldn’t want to bring anyone else?”

“Well, definitely not Kazaha.” The glares he’d get bringing that twiggy pedant into the guardhouse might be enough to drop him dead on the spot. “And Yuzuri would be too popular.”

Suzu grimaces. “The number of admirers she’d get from a wink alone...she’d be unlivable.”

He can see it now, her ponytail bobbing with a buoyant glee, giggling through every painstaking penned line from her fan club-- “Think of all the bad poetry.”

“Honestly, that might make it worth it. At least I’ll feel better about not knowing the difference between a quartet and a quatrain.” Suzu takes a thoughtful bite of him bun. “And you couldn’t bring Shirayuki, of course.”

“Right.” Not a one of them could be trusted to keep their lips sealed; she’d hardly have to take a breath and someone would call her Obi’s lady, or ask how they met, or whether she’s still Mistress behind closed doors--

But Suzu wouldn’t know any of that. “Wait, why?”

“Well...” He has the grace to look chagrined about it, whatever it is. “You know. Her hair...?”

“Oh.” Obi shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Suzu stares. “Shirayuki has a non-zero amount of stories about being kidnapped for looking like a candied apple, and you guess there might be a fuss about bringing her ‘round to the guardhouse?”

“Well, none of you acted weird about it,” he snips, hiding his annoyance behind a bite of dumpling. “There’s no reason they will.”

“Of course no one at Lilias acted weird, Obi!” he squawks, arms flailing as he talks. “You couldn’t pay them to look at anything but their own project. But when a bunch of normal men with eyes and, uh, other working appendages see a cute girl with red hair and a soft voice, they’re gonna go crazy!”

His palm hooks around his shoulder, thumb digging into the hard knot at his collarbone. “Aw, come on. It’s not that special.”

“Not that--?” Suzu whips around, eyes round as dumplings. “Obi, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen with red hair.”

“You don’t get out much,” Obi deadpans. “No offense.”

“That’s not--” Suzu grunts, throwing up his hands-- “She’s the only person anyone’s ever seen with red hair!”

“Her dad’s is kind of red.” That observation wins him an unimpressed look, one that says you’re missing the point. “And Yuzuri had blue hair when I met her. That’s way more interesting--”

“It was dyed!” Suzu wobbles over to a wall, sitting with his head in his hands. “Shirayuki has a hair color so rare that the birth records in Clarines haven’t noted it in more than fifty years! And you think Yuzuri dying her hair with woad is more impressive.”

“Well, even her natural color is brighter than Miss’s. Not--” he waves a hand between them, quelling-- “that Miss’s hair isn’t nice enough. But I’d think that people would pay more attention to that.”

“...Brighter?” Suzu murmurs after a long moment, stilted. “Obi, could you tell me what color that sign is, right over there?”

“The one for the tea shop?” He wrinkles his nose. “Why--?”

“Just...indulge me for a moment.”

“All right.” He squints up at the moon cresting over a wolf’s head. “Blue.”

“Right, and, um, that coat over there.”

“Yellow.”

“Right.” Suzu’s voice is tight, stressed. “And what I’m wearing?”

Obi squints. This one’s a little harder, but he’s confident when he says, “Green.”

“Ah, right.” Suzu stands, a unsteady on his feet. “That would explain that, then.”

Obi blinks. “Explain what?”

“Obi,” Suzu begins, with all the gravitas of both a grim prognosis and a terrible joke. “You can’t see colors.”

*

It’s not the first time Obi’s played hound to his prey’s fox, but there’s something distinctly unsettling about it being Suzu that leaves him lagging behind, unsure of himself. Especially with the way he scurries through the concourse, bounding toward the mess hall with this idea caught between his teeth like chicken feathers.

“I can see colors just fine,” Obi informs him with far less confidence than he’d like. “Some of them are just hard to tell apart. Weren’t you and Yuzuri arguing yesterday about whether salmon is orange or pink?”

Suzu waves a hand at him, dismissive. “That’s different. Salmon’s both orange and pink, and what color it looks most like has to do with the composition of your eye-- and it’s pink by the way, with orange undertones--”

Between the two of them, Obi knows who he’d trust to know their colors. “Uh-huh.”

“You can’t make out red and green, which is different entirely, and--” the doors to the mess burst open beneath his hands, a noise lost in the din of a hundred scholars trying to share the same table-- “YOU GUYS WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I JUST FOUND.”

