#ignore my batshit insane process

[itsmebeff]

speedpaint for this knight papyrus art 👇👇

(slight flash warning)

song:

[mwolf0epsilon]

Sometimes being in the SW Fandom is about diving into the annals of the internet researching the most obscure tidbit of batshit insane Canon or EU Lore imaginable to man (which is honestly my favorite thing to do because people have done some pretty insanely funny things with this universe and characters). But for the majority of the time, being in the SW Fandom is also watching people repeat a cycle of asinine arguments that make an absolute ass out of them for the worst possible reasons.

So here's a quick reminder of past arguments to be mindful of and always consider, when you see something in the tags that makes you wrinkle your nose at:

Everyone has something they like or dislike about the overall universe and story. Be it the Original Trilogy, the Prequels, the Sequels, the Animated series, the Live-Action series, EU stuff, Novels, etc. No one is above or below anyone else just because they don't love the entirety of the universe and/or the direction the current writers are taking it.

Canon can be a good baseline for your own creative purposes. You don't have to love it (because yes the whole thing can be inconsistent as hell), but don't get to a point in your fanfic/AU world-building where you vehemently deny that canon is an actual thing. This goes hand in hand with your personal depiction of characters vs someone else's depictions. Reading comprehension and the creative process depend on perspective and how you process the information you're given, so it's only normal that no two person's idea of a character is the same. But saying that your headcanons are how the characters should be written by everyone is not gonna do you any favors in the long run, because it's not up to you to decide on that. Don't forget Blorbo's actual roots and what it took to get him where you took him, but don't try to force someone else to accept the journey you orchestrated for them!

No one's OC should be put on a pedestal. It's good that people feel comfortable enough to play Barbies with each other's OCs in roleplay sessions, or even add a cameo in a fic to a character of a friend and/or artist/writer they admire from a distance. Hell, the fact many people are passionate about someone else's little fella/s is great! But the moment someone's OC becomes an object of obsession within a Fandom community, things can go a little wrong... It stops being fun to be in that kind of space that goes from welcoming OC discussions to suddenly shunning new people in favor of someone's Ultimate Blorbo who now has a Cult Following and should be written into every fanfic ever.

No one is evil for lacking knowledge or self-awareness of certain grievances that people rightfully have with the source material. The SW Fandom has always had a long-standing issue with racial stereotyping, whitewashing, cultural appropriation, sexism and many other equally serious topics that have been more eloquently explained in posts made by people much more eloquent and qualified than I am or ever will be. However, one must recognize that not everyone who joins the Fandom is immediately aware of these things. Especially the younger generations that have either not been exposed to these concepts due to one reason or another (upbringing, biased educational curriculum, etc), or because they were simply never in a position where they could delve into these topics with someone knowledgeable on them (some experiences simply aren't universal, especially if you come from a more privileged family). For the most part, SW is just a silly sci-fi universe that is nothing more than a simple means of escapism or dumb fun. Not everyone is going to study it under a microscope or go through it with a fine comb. That said, another important thing to remember is to listen to those who know their stuff and that have had personal grievances with any of the topics above. You can be excused for lack of knowledge, but you cannot be excused for purposefully ignoring the voices of those who provide you said knowledge for free if you go searching.

This is kinda returning to the second and previous topics, but I really need to put emphasis on this: If you're going to cling to certain design choices with an iron first and incorporate them into your personal ideas/headcanons, please always consider how it SOUNDS when you say characters that are written with basis on real POC people/communities are much better/superior if they have phenotypical trait expressions that are not present (or considered rare/atypical) in their real world basis. This is a CONSISTENT problem I have seen crop up specifically within the Clone Wars and Bad Batch sides of the fandom, especially when talking about Rex (who is a blond) and Clone Force 99 (who do not look like standard clones). Always remember: The problem isn't that Rex can't be naturally blond (genetics can be unpredictable and we really don't have an extensive look into the cloning process), the problem is the way some people think he'd be inferior in some way if he were a bottle blond who chose to distinguish himself (almost as if having darker skin, darker hair and darker eyes is somehow worse than having lighter skin, lighter hair or lighter eyes.. How curious isn't it?). Needless to say, I don't think I need to elaborate further on why CF99's "desirable mutations" giving them considerably lighter skin and less ethnic features, while also making their most POC presenting member look and sometimes act like a moronic brute (something which this Fandom pushes further by infantilizing him relentlessly), is a bit of a red flag...

Star Wars has always been political. It is literally in the name and in the meat of the writing. The entire thing is basically a political and social critique presented in a sci-fi/fantasy wrapper, with colorful plasma swords, cool spaceships, and kickass explosion bow on top. You cannot separate the political conversation from the universe's overall lore, and trying to do so makes you look foolish. Disney may have taken creative liberties with some of its shows, but at the end of the day they can't ever eliminate what the Original Trilogies and even the Prequels tried to tell us about. With that said, complaining about how some of the new shows are "too Woke" or PC is the equivalent of saying you read Romeo and Juliet and that the story is relationship goals. You might need to revisit the original material.

For the love of god if you don't like something, don't go after someone who does, it's not worth it. Sometimes the best thing you can do is either filter something you actively dislike/that makes you feel uncomfortable, or simply unfollow/block whoever is repeatedly bringing it onto your doorstep. And you also have no real obligation to explain your decision to block someone, especially if they hound you for questions. Rule of thumb: Don't like something? That's perfectly fine and valid. Take the steps to make yourself comfortable then, but don't go out of your way to be a royal asshole to someone else just because they themselves enjoy it. This encompasses things from anti-jedi demonization, actual ethnic cleansing in canon, siding with personifications of alt-right extremists, proshipping apologism, etc. The block button was added to this hellsite for a reason. Use it.

Sometimes you can't change someone else's opinions on a matter and that is perfectly fine. Just don't start a feud. People come and go, and their opinions vary (we're all individuals with out own perspectives and unique experiences after all), but getting up in arms every time someone either refuses to yield in a long-winded argument, or continuously tries to shove their unsolicited opinions/advice onto you, or even makes incredibly uncomfortable/forward/gross comments that they definitely shouldn't be saying to a complete stranger on the internet, is kind of pointless and will drain you of energy faster than you can say Death Star. You're not the lesser person for walking away from a lost cause. It's ultimately not your job or responsibility to fix/better someone else. Especially if they don't want to change.

[audhdnight]

Anyone else really fucking sick of the whole edgelord “we don’t need school it’s all bullshit when will I even need to know any of this” crowd who will also immediately turn around and violently shame and attack anyone who says something misinformed or asks a question that they deem to be “common knowledge”???

Like yeah, I remember highschool. It sucked, but not because of what I was learning. It sucked because teachers are overworked and underpaid/under supported, and the school system doesn’t give half a shit about disabled kids or kids with different neurological conditions or really any of the kids.

We do need schools. Whatever issues the system as a whole has, it needs to be reformed, not done away with. You cannot sit and gripe about how we don’t need any of these history classes because it’s all stuff you don’t want to know anyway, and then go absolutely batshit insane when someone doesn’t know about Pearl Harbor.

Because those people aren’t stupid. They are being intentionally misled, neglected, misinformed, or all three. They are ignorant, not because they chose it but because someone else chose it to further their own desires.

Ignorance leads to harm. Ignorance leads to manipulation. Ignorance is why we have slews of people in the US who are so scared of autism (which IS NOT SOMETHING TO BE SCARED OF) that they refuse to vaccinate their children, which is a form of medical neglect. They are actively endangering people they care about because they have been lied to by political parties and religious leaders who benefit from uneducated mobs.

Ignorance is how you get cults. Ignorance is how people get taken advantage of. Ignorance is how you get genocide. ONE person decides they want power and they use the lack of education to amass followers who will support them blindly because they don’t know any better.

Everyone is appalled when ex-Mormons get on the internet and talk about all the things they had to learn as adults, who by all accounts should have known those things by the time they were fifteen. People lose their fucking minds when ex-Mormons mention they didn’t know how babies were made until after they got married at like thirty. I saw someone make an entire six minute video about how he’s pretty sure all these deconstructers are lying for clout online, because how could they possibly not know?

They don’t know because they were intentionally kept in the dark. That is how high-control religions and cults operate. That is how you keep people under your thumb.

You ask how Christians could possibly think that evolution isn’t real? As someone who was raised that way, I’ll tell you.

From the moment my education started, I was fed misinformation. In kindergarten I learned about how God made dinosaurs, but they all died in the flood and the earth was too damaged afterward to support such big species even after they came off the ark. In middle school I watched Ken Ham and Kent Hovind videos about how carbon-dating is all bogus and if any scientist tries to use it to debate you, you can say “Aha! I knew you were wrong!” and end the discussion there. In highschool I took apologetics, where we learned how to “defend our faith” by constantly moving the goalposts when we spoke to atheists. We were taught that “What happened to the Missing Link?” is a gotcha that no scientist would ever be able to dispute, and so obviously we were the ones in the right. I was told at every possible opportunity that Bill Nye is literally the antichrist, that he doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about, and that any Creationist (Christian “scientists”) could debate him into the ground because he’s so stupid.

I didn’t question any of it because that wasn’t an option. It was *literally* all I knew. I had such a fundamental misunderstanding of science as a whole that when I was exposed to true scientific facts and processes and studies for the first time, I could scoff and say “Don’t they know that’s not even a real thing? How ridiculous that they’d think I would believe it!”

I’m doing the work now to re-educate myself. I have learned so much in just two years that I genuinely can’t speak to half of my family because it makes them so angry. And when I hear people talk about anything happening or existing “billions of years ago”, my knee-jerk reaction is still “The earth is nowhere near that old! That’s how I know they’re lying!” I have to intentionally reprogram my thinking every. single. time. that I engage with scientific literature or media.

It’s hard. It’s frustrating. And it all could’ve been avoided if my own parents hadn’t also been misled their whole lives. I’m not going to make excuses for them as adults, because learning and doing better is your own responsibility once you’re not a kid. But I will say that if their parents hadn’t also been misinformed, they wouldn’t have learned the same lies that they later went on to teach me and my siblings. It’s a vicious cycle, one that is designed to keep people ignorant. It is purposely designed not to have an out.

So yeah, I don’t really know how to end this post but please for the love of god, have some empathy for people who don’t know “common knowledge” facts about science or history. Most likely, it’s not their fault. And the way they push back at you with nothing but misinformation and a dream has been programmed into them probably since birth. This is why we need education, why we need schools, and why it is so vitally important that we as a society do the work to reform our education system.

[coolstuffiseverywhere]

I have a kinda batshit insane theory that might make sense?

So, I like Tohya and Ikuko’s existence, but Ikuko always felt off to me. We don’t have enough to really grab onto to start building much of a character from her writing unlike Tohya, despite her writing more of it. I know Sayo=Ikuko is a common theory, and I think it works by the logic I’m about to suggest. This is another alternative that I find interesting though.

Ikuko is Rika. Hear me out. Tohya isn’t Battler, in other words, he isn’t the detective. The closest we have to a detective of the future is Ange, who can still see magic. Meaning we don’t actually get an objective viewpoint of the future ever.

This works based more off Featherine, but let me explain how it works in reality: Sometime after breaking the loops, Hanyuu leaves, etc(ignore Gou I’ll get to that) she decides to leave Hinamizawa, setting up a remote place to live with some servants. As heir to the furude family, she has the funds. This doesn’t actually have to be 1986, as finding Tohya and bringing him back immediately aren’t necessarily true and are also a little lucky. My guess would be she finds Tohya while on the way to look for an estate, brings him to the hospital, and they later live together. Together, they lie about her age upon finding him, as she often uses makeup to appear older(and by the time Ange or anyone meets them she’s old enough for it to not matter), to feel more her age after the loops.