The whole of Shidan’s lab-- minus the man himself-- have taken up right by the door, bags and coats piled to save them their places on the bench. Suzu makes short work of the pile on his seat, haphazardly shoving them to the floor as he sits.

Kazaha peers at him and ventures mildly, “A new way to avoid finishing your thesis?”

“No,” Suzu hums between his grit teeth, “but I have found out--”

“I don’t think we need to do this,” Obi murmurs, handing Miss her muffler. “It’s not--”

“Obi,” he intones with far more gravitas than his name has ever strictly deserved, “can’t see colors.”

“Not at all?” Kazaha turns those sharp eyes to him, like he’s a specimen under glass. “Just black and white?”

“I can see just fine,” Obi huffs, tossing Yuzuri her coat before he slides onto the bench, knee knocking into Miss’s in a way that puts his heart through its paces. “Suzu is just making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a grin. “Then what color is Shirayuki’s hair?”

He stifles a sigh. It’s best to put all this to bed now, before he’s stuck playing what’s this color for the next two years. “Red.”

“What’s the point of this?” Yuzuri yawns, already bored. Obi shoots her a grateful look, glad that at least one of them isn’t going to play Suzu’s game.

It’s too bad he’s already puffed up with unearned confidence, like an evolutionist at a botany lecture. “And what’s the color of Ryuu’s cloak?”

He knows it by heart-- how could he not, when the two most important people in this city wear matching ones-- but still Obi glances up, anticipating a trick. Ryuu stares back, confused and guileless. “Blue.”

“Great, good.” Suzu’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “Now what color is your scarf?”

Obi’s fingers knot in the fabric, the weft tickling the pads of his fingers. “Well, it’s...sort of reddish, isn’t it?”

This is the wrong answer.

“It makes so much sense,” Yuzuri murmurs in wonder. “You really don’t know how ugly Suzu’s outfits are. That’s why you still hang out with him.”

“Hey!” Suzu pouts. “That’s not very nice.”

“No, that has nothing to do with color, it’s the cut.” Anxiety spikes through him. “But wait, it is red isn’t it? My scarf?”

“No,” Miss murmurs at his side, cheeks flushes. “Obi, it’s...it’s green.”

He stares down at it, trying to imagine what that might look like. “Green.”

“It looks very nice on you!” Her small fingers wrapping in the fur at his elbow. “It’s your color, really.”

“Oh, sure,” he murmurs, faint. “I guess it matches my eyes.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘it has nothing to do with the color?’“ Suzu’s hands fly to his hips, brows drawn tight over the long line of his nose. “My clothes are just fine.”

“They aren’t.” Obi leans in next to him, grin feeling thinner than it should. “But I hang out with you anyway, which means you know we’re really friends.”

Kazaha rubs at his chin, where his ode to Shidan’s goatee is failing to thrive. “You know what this also explains?”

Obi blinks. “What?”

“All the black.”

It’s not Kazaha that says it, oh no. That would be too merciful for a mortifying moment out of his life. Instead it’s low and feminine, and when Miss Kiki leans out from the other side of Miss, it’s like a siren emerging from the depths, teeth bared to tear a man to shreds. “What an interesting thing I’ve learned today.”

“Miss Kiki! How--?” He gulps. “Why--?”

“I came to deliver a message from Wirant,” she drawls, too pleased. “And it seems I’ve earned myself a fine tip.”

“No,” he breathes. “You can’t-- you’re not going to tell Master, are you? Or Sir?”

“Oh,” she hums, looking particularly hungry for manflesh. “I certainly will.”

*

“Oh, there there.” Miss pats his back, the sensation lost among the dozen layers of clothing between them. “I’m sure Kiki won’t tell them, not until you’re ready! You asked her not to.”

“I think that just means,” Obi mutters, voice muffled by his arms and the wall he’s throwing himself over, “that she’ll just enjoy telling them more.”

“Ah...” He doesn’t need to see her to know her grimace. “Yes, that’s...probably right.”

He lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh. It helps a little. So does a bit of flailing.

“They won’t make a big deal out of it,” Miss says, changing tack. “It hardly changes anything! I’m sure they’ll just forget as soon as she tells them.”

He peeps one eye over his elbow. “That’s easy for you to say, you haven’t spent the last half an hour playing What’s That Color.”

“Well,” she wheedles, “they are scholars.”

Obi groans, loud and long, which doesn’t help; but it echoes out over the rooftops, returning back to him, which does.

“How...?”

Miss hesitates, a gloved finger pressed to her lips. He sighs, already braced for the onslaught-- how didn’t you know? how did you go so long without knowing your colors? how do you find people if you can’t even tell what hair color they have--?

“How did you notice?”

Obi lifts his head, unblinking. “What?”

“How did you notice?” Miss repeats, more firmly this time. “You’ve spent your whole life this way, haven’t you? It must have taken something really special to realize there was more than what you see.”

“Uh.” It’s nice that it’s darker here, that it’s cold. He has perfect legitimate reasons to be flushed. “Well, it was Suzu really. He mentioned that--” his teeth clamp down around his words, not letting them out without a hasty edit-- “that people think your hair’s pretty special, and I said I didn’t get why...”

Miss stiffens beside him, a statue that breathes, and he hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t special, Miss. It’s just, the red...”

“Right.” The words comes out stilted, strange. “You can’t see it. You actually...haven’t ever seen it.”

A silence settles on them like a wool blanket; not one of those nice ones at the castle, or the fleecy ones Miss stockpiles like one day the North might run out of sheep, but the itchy, coarse-woven ones of his childhood. Uncomfortable and smelling faintly of animal.

“So,” he coughs, fixing his gaze out over the city. “What did Kiki want?”

“Oh...” Miss shifts, mouth pulling into a guilty grimace. “She came to tell me that the Queen Dowager has invited me to dinner. Tomorrow night.”

His brows raise. “Well, well.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs, head giving the barest shake. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t press, but if he doesn’t, no one else will. “After you told Master--”

“I told him a list of reasons why I thought I would be a better ally as a friend, and not as a...” Miss loses steam, letting her words sigh into the air. “I’d like to believe this has to do with my work with Phostyrias.”

He watches her, careful. “But do you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, which is as good as any no.

*

Obi’s barely stepped into the Protector’s solar when Master asks, “What color is my jacket?”

His head swivels, delivering a glare so flat carpets would be jealous. Miss Kiki only hums, shoulder lifting in a disinterested shrug. “I said I was going to tell them.”

Fair enough.

“It’s blue,” he deadpans, flopping onto the cushiest divan. He’s too long for it, his boots spilling off one arm a idling over the floor. “Apparently I can see that one just fine.”

According to Miss, at least; she’d unearthed a slip of a book from the university’s library, outlining the limits of his sight. Little Ryuu had pored over it for a day before showing up at his door, flushed faced and nervous.

Garrack always told me I had nice eyes, he’d admitted, lingering at the threshold. I was hoping you could see them.

Cross as he is about the whole thing, Obi can’t regret that. He might not have Miss’s hair, or Suzu’s coat-- thankfully-- but Ryuu’s eyes would always look true to him.

“But not red.” Master’s mouth twitches, far too entertained. “Or green.”

“I do see them,” he protests. “They just...don’t look very different to me.”

Just another shade of yellow and brown, if those books are right. Which they are, since he’d always thought so. Subtly different, like the way Suzu and Yuzuri fought over salmon, or Master and Miss Kiki would dither over chartreuse. Just enough that he’d been able to eke by on keeping his mouth shut and a fondness for black.

Still, there’s nothing worse than finding out something new about yourself this late in the game. Especially when--

“What about the curtains?” Master inquires. “Can you see those?”

--Especially when it’s so endlessly entertaining to everyone else. “I can see them,” he grumbles, sinking further into the cushions. “Just because I can’t see some colors doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“Then what about the note?”

Obi rolls his gaze to where Sir perches at his desk. “Huh?”

“To our red-haired guest.” Sir coughs, a flush working its way up his neck. “It’s just-- you wrote that.”

“Oh, His Grace told me that one.” A lifetime ago, it seemed. “‘The red-haired girl, you’ll know her when you see her, I’m sure.’“

Master winces. Obi can admit his talent doesn’t lie with impressions, especially ones of dour old men.

“Right,” Sir presses, voice oddly tight. “But you don’t see-- I mean, how could you find a girl that looks just like everyone else?”

“Ah...” He grimaces, scrubbing at the top of his head. “Well, I just looked for the girl who didn’t belong. It--” he hesitates, suddenly aware of Master’s eyes on him-- “didn’t take very long.”

Master’s frown belongs above one of those prie-dieu, to remind penitents that forgiveness isn’t absolute. “What is that supposed to--?”

“So what does she look like?” No one could say that after a decade of dedication, Miss Kiki doesn’t know how to do her job; she deflects Master’s brewing sour mood with the ease of a professional. “What does her hair look like to you?”