Now, my actual reasoning: Featherine on the meta level always seemed weirdly divorced from Hanyuu. I can see some connections of course, it’s all the parts of Hanyuu that got buried in Matsuribayashi. But I never really could get what all their lines about master/servant meant, considering some lines Lambda said and some implications that don’t seem true in Higurashi. Thus, I suggest: Featherine is a mix of their author persona and a witch for Rika to deal with Hanyuu leaving despite being there for her entire life.

This explains Featherine being more of a recorder(although you could also read this as Ikuko’s influence, recording both Ange’s thoughts and Tohya’s story) and watcher then a writer despite also writing. It explains what Bernkastel means by “you taught me”, as she’d be quite literally talking to a manifestation of Hanyuu and Rika, the second of which presumably making Bernkastel as a way to deal with the looping and her trauma, as well as to personify her depression. Hanyuu ofc did teach actual Rika, but Featherine was always not actually Hanyuu, and a lot of the commentary was always more about Featherine anyway. The broken horn thing may make more sense as well: it’s a combination or the Hanyuu inspiration and talking about Rika’s loops.

It also explains the higurashi as a book references: they probably did also write those, Sayo might of read them!

In this scenario, Lambda would be written to be her way of dealing with Takano and her not really getting consequences, as well as her separated friendship with Satoko. Which, on that note:

Gou! I think this would be Ikuko and Satoko, but mostly Satoko, writing it! For the same reasons as the show. And I think it works better as an actual book. She’s trying to use loop’s mechanics more to understand Rika’s experience better, and also they’re both trying to process their friendship ending. I think in this scenario either Rika left before they started high school, or they just went through all of Saint Lucia’s without a loop. Regardless, I think Satoko tried to go to Rika’s school, which was likely fancier. This was just their way of trying to see how that’d actually go for them, and better process that their past relationship was unhealthy.

I think she may of also helped write some of the Lamba parts of Umineko, but that’s mostly conjecture.

This was a bit of a mess, and I’m sure more contradictions and evidence is around, but I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else suggest that some of the last book’s non-Ange future scenes are fantasy scenes. So I hope that at least helps.

[izunias-meme-hole]

My Top 5 Favorite Zelda Villains (outdated)

Number 1. Ganondorf/Ganon - Honestly after so many years, Ganondorf still holds up as a villain. Ganon was the biproduct of a curse created by Demise to ensure that his hate is reincarnated just so he can destroy Link and Zelda’s descendants, and Ganondorf himself was born as the only male in a desert that belonged tribe to warrior women known as The Gerudo, eventually ending up as their king thanks to Gerudo traditions. Ganondorf had a huge presence in Ocarina of Time, manipulating you into locating the Triforce and immediately took over Hyrule during your time skip. In Hyrule Warriors, Wind Waker, Twilight Princess, and A Link To The Past, he adapts in some form either that be because of genuine character development, an ego increase, or a desire for revenge. However in Breath of the Wild, the end of all three timelines, he fully succumbs to Demise’s curse and uses his hate to create an entity known as Calamity Ganon. In short, Ganon started out as an intelligent and ambitious king, a man to be exact, but eventually he turned into a beast fueled by hate. Then in Tears of The Kingdom he returns, and not only so we learn that he DIDN’T succumb to Demise’s curse after all, we learn that 1,000 years ago, he reincarnated and began to EMBRACE it becoming the new Demon King in the process, and he came back to life to continue his reign. Overall Ganondorf is a surprisingly versatile and interesting take on a evil king, combining power with intellect, tragedy, anger, class, and pure EVIL which is why he’s the greatest villain in gaming history and fiction in general.

Number 2. Majora - When Nintendo was making Majora’s Mask, they KNEW that they couldn’t just make Ganondorf the villain again, so the developers cooked up a pretty great and just as iconic substitute. A batshit insane and mysterious mask that wants to hurl a moon into the planet and cause chaos! Majora is basically a childish eldrich abomination, and much like Ganondorf, he appears rarely throughout the story, yet we see the damage he’s pretty much caused to the land of Termina. Overall this insane cryptic is deserving of the number 2 spot on this list.

Number 3. Vaati, The Wind Mage - The king of underrated villains. Vaati could easily be compared to Ansem/Terranort from Kingdom Hearts 1 & 2. A young, ambitious, and curious apprentice explores the darkness in the hearts of men, becomes power hungry, and then becomes an insane creature of darkness. He’s also the only major Zelda villain to canonically appear in 3 games, a feat not even Ghirahim has achieved. Also I find it hilarious and sad that he basically went from “I need power” to “Hmm, I shall kidnap maidens and the Princess.” Bro really became lustful after he got his ass bear and lost his mind! In all seriousness though, Vaati is a Ganon tier villain, and I wouldn’t mind seeing him again. Such a shame that Nintendo ignores thie guy.

Number 4. Yuga - Yes, I know this guy is Lorulean equivalent of Ganondorf. Yes, I know that he hijacked Ganon instead of it being the other way around, but if I’m being honest… Yuga is a breath of fresh air when it comes to the classic timeline games, both as a concept and as an actual character. A Link Between Worlds is nowhere near perfect, but Yuga was an excellent villain, purely because he’s basically Ganondorf without the status as royalty, muscle to back his mind, commanding appearance, or the overwhelming power he’s known for. Yuga is a simple sorcerer and an “artist” who looks like a clown. The only things they share is they’re both manipulative, cunning, ambitious, and pure evil. In short, Yuga is a perfect subversion of Ganondorf, while still carrying that same sense of danger, and in terms of 2D Zelda villains he’s great.

Number 5. Ghirahim - The only Zelda villain who won succeeded in carrying out his plans, and it had serious consequences for the rest of the series. Ghirahim as a character is vain and flamboyant, but he is not a pushover in the slightest, which makes sense since he’s the literal sword of Demise! Still the fact that he did indeed free his master is impressive, and the best part is that is feels earned. What a magnificent bastard.

[saeisms]

god i need to rant so bad if anyone sees this just ignore it its just me being batshit insane

insanity below the cut

i fucking hate writing but i love it at the same time, its my favourite way of expressing myself but i pressure myself to finish things. i want to post for spooktober so bad but i just cant bring myself to finish any of these fuckass fics because i missed one day and that messed with my entire ryethm OH MY GOD IM DYING URGHHH and no one is even online to make thw writing process easier ugh im so dead. i just wanna write stupid non spooky fics but if i did i think i'd kill myself because i would be going against something i said i would do and i literally just dont work like that like. i am physically and mentally (and emotionally) incapable of changing plans i made for myself that are only expected by me for me even if they are ltierally ruining my motivation and stuff. i wish i could just write what i wanna write and not wanna kill myself because it doesnt follow the guidelines that dont even exist. dude im going insane. deadass. anyway if you read until this point u deserve a reward uhmmmmm gives u a cookie. back to ranting. like i wanna work on longifcs and fics for the thorns&roses au and stupid ryusae aus but i literally cannot and i need someone to tell me im allowed to. i need soemone to tell me im allowed to not ruin my mental health jsut to rush to write things, because the final product will just be a product of pure stress and anxiety and anger and i just. fuckkkkk urhghghhh. ii just want someone to tell me im allowed to do things and im allowed to stop doing things i dont wanna

[a-bit-predictable]

re: arcane (since i'm not tagging this post)

i'll admit i'm not a fan of people completely glossing over cait's negative character arc or vi's own mistakes that tie into it. acknowledge the stuff, then move on and enjoy yourself. but also highkey i don't think the show itself glossed over it lmao? vi expressed clear resistance and reasoning for refusing the badge the first time. caitlyn should have thought better in the first place but she did regret it, expressing so in the scene after the memorial attack. and yes, for both personal and strategic reasons, at the expense of a moral sacrifice, vi ended up taking it in the end and that sucked. but based on everything that followed it sure seemed to me like she hated doing it the entire damn time. everyone acting like vi just freely and eagerly went for it immediately loses credibility in my mind because i simply did not witness that.

as for vi "ending up" with a police officer. are we really just ignoring the complexity (and malleability) of human morality to lock everyone in neatly labeled packages they can NEVER come back from these days? piltover's enforcers are fucked, police systems are fucked, ACAB, and all that, but are we forgetting what propaganda is? human beings don't just naturally hold beliefs and views like that, and if they can be built in the first place, they CAN be dismantled. also, seeing people try to equate an intentionally temporary period of (albeit brutal) martial law to both actual genocide and something as complex as real-world fascist regimes is batshit insane to me. find similarities and parallels, fine, but don't equate it. words lose meaning when you throw them around recklessly.

yes caitlyn had an intense negative character arc taking advantage of power in a way no one ever should. but s1 caitlyn doesn't just magically disappear or get canceled out because of the first half of s2. it doesn't make sense to me to write off the clearer conscience she started with to suddenly claim she's as bad as the rest of piltovan enforcers and high-society figures, who we've seen are far more viciously hateful and dehumanizing of zaunites as a whole than caitlyn ever was at any point in the show. to get into specifics: cait's "animals" comment was directed at those participating in the memorial attack, not at the entire city and i stand by that, even if the type of rhetoric heard growing up gave shape to that thought. and what she let happen during martial law was still centered on a single-target hunt, nor was it done without regret (see all of 2x04 & 2x05) or without feeling like it was the only option under pressure from both ambessa and the rest of piltover that looked up to her (showcased in the entire final scene of 2x01). legacy and a sense of duty drilled into you since childhood can fuck up a bitch.

we were unfortunately only shown the beginnings of caitlyn's turn-around and path to redemption on screen in the last two episodes, but they still exist. she was fixated on jinx the entire time and she allowed zaun to become a casualty in that mission, something she she came to regret deeply and literally hate herself for, which she admitted out fucking loud.

why are a character's negative actions the only ones that matter to people when the whole point of the show is letting go of harmful cycles to choose to build a better future? also, what's the point of a story if no one ever royally fucks up to have something to learn from? if just seeing certain things in a story troubles you that much, it's on you to avoid it, not crusade against it. there's a huge difference between media "normalizing" something and letting the viewer learn by processing the ugliness of the thing themselves without spelling it out the lesson like the final line of a fairy tale. (and frankly there are plenty of fucking lines of dialogue in arcane that DO say the thing out loud. sorry subtlety isn't enough for you and you need to be beaten over the head with it.)

[book51ut]

Bugsy and Other Stories by Rafael Frumkin

Oof excellent. This is really, really, really good writing. Frumkin had a way of conveying such a strong sense of emotion and feeling between the words. The written and the unwritten dance around each other in a way that creates such powerful and poignant stories.

There were three stories that really stuck out to me. One was from the perspective of a young autistic boy who was nonverbal. We heard both his inner monologue and perspective and the perspective of his mother. What I thought was amazing was the ways in which his thought processes reflect my own. Also, his mother’s conflicting emotional journey. She has this eternal motherly love for her son and that is very obvious. She talks about wanting to kill herself and him for his own good, so he doesn’t have to be hurt by the world. Yet, she also desperately wants him to be different. She says that she wants the “real” him, the one “inside” to come out. She can’t see that he’s himself. He isn’t anyone else and he never will be. She, in desperation to make both hers and her sons’ lives easier, is willing to listen to quack science and form relationships with other women in similar situations, digging herself deeper into her own misguided ways of thinking. That is such a perfect and nuanced depiction of parenthood of autistic children. I’ve seen it, I’ve experienced it. It really struck a nerve for me. The last thing is that the young boy hears and sees all of the less than savory conversations that his caregivers are having around him. He experiences neglect, but isn’t able to articulate it or even acknowledge that he is experiencing it. That is an incredibly common experience.

The second story that really stuck out was of a young streamer who just turned 18, and a man who was stalking her. I liked this story a lot because it speaks to men who claim to be “nice guys” who are actually fucking weird incels. They think they’re “feminists,” but really, they’re predators. I also love the idea of a young woman giving that man a giant middle finger by not just rejecting him, but my going absolutely batshit insane. He has this idea of her as this “innocent” girl who is a sweet, mild-mannered person, couldn’t hurt a fly, would be his complacent wife and little sex bunny. And she takes a baseball bat and murders an animal in cold blood, destroys another man’s car and hits him with a bat. She makes him take drugs he’s never taken before, and swears like a sailor. She’s had a difficult life which he knows nothing about and she’s much tougher than him. Yet, his creepy disgusting pedophile brain imagined a whole life and personality for her without knowing it at all. And he’s sitting there talking about feminism and how much he respects women. This just hit something close to home for me, an anger and pain that is universally experienced by gender minorities and also universally ignored by men.

The last story that I really enjoyed was called The Last Show. It was a woman’s final moments, a mix of her memories and vignettes from the hospital room where she is dying. It’s confusing and comforting for her, and it is presented in the same way for us. I just thought the tumultuous way of writing was particularly well done.

[cant-kill-me-if-im-already-dead]

September 22:

…I'm trying to process all of this, but I don't think I can. So I'll just write what I can here.

I'm dead, at least according to Spingledorf (the mighty wizard dwarf.) Somehow that isn't the most batshit insane thing to come out of today; that honour goes to the fact that we FOUGHT A GOD AND WON?! Spingledorf died in the battle, but he had a clone prepared. Explaining my condition to Senna and Parsley was terrifying (especially after nearly blowing Senna up after the mushroom attack earlier–yet another insane thing that happened today!) But they both understood, and stuck beside me. Unlike Sunnie.

He won't return my messages. He knew that I was dead and now he won't speak to me. I'm… I'm scared. He knows I'm scared and he's ignoring me.

[galmiahthepigeon]

@natashalostt Okay I was planning to save this story for YouTube but I have no self control and I need to tell more people about this cause it was batshit insane, hope you're ready for a lot of reading!

So my friend and I go to see the musical knowing only the basic premise of "some sort of war or apocalypse is happening and a group of people hide in a refuge and retell the story of Alice in Wonderland by heart".

First of all, the actors who played Alice and Alfred looked REALLY similar. Alfred was dressed in clothes that were huge on him, probably to make him look malnourished from the illness, but it made him come across way younger than he actually was. All of this added to the way the characters were presented, how Alice is so protective and describes looking after him as kids and reading to him until he fell asleep, it just reeeeaaaally made it seem like Alfred was her little brother at first 😬

But well at some point they do explain they're friends and that Alfred's family is all dead and they're very much Not related so I was like phew okay that's. Unfortunate casting lmao. Moving on! I was not expecting this to be a love story so I'm a little taken aback but whatever! The costumes and staging and choreography are so inventive and creative and absolutely stunning, I'm obsessed with it! Yayyy!!

Everything's going fine until we get to the mock turtles' song. As they're inciting Alice to confess to Alfred and not ignore her feelings like they did, they inquire what is keeping Alice from expressing her love and she says, and I swear I am not making this up, "When I used to read to him in the garden I was seventeen... and he was ten. Now he's twenty-one but it still seems so wrong..."

My friend and I stare at each other with our eyes open the size of fucking Jupiter. Is this musical really about a woman pushing thirty running after this young guy she used to babysit at ten?????

The show continues and we exhale because a lot of characters start calling Alice out, berating her and shaming her for her attraction to Alfred, calling her selfish and saying that not everything is about her desires. So we think ah! I get it! It's self-aware! This is a purposeful and nuanced exploration of how these types of relationships could form. Clearly Alice clings to this relationship because it reminds her of her childhood, this attraction is a really horrible and fucked up coping mechanism for everything that's going on around her. What a risky yet novel concept to explore! How interesting!

Except. At the trial. When everyone is tearing her down and exposing her, and we think she's about to self-reflect and change and improve as a person. Alfred jumps forward to defend her, "her only crime was loving!" he tells the court. Alfred, kid, stay back, you are dying of groomed boy disease!!!!

So "I've Shrunk Enough" starts playing and in this context it basically boils down to a triumphant musical number about how this woman's love for this boy seven years her junior is real and there's no reason to be ashamed or deny it and it's fine to accept it! Yay creepy-ass age gap!!! And my friend and I stare at each other in disbelief because this play really just concluded that love is love and age is just a number and. What the fuck is even going on anymore

We come out of the theatre horrified. Why does the Alice in Wonderland retelling have grooming apologism in it? What the fuck did we just watch? We spend about two hours processing what we just went through and talking about all the ways in which it sucked. Until they get the idea to check the Tumblr tag to see if there's any discourse about it. And we realize it's all cutesy Alice x Alfred fanart and posts about the romance of it all. And like that's fucking weird, there should be at least a little bit if controversy about this.

Could it be... That the original was different...? But that would make no sense. There's so many scenes that mention it in very explicit ways. There's songs that are specifically about this topic, what else could they be about? You'd have to change so much of the text if you were just adding this in-

Yep. They were all teenagers in the original. They just added this in. Someone in the translation/adaptation team just. Decided to actively change like a fourth of the dialogues and songs just to add a weird as fuck age gap plot that added nothing and character-assassinated Alice. For absolutely no reason. WHAT THE FUCK MAN.

I've been listening to the original soundtrack and it just is a completely different story. I really struggle to appreciate the themes and story of the original because this horrible decision and all it's implications are just constantly looming over it, tainting it. It was such a fundamental part of the Alice by Heart that I watched that it's impossible for me to fully disconnect it from my reading of the text.

So yeah, some argentinian translator kinda ruined Alice by Heart for me forever! And made me very confused

Hello Alice by Heart enjoyers still on Tumblr. There is a production of it happening in Argentina right now, which I went to see with a friend, and we had an absolutely bizarre experience with it. I might be writing a video script about it because no one outside of my country is aware of what is being done to this musical here.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Anyone seen Lance?” Shiro asks, checking his watch. “We have to suit up in an hour, but I haven’t heard anything from him.”

No sooner do the words come out of his mouth does the man in question stroll into the kitchen, pausing in front of the table where everyone is gathered and clearing his throat.

“I will not be accompanying you guys on the mission,” he announces.

It takes everyone a moment to process that one. Hunk is the first to react, something clicking in his expression before he groans, resting his forehead on the table.

“Here we go,” he mutters tiredly.

Lance happily ignores him, pouring himself some food goo and taking a seat next to Keith.

“Are you ill?” Allura asks, when Lance fails to provide any further context.

“Nope! I’m just going to hang back from this mission because I Saw what’s going to happen last night and no part of me is interested in crawling through sewage. Y’all have fun, though.”

“Why the hell do you think we’ll be crawling through sewage?” Keith asks. “All the Yuvleans want us to do is find some crystal for them.”

“And I’m telling you it’s going to involve crawling through the sewage system,” Lance insists. “I’m not doing that. I’ll stay on the castle with Coran and do chores, or something.”

Shiro looks pleadingly to Hunk.

“Please translate,” he asks.

This is not unusual. Lance and Hunk frequently have to explain each other’s trains of thought to the team at large.

“Lance thinks he can see the future,” Hunk explains tiredly. “He is not a Seer. He just gets lucky, occasionally, and he’s observant. There is nothing I can do to convince him otherwise.”

“That’s because you’re wrong,” Lance says patiently. “I do so get visions. I told you about the mermaid planet when we were fifteen, remember?”

“Lance, you dreamed once about alien mermaids and the universe is so batshit insane that it ended up being true. That is not predicting the future.”

“Mhm, sure. And the fact that I knew the names of the mermaids we could trust was coincidence.”

“Exactly!”

Hunk and Pidge both look exasperated, but Keith looks intrigued.

“You can really tell the future?”

“Please tell me you don’t believe in that shit too,” Pidge groans.

Both paladins ignore her.

“Not as clearly as you’re thinking,” Lance says, making a so-so motion with his hand. “I don’t usually get full detailed visions, although I do occasionally. Usually I get bits and pieces, right before something happens. Like, if we’re on an infiltration mission and we don’t know which hallway to take to escape, I usually get a flash of images that tell me what’s down each one.”

Shiro, who had been eyeing Lance warily for the most part, tilts his head in consideration. “You do manage to lead us out of ships when everything goes to shit.”

Hunk looks at him incredulously. “You too?! What part of ‘Lance has good instincts and is crazy observant’ am I making unclear? Science, people!”

“I’m not saying I think he can see in the future,” Shiro says hastily. “But I’m not saying he can’t, either.”

“Thank you,” Lance says emphatically. “Finally, someone believes me.”

“Hey,” Keith protests. “I believed you the whole time!”

“‘Course, Mullet,” Lance says with a grin and a wink. Keith goes a little red. “I appreciate it.”

“I also believe you!” Allura says excitedly. “One of my mother’s handmaidens also spoke of an ability to see forward in time, and she often made excellent predictions about future trades!”

“Ha,” Lance says, pointing his spork triumphantly at his best friends. Both of them roll their eyes in tandem. “Coran believes me, too. Said he can feel it in my quintessence, or something. You guys are outnumbered.”

“Whatever,” Pidge mutters, but she doesn’t really look all that annoyed. “I can’t believe you’re skipping the chance to flirt with pretty aliens just because you had a weird dream. I can’t believe you’re staying back to do chores instead of prancing around the planet’s canals and comparing the water to beaches back home.”

Lance shrugs, standing up to dunk his empty bowl in the sink. “Like I said, I’m not crawling through the sewer,” he says, heading for the doors. “But y’all have fun. Let me know if you meet the ninja turtles.”

———

Hours later, five very grumpy, very dirty paladins stomp their way back to the castle. Lance and Coran meet them at the decontamination chamber.

“Have a shitty time?” Lance asks smugly.

“Dollar in the bad pun jar,” Keith says immediately, just as Hunk says: “Can it, Cassandra.”

Hunk sounds cranky as he says it, but instead of being offended, Lance only laughs.

“Fitting,” he taunts, “since no one believed Cassandra and she ended up being right. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it, Hunky?”

Hunk levels him with a glare, but only lasts about three seconds before a reluctant smile spreads across his face.

“Alright, alright, touché. I still think you just made an educated guess. But I’ll give you that one.”

“Sure thing, bud. I’ve Seen the day you and Pidge believe me, you know. I’m going to be very smug.”

“More smug than right now?” Allura asks.

Lance smirks. “Exponentially.”

———

Shiro doesn’t let Lance skip any more missions because of his Sight. “If a mission is going to suck, then we get to suffer as a group. Team building,” he reasons.

He still doesn’t quite believe that Lance can See the future. But he does start to take Lance’s input in mission planning, so long as Lance can actually rationalize his predictions.

“That’s not going to work,” Lance says firmly, tapping the path Shiro has drawn down a hallway on the blueprints of the Galran cruiser they’re planning to infiltrate. “If we split up, Allura is going to get ambushed and hurt.”

Shiro inclines his head. “Reasoning?”