“Uh.” He clears his throat, tugging at his collar. “I wasn’t lying when I said I bought my scarf to match...”

There is a stillness to the room that is too much, too pitiful. Much as he hated it, Obi would much rather be a joke than a charity case.

“Huh,” Sir grunts, gaze still fixed to his neck. “Now I wonder what we all look like to you.”

“Well, I sort of wonder what you all look like to yourselves.” Obi let a sigh float wistfully through his lips. “At least I know that me and Miss still have the same eyes.”

There’s silence again, but this one buzzes, filled with words no one dares to say.

“What?” he laughs, nervous, pulling himself upright. “Don’t we?”

Sir grimaces. “Ah, Obi...”

*

Miss is quiet when they walk the walls home that night, the winter stillness making the silence and heavy as any drift. Her mouth is pursed, not with anything like anger, but something closer to consideration. As if there’s words back there she’s sorting through, trying to compose a thought that just won’t come.

Well, she should know: she won’t get anywhere if she doesn’t air a few of them out to look at. “Something wrong, Miss?”

She blinks, shaken out from wherever she gone away. Her mind palace, maybe. Suzu’d told him about those once, with busts and painting and curtained alcoves. What she’d do with a place like that, he couldn’t imagine, but if anyone asked, he’d put his money on hers having apothecary drawers instead, and gardens too. The kind with half crumbled walls, ivies curled around every stone. Cluttered desks piled high with books, and one of them with curtain drawn to let its owner nap the afternoon away.

“Oh,” she breathes, finally. “No, no. Nothing’s, um, wrong. I was just...thinking.”

He lifts a knowing brow. “So something is wrong.”

“That’s not what I said,” she informs him, primly. “I was going over my meeting with Haruto, and...”

Her lips snap shut around the words, distress narrowing her eyes. “And...?”

“She didn’t know about my work,” Miss huffs, arms wrapping tight around her chest. “Or, she did, but only what Zen had told her. Which...”

Was far less than the whole of it. He’d heard that part of her argument that night, try as he might not to. “So she invited you as Zen’s ally?”

“No.” The word is colder than any he’s ever heard fall from her lips. “That I wouldn’t mind-- I’m still trying to be his ally, after all, and if she saw me as an asset...” She shook her head. “No, she wanted to meet his...paramour, even if she didn’t say as much.”

Obi grimaces.

“And even that wouldn’t be so bad if...” Miss took a deep, steeling breath. “When I came in, after all the curtsies and pleasantries, she said, your hair is just as red as he said it was.” Her knuckles are white where they wrap around her elbows. “All those years, all those letters, and the only thing he thinks to tell his mother is that my hair...”

The rest is lost in a sigh, a cloud of mist swirling off the wall.

“It must really be something,” Obi deadpans, gaze following it off the edge. “Since it makes all these people forget how smart you are.”

She’s watching him; he can feel it as she sidles up to where he stands, hands unclenching from her arms and splaying on the crenellations instead. “Obi, you really can’t...?”

Miss hesitates, falls silent. He lets her; she’s put enough words in the air to sort through, and now all she needs is time. Obi’s happy to give it to her.

Especially since there’s a rabbit down there in the dark. A small one, moving slow, hind legs churning like clockwork winding up. It’s nose digs into the snow, snuffling around, searching--

“Can you really see better?” Miss asks, startling him back to the wall. “In the dark, I mean. That book said you could.”

“Well, after the past couple days, I’m a little shaky on what’s normal.” He jerks his chin over the edge. “Can you see the rabbit down there? Right by that sapling?”

She blinks, pressing in close. “The what? It’s just...dark out there.”

“Well,” he says, grin tight on his lips. “There’s your answer.”

Miss settles back on her heels, one hand already cupping her chin. “It makes sense. Without the distraction of color, your movement tracking must be much more acute...”

Obi only half-manages to stifle a laugh. “Seems like it definitely distracts everyone else.”

Miss goes quiet; almost too quiet, enough to make his teeth sit on edge. The seconds tick by, and Obi might play at patience, but it’s not in his nature. He glances down, just from the corners of his eyes, but Miss is already watching him, eyes strangely shuttered.

“Obi,” she says, so clear his name rings in his ears. “You don’t...? My hair, it’s not...” Her mouth works, quiet, before she manages, “It’s not anything to you?”

Anything special, she means. Because that’s what he said so stupidly last night, nothing special.