Lance pauses for a moment to study the blueprints further, trying to figure out why he knows that to be true. He saw the altercation in a vision, of course, but over the weeks of planning with Shiro he’s found that his divinations often follow a largely logical path of reasonings, Sherlock-style.

“This is a Druid-heavy cruiser,” he says finally. “See how the energy systems are rerouted to neutralize more power outbursts than usual? That means a lot of raw quintessence outside of its usual transport containers, which means Druids. And you know how freaky they are about trying to isolate Allura and take her for her quintessence abilities. She shouldn’t spend a second on this ship alone, and especially not down the corridors that are most heavily fortified and monitored. She’s our strongest, but in this case it will only make her a target.”

“Sounds good to me,” Shiro says, placing a proud hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We’ll work out something better, huh?”

———

It’s no secret that Lance spends at least two nights a week at the observation deck; missing his family and falling asleep to the projection of Earth’s steady turn. The team has quietly worked out something like a schedule, making sure he’s never there alone, and everyone makes sure he knows he knows they love him and are there for him.

Lance pretends to be oblivious to the schedule. He saw it in a dream before he’d even met most of the team, but he likes that they try so hard to keep it quiet anyway. It’s sweet.

“Do you know why I’m like this?” he asks one night, when Coran is the one to follow him in.

The advisor takes a moment to consider the question carefully, humming softly.

“I felt something different about you the second I saw you,” he says eventually. He huffs a laugh. “That’s half the reason I was so defensive of you.”

Lance snorts, remembering Coran’s flailing and threats. “I thought it was because I made eyes at Allura.”

Coran grins, checking him gently across the shoulders. “That, too, lad.” His expression turns more serious, pondering. “But I’ve always been very in tune with the energies of the universe, the balance of quintessence in every single thing that takes space. My father taught me to sit quietly with the space between things, to feel how they fit together. You, my dear —” he shifts to look at Lance directly, jewelled eyes meeting deep brown — “your quintessence reaches farther than most. For whatever reason, your soul is stretched wide, across space and time. Everyone’s is, to some degree, but yours more so. For whatever reason, when you came to be, the universe saw fit to grant you the burden of Knowing.”

He takes one of Lance’s hands in his, squeezing gently. “It’s a lot of responsibility, child. But there’s no one I would trust more to shoulder it with grace.”

———

Usually, Lance’s Gift is harmless. It doesn’t matter who on the team does or does not believe — it never has a great enough bearing on their life and mission to make a massive decision.

Until it does.

Until Lance stops mid-attack, freezing in his lion, shout ringing through the comms.

“Lance, come in,” Shiro demands. “What’s wrong?”

Everyone’s screen flickers for a moment before Lance’s comm feed pulls up, brown eyes wide and panicked, terror written all across his face.

“We need to pull back!” he says frantically. “Now, now, now!”

“We can’t pull back now!” Pidge protests. “That ship has the closest guarantee to finding Matt than any other we’ve found so far, and our intel guarantees we outmatch them!”

“I Saw differently, they have —”

Pidge bares her teeth at him. “If you think I’m giving up on my brother because you think you can tell the future —”

“You have to trust me,” Lance begs. “The entire fleet is a setup. All the fighter jets are manned by sentries, there’s not a single soldier on board the commanding ship. It’s a giant bomb. The second we touch it it’s going to blow so big it’ll start a new solar system. Please.”

“Lance, now is not the time —” Shiro interjects.

“I know, but —”

“We have every guarantee from the Blades that my brother may very well be on that ship!” Pidge says shrilly. “I know you think you can see the future Lance, but I just can’t trust that!”

“I’m not asking you to trust it,” Lance says again, more and more desperate by the second. “I’m asking you to trust me. And I promise you, Pidge, if we move forward than every single one of us is going to die.”

Tears drip from Pidge’s eyes. Her face crumples.

“Why are you making me choose between my brother and the team?” she sobs.

“Please trust me,” Lance begs again.

She swipes a hand across her eyes.

“If you’re wrong, I’m never going to forgive you.”

As soon as she says the words, Lance is yelling for everyone to pull back. Shiro echoes him, and the retreat back to the castle. As Allura opens a wormhole, the entire fleet starts to blow, every explosion tripping the ship next to it, until the entirety of the blackness of space is ignited in bright white flame and incinerating debris.

They barely make it through the wormhole in one piece.

———

“I still don’t believe you,” Pidge says stubbornly, once her tears have dried and they’re all safe in their hangars.

Lance smiles softly. “Thank you for trusting me anyway.”

———

Hours after everyone else has fallen asleep, after the last movie for movie night has ended, Keith and Lance sit facing each other on a mound of blankets, knees pulled up their their chins and arms held tightly around their legs.

“Your turn,” Keith whispers.

Lance hums. “How many questions do I have left?”

“We passed twenty forever ago. I think we’re just getting to know each other, now.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

Lance hides a grin in his pajama-covered knees. “Yeah.”

“Good. Ask your question, doofus. You’re taking forever.”

“‘Kay. How come you pretended not to recognize me when we were rescuing Shiro?”

Keith’s face flames. “I really didn’t recognize you!” he insists.

Lance shakes his head. “We had four group projects together, and you smirked at me after no less than twelve flight sims. I’m not buying it, Samurai.”

Keith holds his gaze for several minutes, glaring stubbornly. But finally he deflates.

“Fine,” he concedes. “I remember you. But if I tell you why I pretended to forget, you have to promise not to get mad, okay?”

“Fine, fine. Just tell me already.”

Keith looks away. He’s quiet for long enough that Lance reaches over to pinch him for not answering.

“Jesus, okay! I’m getting there.” He bites his lip. “Do you remember that dumbass line you used to say? About threading the needle?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Uh. I didn’t get it for a long time. I thought —” he grimaces, accepting Lance’s oncoming diva fit — “I thought your name was Taylor. So.”

To his surprise, Lance bursts out laughing.

“You dumbass! Did you really?”

“It was a valid assumption!” Keith defends. “You said that people called you tailor! What was I supposed to think?”

“Our names are right next to each other on roll call,” Lance chokes out, wiping a tear from his eye. He flashes a teasing grin as he slowly starts to calm down. “Guess there’s I reason I usually did better on the practicals, huh?”

“Oh, shut up,” Keith says, scowling. “You barely did better.”

“Neck and neck,” Lance teases.

“Yeah, yeah, cargo pilot. Whatever you say.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, silence interrupted only by Shiro’s horrible snoring and Lance’s occasional giggle.

“It’s your turn,” he says, once he’s finally gotten himself under control. Keith rolls his eyes, but asks anyway.

“How come you don’t flirt with random aliens anymore?”

To his surprise, the question makes Lance flush darkly. He looks away, picking at his nails.

“I, uh, Saw that I end up with someone soon. Feels disrespectful to flirt knowing I’m gonna be with him any time now.”

Keith’s breath hitches. “Him?”

“Them,” Lance corrects hastily, but the damage is already done.

“Who is he? Do I —”

���Game’s over,” Lance says hastily. “I just had a vision. If we keep playing you’re going to choke to death and die after I make an excellent joke, so. Better safe than sorry.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Keith accuses, but Lance has never been wrong before, so he hesitates.

Lance notices, doubling down. “Yep. I try to give you the Heimlich and everything, but it doesn’t work. You die in minutes. Gotta prevent that.”

“Fine,” Keith says sullenly. “I guess we should go to sleep then.”

“Probably,” Lance agrees, audibly relieved. “Don’t want you to die or anything.”

His face is red until the second he falls asleep.

———

Lance has his impulsive moments, sure. But the real impulsive members of the team are Keith or Pidge, no question about it. They are the king and queen of dumbass, split-second decisions.

When Lance gets a vision, mid-fight, on a planet so overrun with Galran soldiers that ‘outnumbered’ does not begin to cover it, he kicks both of those losers off their thrones by a goddamn mile.

“Lance!” Allura yells, once she realizes he’s breaking formation. “What the quiznack are you doing?”

“The witch controls it all,” he gasps out, to quiet for anyone to hear. He ignores the shouts of his team, ignores their questions, ignores his own guilt for leaving them so abruptly, and books it, as fast as he can, straight towards the cluster of Druids. They stand in a perfect circle, all perfectly still, tendrils of lightning quintessence pouring out of them faster than Lance can track, all tunnelling towards where Zarkon stands suspended above them all, sending deadly bolts of attack at Voltron and their scrambling allies down below. Every time a Druid drops, their very life force drained from them, a new one fills their place, as quickly as possible.

But Lance doesn’t need to see what’s in the centre of their circle with his eyes. He’s Seen it. He knows who lies in the middle of the cluster, who is pulling the strings between the entire empire, who has been this entire time.

As he runs, he feels his bayard warm in his hand, feels the form change from the barrel of his beloved gun to something sturdy, smooth, curved. When he glances down, he sees the familiar contour of a bow.

It’s too simple.

Far too simple.

But Lance trusts himself. He trusts the universe, and the responsibility Coran says it has granted him. He knows it would not lie to him.

He stops hundreds of feet before the cluster of Druids, standing firm as they all turn to face him in unison. He does not flinch when they raise their arms towards him, does not move when Zarkon turns to face him, raw quintessence lighting up his arms as he takes aim directly where Lance stands.

Lance breathes in. He aims the bow high in the sky, not at the Druids, not at Zarkon, but where he knows the arrow will arch gracefully, and make it’s deadly decent: landing dead in the centre of the Druids, where Haggar stands, unfocused on the sky above her.

Lance exhales.

He fires.

He hears a wicked shriek echo louder than any person every could, just as Zarkon’s final blast hits him square in the chest.

His own agonized screams drown out the terrified yells of his team.

———

You’d think it would be quiet, death. It’s the absence of life, after all. The cease of all movement. The end of one’s time.

It’s not.

Lance feels every one of his cells as they sizzle and fry, his very molecules tearing themselves apart as the blast of quintessence breaks easily through his armour. He feels every part of his body and soul incinerate out of existence.

It sounds like one long, shrill screech of brakes stopping abruptly.

It hurts.

———

“There’s no way he’s going to survive that! It’s a waste of time to hope!”

“How can you say that? How dare you say that?

“You think I want to? You think I want this? His very soul was fried, Keith! He is my best friend, he is my brother, but I am not going to put myself or anyone else through the pain of hoping!”

“The pain of hoping is the only thing that can make the pain of giving up feel better!”

———

Coming back to life is shockingly silent, in contrast. Still, too. He knows he’s not dead — he can’t be, if he’s thinking — but he can’t feel any further than that.

Everything is quiet.

———

It’s barely noticeable, when he can finally feel again. The faintest brush of a hand through his hair, a whisper, the press of lips to his forehead.

Then nothing, again.

———

“You’re going to make it, Lance. I’ll kill you if you don’t, you dumbass, selfless bastard.”

———

By the time he can finally move again, he feels like he’s lived four thousand lives. It’s the barest twitch of his finger, but it makes someone gasp, and then there’s a hand grasping his.

“C’mon, Lance,” it says quietly. “Prove me wrong, okay? About Seeing and living and everything. Please. Show me how wrong I was. I’ll even let you gloat forever, okay? I’ll never complain again. I’m sorry.”

Lance tries his hardest to move further, to squeeze Hunk’s hand; hell, even to twitch his finger again.

Nothing.

“That’s okay,” Hunk assures quietly. There’s a slight pressure on his head, briefly, and the scent of Hunk’s face cream and motor oil, and then it’s gone.

“Take your time, okay? I’ll be here. We all will.”