She’d tied it up tonight, finagling the strange looping knots that were partial to the queen’s court, but already some of it’s worn loose, slipping from its pins. “It is,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “But you can’t see it, not really.”

“Of course I can see it,” he laughs, weary. “Maybe not the color, but that’s fine. I like it because it’s yours.”

She ducks her head, and Obi might not be good at colors, but he can see her cheeks flush in the lamplight.

“Miss.” Her gaze lifts to his, no longer shuttered, just full. “Can I ask you something?”

Her breath catches. “Anything.”

“Be straight with me,” he pleads. “We do have the same eye color right?”

*

“Obi!” Miss‘s laughter bubbles bright with betrayal as she hops down the stairs after him. “Obi, please--”

“Let me grieve, Miss,” he grumbles, hands shoved in his pockets. “I’ve been a real champ about the rest, but let me have this.”

“Obi!” She catches him round the wrist, mouth twitching as she turns to him. “Is it really so bad that they’re gold?”

“No,” he mutters sullenly, shoulders slumped enough that with two stairs between them, they’re nearly the same height. “It’s just...”

Her eyes flutter wide with curiosity. “Just...?”

“It’s fine enough that they’re unique.” He spits the word with more venom than it deserves. “I just I wanted this one thing in common.”

“In common?” Miss blinks. “You mean, me and...?”

Obi would lay down his life for his mistress, but even she can’t ask him to do this, to lay down his pride for her to walk on.

“Oh!” She flusters, limbs fluttering in the air between them. He’s half-tempted to turn away again, but she grabs his face and holds him steady, her cold, slender fingers caught behind his jaw. “Just-- just one moment...”

“Miss?” he wheezes. This is entirely too close, too much--

“Yes!” He breath flutters over his lips, her own parting in a celebration of teeth. “That’s it. I see it. There’s a little, right there.”

He blinks. “A little what, Miss?”

Her teeth flash around the word, “Green.”

It’s cruel to throw a starving dog a bone, but he snaps it up anyway, heart nearly clogging up his throat with hope. “D’you mean it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Really,” she promises, her nod serious and officious as any she might give Little Ryuu. “There’s a thread, right around the middle. Green. Just like mine.”

“Oh.” His own hands raise, leather muting the feel of her skin, but-- Master always told him about the red thread that bound him and Miss together, that drew them toward their fated meeting, but this-- Obi will take this too. “Thank you, Miss.”

She smiles, eyes shining bright in the lamplight. “No, Obi, it’s my pleasure.”

Not much different between green and red to him, anyway.

[apparitionism]

Run 9a

Obviously I’m still pandemic-slow, but here’s a piece of that running-shoe story. Myka still has no idea what Helena did, knows, or thinks, but she’s about to find out some pretty salient information... anyway, the two of them, their past, all of it. The things they want seem irreconcilable, but sometimes it’s a matter of knowing when to bend. (And recognizing that there can be good reasons to do so.) See part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7a, part 7b, and part 8 for details about those wants and reasons. I’ll be focusing intensely on my gift exchange story after this, in hopes of getting it into decent shape by the deadline, which is bearing down pretty relentlessly... can’t wait to see what everyone comes up with this time around!

Run 9a

Not long after Pete told her about the deal, Myka got a call from Claudia Donovan.

“Who are you?” the little shouty genius demanded.

“Myka Bering, from AAI,” she said. Pedantic but true. “Didn’t we go over this before?”

“But, like, running the world, is that your side hustle?”

“I wish,” Myka said, not altogether truthfully. “This one time I got lucky.”

“Luck? Please. You’re officially a starred contact for life.”

Myka huffed out a noise: half amused, half incredulous. “Probably won’t help you with anything.”

“Who knows what tomorrow’s ‘anything’ might look like. For life,” Claudia emphasized.

She was certainly right about tomorrow. Right about today, in fact. “Thank you? I think? This is the strangest day of my existence,” Myka told her, and that was pretty close to altogether truthful.

Claudia snorted. “Lady, every time I think that, there’s three more in a row, bang bang bang. Enjoy your symptom.” She abruptly ended the call, leaving Myka trying to think through what being a starred contact for life in Claudia World was going to mean for the minute-by-minute progression of that life. Probably something about exhaustion—

—but before she could turn that into a complete thought, Giselle marched up to her desk, announcing, “I just listened to a fascinating conversation.”

“Conference call?” Myka tried, hoping it was something normal and business-y, which would suggest everyone might someday in the non-distant future get back to that normal. A normal that was mostly business-y.

“In a waaaay,” Giselle dragged, then snickered. “You should lurk the elevators more.”

“No thanks. I don’t want to know everybody’s business, and I definitely don’t want them knowing mine.”

“That’s what made the conversation fascinating.”

That sounded way too bright. “Knowing everybody’s business?”

“Knowing yours.”

“Mine.” Myka was not looking forward to whatever was coming next.

“Helena and Pete had a conversation. That’s what I listened to. Then Pete and I had a conversation.”

“Please don’t make me have to care about either of those things.”

“The funny part is, right before that, I’d been saying to Helena about how she and I could pass some time. You know.”

How could that possibly be the funny part? “Well. Then I guess you should. Pass some time.” Ripping me up inside, Myka thought. She had no right. But: pass, some, time. Rip, rip, rip.

“Or not.” Giselle paused. “You don’t have a boyfriend. Why didn’t I get that?”

That made for a stutter-stop, such that Myka couldn’t read her own mind: was she proud of having staved off this realization for as long as she had? Relieved to have been freed from the “should I confess, and if so, when” pressure? Disgruntled—or, even more disturbing, pleased—that her status quo with Giselle was now likely to change? Getting back to normal was a dream that was never going to come true. “Is it better or worse if I tell you Pete had basically the same response when he found out?”

“He’s the one who let it slip,” Giselle said. “After Helena told him off for being unfaithful to you.”

“After... what?”

“He was trying it with Kelly. Like he does.”

“Like you did,” Myka pointed out.

“How was I supposed to know she had her eye on some decathlete? Don’t change the subject.”

“What exactly is the subject?”

“Helena asked him if he loves you.”

Myka, having no rational way to think about that, resorted to sarcasm. “Does he? I’m on tenterhooks.” She pushed it even further from her with, “I don’t even know what tenterhooks are, but I’m on them.”

“Anyway she was on fire about how he better treat you right if he does,” Giselle said, not bothering with any of Myka’s resorting or pushing.

Still no way to think about it. “Helena. On fire about how Pete better treat me right. That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“The most,” Giselle said, lengthily skeptical.

“In all honesty, maybe so. Other than Claudia Donovan saying I’m a starred contact for life.” But also there was a banal peacock, Myka’s memory ghosted at her. Saying ridiculous words, and you heard them.

“So where are you?” Giselle asked.

A very good question. Where, really, was she? That was as difficult to assess as was her response to Giselle knowing the truth. Was she happy that she’d managed to best Helena? Disappointed in herself for still wanting to put her hands on the enemy, for still being desperate to put her hands on the enemy? Terrified of the limbo in which answering “yes” to both those questions stranded her? The answer to that last question, at least, was a clear “yes,” never mind any others.

She waited too long to respond. Giselle shook her head and said, “Your mouth’s not moving, but I see your mind flying, trying to make it all make sense. It won’t. What she does to you, it won’t.”

Waiting, flying; what Helena did to Myka. “It’s fake,” she said. “What she does. To me: making me... not me,” she ended, weakly, but she felt it as an admission. A confession. All about what Helena did: it was wrong, cheating, fake.

Giselle pushed that off: “So what? You worried about breaking records? I mean maybe you could, you and Helena, but what’s the international sex organization keeping the books?”

“Why would you say that?” Myka demanded. A prudish snap: nothing but a resentful defense against how close Giselle’s arrow had zinged.

Myka’s outrage was, unsurprisingly, ineffective; Giselle’s dismissive yet amused lift of a corner of her mouth made that clear. “As I said to Pete a little while ago: Could we be honest, here it’s just us? You wouldn’t act like you’re acting if it wasn’t about personal bests. Not you? It’s more you. You and Helena both; I can see what’s going on. Is it gonna stop going on?”

And what was Myka supposed to say to that? Lie and deny it, or tell the truth and feel her face burn to no purpose at all?

“Obviously I can’t tell you much about Helena you don’t already know,” Giselle said, as if that would give Myka a way to talk about it.

It gave her nothing but objections... but objections were in fact a way to talk. “Of course you can. You did. You told me who her father is. You told me what her company’s investing in.”

“Those things aren’t about Helena. That self she is. Pay attention, because one thing I really can tell you—the biggest, even though it isn’t about that full-down self she is either, or maybe it is?—is that she lost her job.”

She—what? “What?” said Myka’s mouth, echoing her head.