———

The first person Lance sees when he finally opens his eyes again is Allura. He can’t make his mouth move, can’t call out, but he doesn’t have to — she smiles softly at him, never moving her hand from his hair.

“It’s good to see those eyes again,” she whispers. “We’ve missed you, Lance. You think you can try moving your hand? I’ll help you, if you like.”

Lance screws his eyes shut — not because he wants to, he doesn’t, he’s only just opened them, he never wants to close them again — but he can’t seem to stop himself. It takes so much effort just to lift his hand a millimeter up from the mattress it rests on.

“Good!” Allura says, and when Lance forces his eyes open again he sees that she’s smiling much brighter, now, although tears drip down her cheeks.

“You’re so much closer every day, asteraki. In a couple weeks you’ll be all healed up, I’m sure. Okay?”

Lance still can’t make his mouth move, but he manages a hum. That makes her smile wider.

———

Allura is not entirely correct. He is not entirely healed in a couple weeks. But he gets closer and closer every day. After one week, he can move his hands, even though they shake. After two, he can speak, although his voice is raspier than the desert.

The first thing he asks for is an update — did he do it? Did it work?

“Zarkon and Haggar crumbled to dust,” Shiro assures him. “The second your arrow struck. Ten thousand years caught up to them, I guess. The Druids died, too. The Empire hasn’t really gone anywhere, but it’s in chaos. No one knows what to do. Planets are revolting left and right.”

He squeezes Lance’s hands, lifting one up to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“You did it, kiddo. You and that goddamned gift of yours.”

———

It takes months. Months of physical therapy, if speech therapy, of disgusting nutrient-rich diets and fine-motor training that frustrates Lance to tears.

It works, though. Over time, he starts to come back to himself. Not everything is fixed — he needs hearing aids, now, because he was so close to Haggar’s final scream that it shattered his ear drums. His hair is bleached white, too, and lightning-shaped scars run up and down his skin — Shiro jokes that they should start a club. He’s unbelievably lucky that he regains all the mobility in his hands. He still speaks in a stutter, and he likely will for the rest of his life.

But he’s fuckin’ alive, goddamnit, so he’s sure as shit not complaining.

His visions stop coming, too.

He doesn’t mind.

“You were right, though,” Hunk says.

As promised.

“You really could see the fuckin’ future. I’ll be damned.”

“This moment was slightly less depressing in my vision,” Lance says, grinning wryly. “All I got were those two sentences. Who know I almost had to die to get ‘em.”

Hunk glares, flicking him lightly in the forehead. “Too soon, buddy.”

“It’s been half a goddamn year since I got nuked!”

“It will be too soon for the rest of our lives. Your lucky I didn’t build you the safety bubble I wanted to build you, you menace.”

“He really was going to,” Pidge pipes up. “I had to pry the blueprints from his hands.”

Lance tips an imaginary hat. “And I thank you for your service.”

“Whatever, goober,” she says, rolling her eyes, but she’s smiling.

———

There’s nothing strange about the knock on his door. Keith knocks as he always does: just one singular knock, to make people on edge, because he thinks it’s funny.

But Lance freezes.

Because he recognises this feeling, the intense feeling of déjà vù mixed with clear memory — one of his old visions is playing out.

And there’s only one outstanding vision of his that takes place in his bedroom, with Keith, as he’s folding laundry.

“Come in,” he squeaks, desperately trying to compose himself and fight the blush off his face and failing horribly.

Keith steps in and immediately starts helping Lance with the laundry, even though he’s horrible at it and always insists that closets have more space if you roll up clothes instead of folding them.

Menace boy.

He’s quiet for a long moment, rolling laundry until Lance smacks him, and then begrudgingly folding it.

“Did you See this?” he asks eventually.

“Yes,” Lance admits, because he sees no reason to lie.

“Then you know what I’m going to say.”

“I do.”

Keith’s hands finally still, and he sighs, finally looking over at Lance with a smile that shows the barest peek of his crooked incisors. “That doesn’t make it easier, somehow.”

Lance’s belly curls, like he always does when Keith smiles at him like that. He tries to remind himself that he is a grown ass man and he does not need to swoon like a preteen when his crush looks at him, thanks. He forces himself to set the laundry down and take a step towards Keith.

“You should say it anyway.”

Keith hums, closing the distance between them and placing on hand on Lance’s hip.

“Is that how we’re gonna play it, Sharpshooter? You’re not gonna have mercy on me?”

Lance’s breath hitches. “Not for a second.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Keith mumbles, and then his other hand cups Lance’s cheek and he doesn’t waste a second before pressing their lips together, firmly, like he knows Lance can take it.

“I’m in love with you, Lance. I want to be yours. Sound alright?”

“I suppose I could live with it,” Lance rasps, completely unable to dodge the flick that Keith aims for his head when they stand so close.

He decides he doesn’t mind, though, not when Keith shuts up any further teasing with another press of their lips together.

And another.

And another.

It’s just as good as Lance knew it would be.

[goldstargloww]

i just ranted in my friend group discord server about 3ld life and im just gonna copy paste it all here

spoilers for: 3rd life, last life, double life sessions 1-4

story trigger warnings: trauma, suicide, abuse, exclusion, bullying, insanity portrayed negatively (all in universe, except the swearing is from me lol)

typed trigger warnings: swearing, caps

all characters are c!, not cc! !

okay, ffs, why is friends messing around with small light roleplay sO EASY TO MAKE DRAMATIC

grian just

causing chaos because its fun and he isnt hurting anyone (...debatable)

aND THEN KILLING 2 PEOPLE AND WATCHING 2 OTHERS GET SHOT TO DEATH-

"im still kind of in a little bit of shock because i was just playing the fishing rod game" nah what you mean is "so i just committed murder while having fun and now im traumatized"

andthefucking- like- desertduo just happening by chance every single season

and grian slowly going insane while scar has already accepted that he's chaotic

but them only being able to lean on each other in the end

and the first time that happened they had to punch each other to death

the second time they were separated in the chaos of last episode war and both individually died

and now theyre gonna be forced to die together

and then fucking flower husbands

scott (canonically) sobbing over jimmys last death as he had been shot in the middle of a war that scott also died in, and scott had no time to process it until everyone finally left him alone and he just built a grave and broke down

then latching onto pearl in last life and them being the one duo that never broke up in any way as they had agreed to not go face to face in the final battle

and then in double life, scott latched onto cleo as that was the only other person he had any sort of positive personal history with, and they went looking for pearl and by the time they found her they were pissed that her and martyn had just ignored looking for them

so pearl was left on her own, martyn wanted revenge but also wanted to be with cleo, cleo and martyn had beaten each other up, and scott was just like yeah no bye

and then pearl, at first going into some sort of hiding, as she stays awake longer, 5am pearl our beloved loses her dog and just takes it out on the world, freezing herself in a snow bath purely to hack away at scott's health and openly being suicidal just to get back at scott because why should she care? she has nothing left, nobody cares about her, and scott hurt her for (from her pov) no reason. she has nothing to lose and may as well get revenge

scott's view of pearl is just changing for the worse as pearl isn't with it and nobody knows how to handle that, describing her as having gone batshit psycho and wanting nothing to do with her, so much so that he tries to break up other couples (and in the process, having to have ren also be openly suicidal due to a failing relationship), yet still caring for pearl, because one, he kinda has to as he doesn't wanna die, and two, he knows pearl, they spent and entire lifetime together from day one, she's not in a good headspace and scott knows it's his fault

grian's going crazy trying to keep scar from being chaotic as hell, all the while causing his own chaos, subtle enough to not be recognized until the damage is done and even then nobody learns their lesson. he's seen scar be suicidal ("you can slay me and take the enchanter") as well as pearl ("do you want to die?!" "YES!!"), he's seen scar slip further out of touch with reality, talking people into doing things that isnt worth it in the slightest, and he's seen scar latch on to things that they can't give attention to right now. he's seen scar take every risk possible and not realizing the dangers of it - and if he does, he couldn't care less. grian's seen jimmy be excluded and tossed aside and made fun of, and while grian does this too, he sometimes feels bad for him. he's been preyed on for is gullibleness, he's been excluded just because he's jimmy, and he's been tossed into rivers and left to drown just because it's funny

grian's gone to bigb as an escape, and the two want to do something about it, but their universally decided soulmates and the stigmatization of others make it hard - bigb doesnt want to be the reason ren's suicidal, and grian doesn't want to be either - grian also doesnt wanna just up and leave scar, as he's gonna get himself and therefore both of them killed or worse

enjoy my rant, 3ld life lives in my brain rent free every weekend

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

“When they saw the blood on my hands they naturally assumed it was mine, so I had to explain to them that...” (also! Congrats!)

okay this was a wacky idea but here we go...

tw: blood mention, two idiots in a haunted house

---

“Boo!” a man with a chainsaw screams, popping out from behind a curtain of army mesh and fake greenery. Jaskier jumps and shrieks, tearing forwards as fast as his legs can carry him. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have allowed Renfri to talk him into this absolutely batshit insane double-date.

And he is not vibing with whoever this Valdo McFuckin’ Marx is. The pompous, mustachioed asshole cannot stop talking about himself for five fucking seconds. Jaskier is in gay Tindr hell... At least Renfri and her date are getting along. Some wild-eyed violin prodigy from Vengerberg; she’s intimidating in equal proportion to her hotness and she’s very hot.

“Fuck this! Fuck this!” he declares, ignoring the burn in his lungs. He slips, lands in a puddle of something, stands up without looking around, and darts for the doorway. Then he’s free. Gloriously, joyously free of the stupid haunted house Renfri dragged him to. 

“Uh... Sir?”

“Yeah?” he pants, glancing up at the attendant. The man is staring at him in a mixture of shock and horror, his white ponytail swaying gently in the breeze. Jaskier finally manages to tear his gaze away from the Adonis before him and looks down at his front. In that very moment he realizes that his hands and the knees of his ripped white skinny jeans are covered in blood. 

It’s fake blood, of course, probably spilled during the process of setting up the attraction, but he looks like a CSI corpse nonetheless. “Oh... Sorry. I slipped in there and-”

“Don’t worry about it, Sir. Let’s get you a towel and maybe some free sweatpants from the merchandise tent. My sincerest apologies.”

“It’s my own fault,” he waves apologetically. “I was too much of a chicken. And I wanted to escape my horrorshow of a blind date.”

“The one with the weasel on his face?” the attendant smirks, golden-hazel eyes sparkling in the low light outside the attraction. He kneels in front of Jaskier and begins to wipe ineffectively at his jeans with a damp rag. Jaskier bites his lip and looks away to keep from having impure thoughts in public.

“Yeah, that one. My name’s Jaskier, by the way. Thanks for the help.”

“No problem,” the white-haired guy shrugs. “I’m Geralt, by the way.”

“Cool name. Very... masculine.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“Yeah! Yeah- It was... It was definitely meant as a compliment. I’m sorry! So sorry. I tend to talk a lot when I get nervous and you’re, like, absolutely gorgeous so I’m very nervous and-” Jaskier catches himself. He claps both hands over his mouth and blushes a furious, brilliant pink. “Shit.”

“You’re... You’re pretty cute, too,” Geralt grins up at him, flicking a few silvery flyaways out of his eyes. “Maybe I can make up for this bad date by taking you on a better one next weekend. One where none of your clothes get ruined... on accident.”

Jaskier swallows and blinks dumbly once or twice, processing what exactly has just happened. He waits too long, however, and Geralt begins to look anxious. “Oh of course! Yes! Absolutely!”

It’s the happiest Halloween he’s had in years.