“Right, what: what are you going to do about that?”

Myka stiffened her body, a conscious hardening that nevertheless seemed involuntary, an animal defensive instinct. “Why do I have to—”

“Please. You haven’t figured out she told me about Ingenumedix? So you could leverage it into a deal?”

No. No. No. “You said it was a tip from someone who cares about competition being fair!”

“Did I? Well, then, maybe she does. She sure evened things up between you two, right?”

“So she helped me cheat,” Myka said, with a heaviness. Helena maneuvering Myka into doing what she herself had done. Cheating. That made for a painful—intentionally painful?—symmetry.

“So she helped. Stop there.”

Myka accused, “She used you to do it. Used you!” Because Helena had to be at fault here. Had to be.

“She asked me to do a thing and I did it,” Giselle said. “Asked me, and I did it. Is that using?”

How could Giselle not see Helena’s fault? Myka said, “But I kept you out of it,” trying to make clear that she’d seen the danger the whole situation posed. She knew it was a desperate flail, a last I’m different shot at holding herself apart from what Helena had done.

“Does that matter?” Giselle asked, completely reasonably. “Is that a thing I said you should do? Come on. Now you know, so she deserves some real word from you. Here’s her details.” Giselle lifted her phone and tapped, presumably those details. Myka pointedly kept her eyes on Giselle, away from her own phone. “She’s supposed to leave tonight,” Giselle said. And then she was the one to wait, not to answer, but rather for an answer.

I can outwait you, Myka thought, articulating it just that way in her head. She crossed her arms.

Giselle took that as a response—correctly—and she frowned disapproval. “Don’t let her,” she said. It was an order.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Myka snarled. Resist, resist, resist. That had to be the right path.

She expected Giselle to snarl back. Instead she said, calm, “So when I was at Texas. One assistant coach—let’s call him Coach A—everybody said they loved, but they didn’t really. Another, Coach B, we said we hated her, but that wasn’t true either. You know why?”

“How could I possibly know that.” Something about real athletes. Exactly what Myka didn’t need to know she didn’t know right now.

“Coach A,” Giselle said, now gentle, like an elementary school teacher. “He didn’t care if you skipped the ‘optional’ 4am workouts. But Coach B? She called you a loser if you did.” Then she waited, as if Myka was supposed to jump to the point.

Whatever the point was, Myka was determined to resent it, and to show that, she demanded, “Why are you telling me this? I’m not an athlete, so how could I understand?” She put her pain of exclusion right out there, hoping that would make Giselle just stop. Just stop with this story and whatever it was meant for. Just stop and let Myka understand, feel, believe, that all of this had come to an end.

Giselle sighed. “Coach A? Let you do what you wanted. Handed out permission like candy. Coach B? No.”

And then Myka did see the point of Giselle’s parable: “You’re right,” she conceded. “With Helena, I did what losers do: only what I wanted.”

Giselle shook her head. Again softly elementary, she said, “Trust you to get the takeaway one-eighty wrong. You didn’t wait for the moral of the story: the absolute best was when Coach B said ‘You’ve worked hard. Sleep in tomorrow.’ What I see here is, you’ve worked hard.”

“Oh good. I get to sleep in?” Myka sneered, knowing her defenses for how increasingly pathetic they were.

“Permission,” Giselle said. “Who’ll you take it from?”

That brought Myka up short. Permission. Who would she take it from?

Giselle raised an eyebrow. She’d seen the stop. “I’ll try again. When was the last time somebody gave you permission, and then you did the thing because of that?”

Now Myka surprised herself by telling the truth: “My father said to meet something halfway.”

“So he’s the one. Get on that.”

“I wouldn’t tell my father about any of this for anything,” Myka said. “Not even if I could have that other timeline where Deceits don’t exist.”

Giselle nodded, and Myka hated that nod, because she knew what would come next. Giselle didn’t disappoint: “Call him. I mean it. Right this minute.”

“No,” Myka said. Because Giselle was absolutely right.

Giselle shrugged. “Be a mule, then. Let it be known I tried. And I will let it be known.”

“Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.” Myka said this aloud, not intending to but doing so anyway, meaning “don’t tell Helena,” praying for “don’t tell Helena,” but was that only because she couldn’t stand the idea of being the one to push Giselle toward talking to Helena again? That pain, that rip, rip, rip... “If I call my father, will you not?”