And the next year, Geralt takes him to the movies instead. Renfri’s on her own at the stupid haunted house.

[merlinsbed]

edit: now with a vaguely related fic! (I got really stuck on wwx doing star wars impressions to annoy his husband)

omg so thinking about this post and imagining a modern day untamed au in which the juniors are in college and taking classes from professor lan wangji and professor wei wuxian and like lwj tells his students NOTHING about his personal life like students will point blank ask him about things and he will just. not respond. a few times a question has been yelled out in class out of desperation to see if they can surprise him into answering and he won’t even stop teaching he’ll just continue on like nothing happened and the offending student will just slowly sink back into their seat in horrified despair because professor lan may not be acknowledging you but you can feel the silent judgement all the same

meanwhile wwx will walk into class and be like “last night my husband refused to have sex with me because I wouldn’t stop doing bad star wars impressions while he was on the phone with his uncle earlier but he made me pancakes for breakfast so I’ve decided I’m not divorcing him.” his students are kept up to date on all the latest jiang family gossip and exactly how much he dislikes his brother in law jin zixuan at any given time and also has he showed them these baby pics of his nephew yet? he has? well, see them again because they’re adorable. what’s that? oh we’ll get to the material in a moment just look at how cute his nephew was as a baby!

the thing is, despite knowing an almost disturbing amount about professor wei’s personal life, in particular his husband, they don’t actually know his husband’s name. they have no idea who professor wei is actually married to.

meanwhile over the course of the term all their shared students get caught up in the drama of professor lan and professor wei’s relationship with each other. because at first they could have sworn that professor lan finds professor wei annoying and they just tolerate each other as colleagues. but then someone sees them having lunch together one day and swears on all their ancestor’s graves that they saw professor lan smile so okay maybe lwj and wwx are actually friends. then they notice the way lwj tends to stare longingly at wwx whenever he’s around and how he’s always just a little bit softer when wwx is around and uh oh that’s not good because wwx is very much married but as they watch all of this unfold they notice that wwx is definitely flirting with lwj. which is just mean if they’re really friends he shouldn’t string lwj along like this and does his husband know he spends a lot of time at work flirting with another man?

they’re starting to wonder if they should stage some kind of intervention or if that would be way overstepping their boundaries but professor lan, despite being terrifying when you first meet him, is actually very nice and they don’t want to see him get hurt like this and even if professor wei sometimes complains about his husband he always insists he loves him so shouldn’t they stop this before it gets out of hand?

“anyway we’re thinking of planning some kind of intervention,” ouyang zizhen finishes explaining to his friends (who have somehow seemed oblivious to the professor drama going on). jingyi starts laughing so hard there are tears leaking out of his eyes. sizhui snorts inelegantly before managing to get his reaction under control.

jin ling frowns and tells zizhen, “my uncle isn’t trying to cheat on his husband with professor lan dispshit. professor lan is his husband.”

needless to say, after zizhen manages to process this massive misunderstanding, the information disseminates quickly. sizhui makes sure to tell his dads. lwj is touched that his students were so concerned about him. wwx finds it hilarious. he walks into his next class and says, “so for those of you who missed it I am, in fact, married to professor lan. when I told the story of that one time I busted out my palpatine impression in bed and my husband just got up and walked out of the room, that was him. he doesn’t like students knowing about his personal life though so I leave his name out when I tell you guys things. but now you know that was him.”

there’s a lot of mixed feelings about knowing this information as all of their students realize that all of the stories wwx has ever told them about his husband are about lwj and some of wwx’s stories about his husband are just. batshit insane and absolutely not something they can imagine lwj doing. (no way did respectable, rule abiding professor lan try to steal someone’s roosters in what wwx suspects in retrospect was some weird drunken proposal attempt from his then boyfriend.)  lwj somehow manages to even more pointedly ignore anyone who asks him whether or not wwx’s stories are true.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Flawless (3)

masterlist. 

Content Warning: swearing, violence, sex, PTSD

IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE SKIP THE SEX SCENE. It’s the last part of the chapter, and all you need to know is that is happens. 

*****

There were never enough showers. 

Never enough showers to wash off the grit and the smell and the fear. Not from the dumpster—that came off pretty easily—but from before. 

Riley had initially turned the handle all the way hot, but she didn’t turn it down when she stepped into the shower. Water scalded her back, her chest, her thighs, but she didn’t care. She welcomed the pain with open arms. Anything to keep the numbness from returning. 

She left the glass door partly open. During her first shower since coming home, Riley had closed it normally and immediately panicked. The once spacious shower was suddenly too tight, closing in on her with each breath, like if she didn’t open the door right then she would’ve been trapped in it forever. Now Riley left the door open. The shower felt less like a cage when she did that. 

Riley went through the motions almost mechanically. Wash face. Shampoo hair. Wash body. Condition hair. Shave legs. In that order. Always in that order. 

She turned the water to freezing cold for a minute before stepping out. The shock to her system hurt worse than the hot water did. It felt like force-rebooting her body the same way she would a malfunctioning computer. 

She pictured the start-up graphics on a screen as her brain woke back up. Blackness. The mouse appeared, barely more than a white smudge against the dark. Then the loading screen. 

She got dressed, and it felt like typing in her password. The first outfit felt wrong, like she’d typed in the password incorrectly. Riley tried again. She got it the second time, mental fingers landing on the right keys, in the right order—clothes that felt like her, embracing her body. 

Skinny jeans. 

Rolling Stones t-shirt. 

Silver hoop earrings. 

When the mirror unfogged, Riley re-did her makeup—smokey eyeshadow and eyeliner sharp enough to stab the demons colonizing her mind. All part of her armor against the world. 

She’d need it with the whole team in her apartment tonight. 

Unsurprisingly, Desi and Cage let themselves in without bothering to knock. Riley’s only warning was an unmistakable squeal that could’ve only come from Cage before someone pounced on her from behind, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground. Pale arms wrapped around her, and Riley awkwardly reached back to hug her friend. 

From somewhere behind them, Desi scoffed, “You could’ve at least waited for her to turn around, you know.” 

Cage shot back, “Don’t be all macho. You already got to see her.” Riley didn’t think picking her, Nikki, and Jill up from their dumpster adventure counted, but she didn’t correct the blonde. 

Cage let go only long enough for Desi to give Riley a real hug. Lowering her voice so Cage couldn’t hear, the more reserved woman whispered in Riley’s ear, “If you need anything, even just to talk, you come to me, okay?” 

Riley whispered back, “Okay.” Desi gave her a long, knowing look before pulling away. 

They brought Italian takeout from the fancy place downtown and an ungodly amount of wine. Riley eyed the expensive labels. She’d long been banned from alcohol duty; Nikki didn’t mind beer and tequila, but Cage and Desi just sneered and said she and Nikki drank like college students. Which, to be fair, they did. 

Cage poured a glass for each of them, and the trio migrated to Riley’s black leather couch. “So,” Cage began, “how does it feel to be out?” 

The interrogation was beginning early, it seemed. Carefully sipping her wine, Riley answered, “Good.” Cage narrowed her eyes at the one-word response, and Riley fought not to squirm under her all-knowing gaze. The former interrogator was literally a fucking mind reader. 

Cage pressed on. “What was it like in there?” 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Desi quickly assured, shooting her girlfriend a warning glare. There was something in Cage’s returning look that made Riley think this wasn’t the first time they’ve talked about this. 

Of course the team had talked about her while she was in prison. They had to process the events leading up to Riley’s arrest too. Riley didn’t blame them for that. But for some reason it still stung that they talked about her behind her back. 

She was saved from answering Cage’s question by Nikki’s loud arrival. The blonde gasped audibly from the doorway, eyes locking on the wine glasses in their hands. “You started without me? Rude.” 

Riley rolled her eyes. “Speaking of rude, did you all forget what knocking is?” 

“If you wanted us to knock then you shouldn’t have given each of us a key,” Desi sneered. Riley frowned but didn’t disagree. 

Jill cautiously trailed Nikki into the apartment. Riley arched a brow in surprise; she hadn’t been sure the woman would actually show. She put up an icy exterior before speaking. “So,” Riley drawled. “You came.” 

Jill smiled awkwardly. “Hi.” 

“It’s Jill, right?” Cage got up to introduce herself. “I’m Samantha.” Riley watched the exchange carefully, studying Jill’s body language. She seemed to fold in on herself under Cage’s intense gaze, but Riley didn’t blame her. Even after six years of friendship, Cage was just as scary as the day Riley met her. 

With food in front of them, the conversation flowed easier. Riley was content to let Cage and Desi pester Jill with endless questions while she ate her pasta in peace. Hopefully they’d forget all about interrogating her. 

“So how did you all meet?” Jill asked after Cage finally ran out of questions. 

Riley smirked, but it was Nikki who spoke first. “Well, I met Riley the day I was fired from my first job. We ran around with the lowlifes of LA for a while until we met Cage, who was a professional gold-digger at the time.” Nikki took a sip of her wine. “And it was all fun and games until one day I found myself making breakfast for this cranky ex-military chick Cage brought home—” a pointed look at Desi— “who did the walk of shame out of our apartment every day until she moved in.” Desi stuck her tongue out at Nikki, who returned the gesture with glee. 

Meanwhile, Jill’s eyes widened with each new piece of information. “There is so much to unpack there.” She pushed her glasses up her nose, focusing on Cage. “You were a professional gold-digger?” 

Cage smiled and poured herself another glass of wine before snuggling into Desi’s side. “I was.” Desi wrapped a protective arm around her girlfriend. 

“She had a good thing going for a while,” Nikki explained. “Get with a hot millionaire, spend a year embezzling his money, fake her death. Repeat.” Cage wiggled her eyebrows, making everyone laugh. It was moments like this Riley missed most in prison—the gossip, the easy laughter. 

“And what about the other girl?” Jill asked. The laughter died immediately. “The one I’m replacing.” 

Riley’s grip tightened around her glass. “My best friend from high school.” There was just enough edge to her words to keep Jill from asking anything else about Leanna or the past. Riley knew what her next question would be: If she was your best friend, then why isn’t she here now? 

She’d asked herself the same question every day Nikki visited her in prison, alone.

The rest of the night passed without incident. Carefully timed trips to the kitchen enabled Riley to get Cage and Desi’s opinions on Jill without arousing suspicion. The team was in agreement—recruiting Jill was a yes. 

After the movie ended and the dishes were done, Riley gathered her team in the kitchen. There were times in prison she thought she’d never see this again—Nikki standing to her right, Desi sitting on a barstool with her boots on the counter, Cage just sitting on the counter, and now Jill, who miraculously knew how to both be polite and sit in a chair correctly. But here they were. Her team. In her kitchen. Waiting for Riley to pitch their next job. 

“So,” she began. “I’ve got a job for us.” 

Desi snorted. “I had no idea.” Rolling her eyes, Cage smacked her girlfriend’s calves in reprimand. 

Riley ignored her. “Paris Fashion Week is next month, and it’s time we attend. While we’re there, we can do some sightseeing, eat at fancy restaurants, visit the Louvre.” Desi and Cage sat up straighter at the word “Louvre.” Nikki already knew part of the plan, but until now the others had no idea what Riley had been planning. 

Nearly as perceptive as Cage, Jill asked, “What’s special about the Louvre? I mean, aside from the fact that it’s famous and holds lots of cool stuff.” 

“The Louvre,” Riley began, fixing her intense gaze on Jill, “contains some of best-guarded treasures on the whole planet. Which will make them all the more lucrative when they hit the black market.” 