“That’s the real thing for you,” Giselle said, shrewd and satisfied—and justified, because she had indeed been right. To Myka’s nod, she said, “Then okay. Do it now, and show me your phone.”

“You need proof?”

“Otherwise you’ll do some kind of lawyer jiu-jitsu move that’ll stand up in court, and the real job won’t get done.”

“I can’t do jiu-jitsu,” Myka said, sullen.

“You went to law school.”

“It didn’t take.” Clearly she hadn’t learned enough there to enable her to make a case for standing up and bolting for the elevators... proof of that was her inability to imagine a way to avoid finding her father on her phone and initiating a call. She hoped, fantastically, that it would simply fail to connect, so she could use that as evidence that she wasn’t meant to receive any permission from anybody about any part of this.

Of course it started ringing.

“Anyway,” Giselle said, “Pete’s hooking me up with this cute new lady in HR, so I’m out of both sides of this game.”

Out of both sides of... that meant no talking to Helena, not in the way Myka feared, which meant no danger, which meant Myka didn’t need to talk to her father after all. She scrabbled to disconnect, but he answered with a cheery, “How’s my athlete wrangler?”

Myka tried her best to look daggers at Giselle, who swanned off happily. Innocently.

How Myka envied her: it was certainly nice that somebody was out of this game. “I’m fine,” she told her father. It was true in a physical sense. But: “Mostly,” she allowed, because he would hear some wobble, a signal she’d try to hide but couldn’t. Wouldn’t? “Here’s a thing. Speaking of wrangling athletes. You know those shoes we’ve been trying to keep out of competition? I think we might be able to, finally.”

“That seems good.”

“I’m not sure it is. There’s a deal, and I think I facilitated it... but someone helped me with that. With proprietary information. Feels like cheating.” That might have been as much as she could say. She again considered disconnecting—but if she did, he’d just call right back, and then she’d have to articulate a reason.

“Well,” he said. That sounded dangerously noncommittal, and she braced herself for rebuke. “To stop real cheating? Still seems good.”

“I didn’t expect that to be your position,” she understated.

“The world confounds our expectations,” he said. That caused Myka a little choke of recognition—the idea of expectations, the perils of their being confounded—which she tried to disguise. Obviously she didn’t succeed, for: “Someone,” her father said. “I hope you know I mostly try not to be your nosy old dad, but who’s this ‘someone’?”

Myka could find no way to respond.

“Sounds important,” he said, and then he kept quiet.

She tried waiting.

It didn’t work any better with him than it had with Giselle, and she buckled under the silence. “Yes,” she capitulated. “To me. But.” How much could she say? “There was some past that wasn’t great. With... them.”

Her father hummed a “thinking” hum—pure, like a pitchpipe. Then: “Have you thanked them?”

“What?”

He exhaled an aggrieved sigh. “Your mother and I taught you reasonably well, I thought. It didn’t occur to you to offer thanks in return for help?”

“I told you, there was past that wasn’t great,” Myka said, and for that she received his quiet, no-answer object lesson again. “You’re a better person than I am,” she finally managed.

“Not better. Older.”

Better. Older. “You’d hate her,” Myka said, for the space of this one statement giving up on “them,” on diffidence, on trying to maintain distance between herself and all that had happened.

“No doubt, and I’ll try to be all cagey about that, to be polite. Then again I might make up my own mind. When you bring her home, I mean.”

Myka hurried, hurried hurried hurried, to assure him, “It won’t come to that.” But for a moment, she did entertain the idea of bringing Helena home. She saw it: Helena, charming her parents. Helena, charming Myka herself even more by charming her parents. Helena, charming... oh god.

“You’re a good kid who’s always been terrible at predicting the future,” her father told her, and it might have been the truest thing he’d ever said. The last part, anyway; as for being a good kid, Myka was pretty sure she didn’t qualify. Or maybe when she was actually a kid she’d been good, but then again, when she was a kid, she’d known, with strict boundaries, what “good” meant. Where it applied. What qualified.

Her work phone rang then, giving her instant relief, but the display name just as quickly made her queasy. “I have to go,” she said. “Dan Badger’s office is calling.”

“Speaking of important people. But about the other one, let us know when you’re ready. Been waiting for someone to be important to you.”

Myka could think of nothing to say to that other than what she’d told Claudia: “This is the strangest day of my existence.” She moved to disconnect the call then, for Badger’s office wouldn’t want to be kept waiting, but not before she heard her father say, with a knowing chuckle, “Wait till you meet your child.”

TBC