Jill looked between the other women warily, as if she suddenly found herself surrounded by people who should be in a mental institution, and Riley had to fight the urge to laugh. “No offense, but you’re insane,” the recruit said. “Do you even realize how impossible this is?” 

“Not impossible,” Riley corrected. “But the challenge is what makes it fun.” 

Curiosity flooded Cage’s eyes. “I’ll bite. What’s the target?” 

“The French Crown Jewels.” Riley was met with a series of gasps and raised eyebrows.

Even Nikki showed concern. “Riles,” she said softly. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much, even for you?” The others nodded in agreement. 

Appalled, Riley demanded, “Are you doubting me now? I’m gone for two years and then...nothing? Where’s the trust?” 

“Of course we trust you,” Nikki said, stepping closer. “But maybe we should try for something easier.” After what happened last time, her eyes finished. 

Fire roiled in Riley’s gut. Who were these people? What happened to the women who jumped at every batshit plan thrown their way? Riley didn’t recognize the cautious people in front of her. Nikki, of all people, didn’t get to lecture her on easier. 

“This is the plan,” Riley snapped. “Either you’re in, or I replace you too.” She held Nikki’s gaze in challenge, making it clear she wouldn’t back down. 

It was Desi who finally dared to break the charged silence, standing up to pour herself another glass of wine. “Well, if you insist of doing something stupid, I’m not letting you do it by yourself.” 

Riley barely hid her surprise. Desi rarely took her side in an argument, if ever. 

Cage’s lips formed a grim line. “Guess I’m in too.” Even Jill reluctantly nodded. 

That just left Nikki. She glowered, clearly unhappy with being outvoted. “Fine,” she grumbled. “But I’m just as much the leader of this team as you are, and I reserve the right to pull the plug at any time.” Riley figured that was as close to agreement as she was going to get for now. 

She grinned wickedly. “Then it’s settled. We’re going to Paris.” 

*****

The next night, Riley took Nikki and Jill to a headline-making new club that just opened in Hollywood, as both an apology girls night and an opportunity to instruct Jill in Con Artist 101. Even though it was a weekday, neither protested. No local goes out on a weekend. Not in this city. 

The club featured the finest of LA’s nightlife—pulsing music, beautiful women, overpriced drinks, the occasional person who may or may not be a celebrity, and people doing lines of coke on the bathroom counter. Truly a sight to behold. 

The women to men ratio was surprisingly close to equal for an LA hotspot, and Riley didn’t waste the opportunity to check out all the eye candy her city had to offer. At the same time, she watched the crowd for easy victims. 

She found one easily. A young blonde woman barely contained in her tight, sequined dress stepped up to the bar, and Riley could just see the edge of her ID sticking out from the top of her dress. She’d be easy to pickpocket, especially once her large, bubblegum pink drink was in her system. 

The three women ordered their own drinks, and while they waited, Riley pulled Jill aside, lowering her voice. “You see her?” She tilted her head in the direction of the target. “Drunk blonde in a sequin dress.” 

“What about her?” Jill asked cautiously. 

“You’re going to pickpocket her.” 

“I’m what?” 

On her other side, Nikki chuckled, resting a hand on Jill’s shoulder. “Con Artist 101, babe. You’ve got to start with the basics.” 

“Okay.” 

Riley continued, “You’re going to steal her ID. It’s stuffed down the front of her dress—easy, unsecure. First step, watch her to figure out exactly where it is.” This was the first test, seeing if Jill was perceptive enough to pick up the kind of small details most people ignore. It wasn’t enough to just be aware of her surroundings; she had to know exactly where everything was at all times. People in their line of work couldn’t afford surprises. 

After a few minutes, Jill nodded with confidence. “Found it. Right side, in between her boob and her armpit.” 

“Good,” Riley praised. “Now you have to go get it. Bump into her so she’s more focused on that than your hand in her dress. Maybe even spill your drink on her.” 

Jill’s newfound surety was short lived. “Can you show me first?” Unease returned to her voice. 

Riley smirked. “Gladly.” She found a new target for herself—a man, tipsy but not drunk, and not so big that he’d overpower her if he got a little handsy. She spied the outline of his wallet in the left leg of his jeans. “When you’re stealing heavier items, say a wallet,” Riley explained while her eyes searched the bar, “you need to put something in its place. Otherwise your mark will know pretty quickly that something is missing.” The club was swanky enough to use real coasters at the bar instead of napkins, and Riley leaned over the bar to grab one. It wasn’t quite heavy enough, but it would do. “Watch carefully,” she instructed. 

She sauntered right up to the man, eyes focused on a random point in the distance, and collided with his left side. In the brief moment their bodies touched, Riley slipped her hand into his front pocket, snagging his wallet and leaving the coaster in its place. “Sorry,” she apologized with a demure bat of her eyelashes. Slipping the wallet into her purse, Riley kept walking before the man could do or say anything else. 

The theft was as easy as breathing, the thrill short lived. 

“Your turn,” Riley said, returning to Jill’s side. Jill shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. “If you second-guess it, it won’t work. Have some faith in yourself.” Emphasizing her point, Riley shoved Jill forward. 

Nikki slid into the newly open space beside Riley. “Are you sure we should just throw her in the deep end like this?” 

Her eyes never leaving Jill, Riley replied, “The only way she’s going to learn is if she practices. You know that just as well as I do.” 

“I guess.” Nikki sighed. “I just don’t want anything to happen to her.” 

Maybe it was the lingering annoyance from yesterday’s fight that Riley had yet to let go of, but something about Nikki’s words rubbed her the wrong way. Riley snapped, “You mean unlike what happened to me?” 

Bristling, Nikki didn’t rise to the bait. 

On the dance floor, Jill bumped into the woman well enough, but she was a little slow on the grab. Thankfully the woman was too drunk to notice. 

Subtly flashing the ID, Jill asked, “What do I do with it?” 

“Keep it,” Nikki said. “She looks enough like you. Use it the next time you get carded.” Jill didn’t look too happy about that, but she slid the ID into her purse all the same. 

Riley murmured just loud enough for Nikki to hear. “See? I told you she’d be fine.” Nikki gave her a look she wasn’t sure how to interpret.

The bartender dropped off their drinks, and Riley knocked back both her tequila shots, one right after the other. Nikki raised an eyebrow. “There something you need to tell me?” 

The burn from the alcohol lingered in the back of Riley’s throat. “Nope. I’m good.” 

“Riles—” Nikki protested, but Riley cut her off. 

“You, however, look desperately in need of a good fuck.” She said it more to get Nikki off her back than anything else. Riley scanned the crowd, eyes settling on a tall, muscular man with dark skin and close-cropped hair. He stood right at the edge of the dancing, talking to a group of guys, providing Riley with an excellent side-view of his chiseled silhouette. “He’ll work.” She didn’t wait for a response before striding through the mass of writhing bodies. 

Riley sidled up next to him, and the whole group of guys turned to her in unison. “Hi,” he said. Riley immediately liked the sound of his voice, deep and smooth and sensual. 

She smiled. “I’m Riley, and if you’ll come with me, there’s someone I think you should meet.” The boldness came easily. The tequila added to her already high self-esteem was just a bonus. 

The man turned to face her fully. “Riley,” he crooned. Her name rolled off his lips like melted chocolate. “And what if I’d rather just get to know you?” Riley smirked. That plan was fine by her. Nikki could find her own man. It had been a long time since Riley had a fuckable man’s hands on her body, and she wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. She lightly tugged on his shirt. 

“Dance with me.” 

They melted into the crowd, and his broad hands found Riley’s waist as she eye-fucked him, gently drawing her into his hard, warm body. He took his time, giving her the chance to change her mind if she wished. His courteousness made him even hotter. Riley pressed her body closer. 

The rhythmic bass rattled her bones, but Riley welcomed the sensation. She let it carry her away, guiding the swinging of her arms and the rolling of her hips. 

The man’s lips brushed her ear as he spoke. “I’m Kalei, by the way.” 

Kalei. Riley repeated his name, committing it to memory. Kuh-lay. She liked the way it rolled off her tongue.  

“Turn around,” Kalei commanded. Biting her lower lip, Riley obeyed, and Kalei tugged her hips firmly against his own. 

Riley leaned back, resting her head on Kalei’s shoulder, running her hands up and down his thick, muscular arms. Kalei’s fingers curled into her hips, his breath was hot on Riley’s neck, and Riley already found herself wanting more. He moved perfectly with her, their bodies in sync. 

Her arms rose up, fingers finding purchase on the nape of his neck. Kalei’s hands steadily grew braver—first skimming up her waist, then down over her thighs—leaving a delicious burning sensation in their wake. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, and his palms traveled higher, just brushing the undersides of her breasts. Riley gasped. 

She growled over her shoulder, “Do that again.” 

He did. Again and again and again. 

When Riley finally turned around, the hungry glow simmering in his eyes matched her own. She wanted him. She wanted him now. 

He smelled like cedar and something else she couldn’t quite place with the stench of sweat and alcohol accosting her nose. Riley pulled his mouth down to hers, but Kalei stopped just before their lips brushed. “Shouldn’t I at least buy you a drink first?” 

She chuckled, deep and full of wicked promise. “I already cut myself off for the night. Besides, we both know you’d rather skip that step.” Riley pressed her hips against his for emphasis, feeling him hard against her. 

Kalei tensed. “Are you sure?” 

Riley knew she’d picked a good one. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

Apparently that was all the reassurance he needed. Kalei grabbed a fistful of Riley’s hair and kissed her, hard and desperate. She moaned into his mouth, imagining all the depraved things his tongue could do. Riley planned on becoming intimately acquainted with every single one of those things by morning. 

She started to drag him toward the bathroom, but Kalei stopped her. “I am not fucking you on a bathroom counter. Let’s get out of here.” 

Fair enough. “Your place or mine?” she asked. 

“Do you have a roommate?” 

“Nope.” 

His fingers trailed down Riley’s arm and linked through hers. “Then yours.” 

The cab ride was short, but tense. The driver dutifully kept his eyes glued to the road as Kalei’s hand stroked the inside of her thigh. Riley shivered in her seat. 

Kalei’s eyes bulged when the driver pulled up to Riley’s swanky apartment building. “Wait, are you in the industry? Should I know you?” 

Riley laughed, picturing herself as some whiny, simpering actress. Pathetic. “No. I’m just a businesswoman.” 

The easiest lies were mostly true, after all. 

The lobby was empty, and the elevator doors slid open mercifully quickly. As soon as Riley pressed the button for the top floor and the doors slid shut, Kalei resumed kissing her, hands tangling in her curls as he pinned her against the wall. 

The doors opened, and Riley didn’t waste any time leading Kalei down the hall to her apartment, unlocking the door, and shoving Kalei inside first. 

Her apartment was mostly dark; the only light came from the city lights shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. Riley didn’t bother to turn on a light. Kalei backed her against the door, and Riley let out a gasp as her legs wrapped around him and his mouth lowered to her throat. Her dress bunched around her waist, becoming little more than a shirt. 

“We can stop at any time,” he rasped. “Just say the word.” Kalei held out his little finger in a pinky promise, and the gesture had Riley already contemplating where she’d take him out to breakfast in the morning.

Riley had no intention of stopping. She told him so, and Kalei’s mouth slanted over hers, kissing her thoroughly. Her greedy fingers made quick work of his jacket, then his shirt, and Riley smiled into the kiss as she traced his chiseled abs and chest. Kalei was hot, polite, and ripped. 

In short, he was perfect. Not that she’d ever inflate a man’s ego by telling him that. 

She pulled away just far enough to ask, “Are we doing this against the door or on my bed?” 

Kalei’s dark chuckle set every nerve in her body on fire. Riley wanted to carve the magnificent sound into her memory forever. “Bed,” he murmured. “I want to take my time unraveling you and learning exactly what it takes to make you scream my name.” 

Fuck. Every coherent thought vanished from Riley’s mind. The best she could do was nod furiously as he set her down. 

Riley yanked off her heels before dragging Kalei down the dark hallway to her spacious bedroom. Their clothes came off all at once, without ceremony, and then her back was against the mattress, and Kalei’s delicious weight hovered over her. 

He kissed his way down her body, all the way to her knees before moving back up to where she really wanted him. She was right, earlier, about what his tongue could do. Broad licks, circles, delicate, methodical strokes—magical, toe-curling, spine-arching, embarrassing noise-inducing stuff. 

Riley whimpered his name as a wave of pleasure crashed over her. 

And then his hands were shackles around her wrists, pinning them above her head. Riley froze. The confinement made her want to crawl out of her own skin, and not in a good way. 

Noticing Riley’s shift in body language, Kalei released her wrists and sat up, seeming to know she needed space. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. 

A deep breath. “Yeah,” Riley lied. 

No I’m not okay. 

I felt trapped. 

That’s never happened before. 

“Okay,” he said. “Let me know when you’re ready to keep going.” 

“I’m ready now.” She didn’t hesitate, flipping them so she was on top. 

Despite her reassurance, it was slower now, less desperate. Riley focused on the sounds escaping his lips, letting them wash away the shackled feeling. The more she touched him, the more she felt powerful, in control. Her smirk finally returned as Kalei sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes screwing shut and head tilting back, exposing the strong column of his throat. 

It was control Riley really craved, after not having any for so long. 

And Kalei seemed to be more than happy to surrender to her. Chuckling at her haste, Kalei stroked her calves as Riley ripped open the new box of condoms in her nightstand drawer. His broad hands on her hips guided her, meeting her halfway, but Riley dictated the rhythm and pace, giving her desperate, touch-starved body everything it desired. 

She nearly got off on the high of watching this beautiful man come undone beneath her alone. 

Riley was in awe of how quickly he had figured out her body—how to tease her, draw her pleasure out, send her over the edge. Kalei earned every utterance of his name on her lips. 

And god were there a lot of them. 

When Kalei woke her up in the middle of the night for round two, they tousled for dominance. Riley knew there’d be marks on her body in the morning, but she didn’t care. There would be just as many on him. 

Kalei didn’t touch her wrists again. He only pinned her shoulders and hips, leaving her limbs free to do as she pleased. “Is this okay?” he’d asked the first time he held her down. She assured him it was. 

If Riley had time for love, she thought she might be able to have it with him.

With her common sense still lost in the delicious, post-release haze, Riley said, “I never say this, but do you want to get breakfast in the morning?” 

Kalei pulled her against him, her back to his front, his arm possessively circling her body. “I never say this either, but yes.” 

Riley smiled as she drifted off to sleep.

[solesurvivorpaigeargot]

Okay but let’s talk about the opening of Fallout 4

And I’m not talking about the part where you gotta pantomime your way through a half-hour of BS at least before you’re actually allowed to step out into the world and get shite started [seriously Bethesda, if you’re gonna keep making openings like this, please include a ‘get to the point’ option and stop making modders do it for you. First time it’s interesting, second time it’s mind-numbing.] I’m talking about when you roll up on the museum and have to help out Preston and the gang-- and I’m just gonna rant for a few paragraphs here so here’s a read-more cut so I don’t clog up dashes too badly. 

Fallout 4 never gives you the chance to value human life. 

Fallout 3 had this issue as well, but it’s even more glaring in 4 because in 3 an order came down for your death. When you aren’t given a choice, what you’re doing can at least be penciled in as self-defense. 4 expects you to devalue raiders and treat them as unreasonable threats, to see them as a shooting gallery and nothing else... but there’s a serious problem with the framing.

You made me pantomime being a normal person for the first 30 min to hour of your experience, and now you’re telling me a normal person can just pick up a gun and start popping people with no moral issues. 

This is required to even get close enough to talk to Preston. He might take out all the raiders if you’re willing to wait 20 minutes, but when you put yourself into the role play head space of a character, what kind of person ducks behind the sandbags and waits for the dude with the laser to pick everyone off? And there is no force preventing you from simply running away, this is true-- but doing so simply removes your ability to interact with what is a core mechanic of the game a-la the minutemen and establishing settlements. So if you wanna keep the game experience intact, and follow along with the mission? Murder is required, without any time taken out to consider the value of human life or if that murder is justified, or if your character is capable of that kind of violence. 

To say I dislike this headspace in shooters, that whomever the denoted ‘bad’ group is are just okay to treat as squishy playthings, more so in shooters that try to integrate choice and morality, is a massive understatement. There are plenty of other things in the commonwealth that could threaten a group of settlers that aren’t people, and framing us as a normal person [PARTICULARLY IF YOU PLAY AS ‘NORA’ WHO WAS NOT A MILITARY MEMBER] who is just immediately ready for this is ASSUMPTIVE BULLSHIT. More so when you remember that if you played as ‘Nate’ this dissonance would be less-- it assumes a male audience who would choose the male protagonist, and his military service makes this opening a lot smoother. But when you don’t? It becomes batshit insane. Your average lawyer is not ready to just pick up a gun and wreck people, even when there are innocents on the line. 

So, if ya like, I’m gonna propose an ‘alternate’ idea for what this mission could have been that would have kept all the same elements. The raiders, the power armor, the deathclaw-- but not forced the player character directly into murder. 

Step 1: Finding Dogmeat. 

When we find Dogmeat, he appears to be just... wandering the gas station? And yeah, he’s in our path, but Mama Murphy appears to think that Dogmeat went and found you, so let’s take that a step further. Let’s say Dogmeat actually ran and found you-- that he spawns into the world when you get past the footbridge, and no matter where you go from there Dogmeat will find and bark at you. That no matter how you treat him, Dogmeat will try to lead you to Concord and ruin your stealth by running in circles around you and barking if you try to go the wrong way. That this pupper is trying to find someone to help his group, he found you. 

Step 2: The approach.

So say we follow Dogmeat, who leads us to where the raiders and Preston’s group are in standoff. And yeah, sure, we pass the main road where they’re all sandbagged up, but Dogmeat leads us around back to a rear entrance the raiders have not yet realized exists. Possibly a fire escape that has a ladder that could be released from above that was pulled up when Preston and co hunkered down. While, yes, the player could choose to engage the raiders at this point, deciding they’ve seen enough and take on the museum from the front? Going around, Dogmeat barking, and Mama appearing to let the ladder down because she probably knew you were coming gives you a non-violent in. Why haven’t the group left? There’s too many of them to just sneak out, Mama is old and slow, and Jun is nearly catatonic. No changes have to be made to the group to make that path out non-viable, it’s simply a way for you to get in, speak to Preston, and understand what the fuck we’re dealing with here without the one and only solution being kill everyone-- though the power armor is posited as something that might be helpful in a show of force to get the raiders to fuck the fuck off. 

Step 3: The Raiders.

Banditry is not something ‘bad people’ do. It is an act of desperation. The idea that all the raiders are just the most repugnant people on the planet, and there appears to be no fuckin’ end to them is the same flavor of bullshit that’s used in all that war on drugs propaganda 50′s politicians were so high on. The idea of ‘Oh, the raiders are just bad people, so it’s okay to shoot at them’ ignores that they are people. People with lives. People with motivations. People who had their own path that led to where they are and what they’re doing. And what motivates a person to this kind of violence?

Starvation, usually. And I’ll be the first to say I don’t make great decisions when I’m hungry, either, but let’s dig a little deeper on this. Let’s step into the role of the leader of a raider group for a few seconds, get into this head space, and think about what’s going down with Preston’s group. 

Imagine that I am a leader of a raider band. Let’s imagine that it started as me and a friend getting forced out of Diamond city, possibly given exile, because we couldn’t find work and decided to steal some food. The lack of work was no fault of our own; me and my friend may not have known the right people, or had the right skill sets, or been willing to take work that risked our lives as if we were worth nothing. Maybe we survived on good will for a while, but after so many hungry days got desperate, held up the Dugout for all the caps they had, or stole food from the general store, and tried to run with the take before we got caught. Whether we were caught, stripped of our gains, and then thrown out, or we got away-- we now have a place we can’t go anymore, and are at the mercy of the outside world. Are we bad? Are we bad because we were starving to death and desperate? Am I bad for coming up with a not great plan but at least trying to take action rather than just quietly dying in a gutter? I just wanted to eat. So now me and my friend are drifters, and we stick together because we’re all we got. And maybe we meet another drifter here, and another one there, and on some hungry night someone gets the idea that hey, if we all jump out from the side of the road and threaten a trader, maybe they’ll drop some of their stock without a fight?

We don’t want caps. We want food. We can’t spend the caps, and we don’t wanna get into a fight because none of us can get treatment-- we’re exiles and criminals. We don’t want blood, we want to eat.

So we threaten a trader, and that goes well-- we got supplies! But those supplies don’t erase our records. We still need to live, and this food is only gonna last so long. The traders know about us now, they talk-- even if we got money, who the hell would trust us? No one, that’s who. Even better, sounds like our little hold-up horned in on some other group’s territory that we didn’t even know about, and they ain’t happy with us. We all have guns, but none of us have ever killed anyone. None of us want to. We just wanted to eat.

So did the other group. They just wanted to eat, too, but they saw us horning in on their territory. Their take. Those supplies belonged to them. They have mouths to feed. More than us, probably. We stole from them, and all we wanted was to eat. 

Whatever happens next is desperate, and it’s a baptism in blood. It’s a process of alienation. While there may be a select few who are actually out of their gourd and enjoy the violence, the majority of people who engage in banditry are desperate and hungry. 

So what the hell does this have to do with the group holding up Preston’s group?

By all rights, Preston’s group does not have anything a gang of raiders wants. Even if they’re far enough along that caps have value to them again, able to do trade with their own network, injuries are expensive and often lead to permanent disability because these groups lack consistent access to medical supplies and knowledge, and fatalities means your crew is down an important and useful member. SO WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY WANT? 

In the canon encounter, what they want is nothing. They want to wipe out Preston’s group because the game said so [I think there’s a terminal entry about it later, like they’re getting paid or something, but no payment is worth getting wiped out the way they did, and you don’t run a group that big on blind arrogance alone. Gristle woulda been displaced by then. All the caps in the world aren’t worth your life; you can’t feed dead crew members, and greed is useless when you’re blacklisted from all the settlements with any sense of luxury] They exist to shoot at. But when we ascribe motivation to them, what the fuck do they want? 

The power armor. 

It’s a tool; something that would change the balance of power in the area, make other groups think twice and lower the chance of losses when trying to gain supplies. Screw wiping these morons out, there’s only five of them left-- hold them at stand-off for a day or so until someone breaks and asks to negotiate, make them drop everything they’ve got as the toll for getting out, and then the group steps in to take the prize. There’s no need for anyone to get shot, just gotta starve ‘em out a little and then let them run with their lives. 

Step 4: The Death Claw

So we have a stand-off situation that could... probably be pretty easily negotiated through without major loss of life. Your player character is a third party, after all. Opens up some non-lethal ways of doing things if you wanna convince Preston and co to give up all their stuff if it means getting out with their lives. Likewise, a high speech character could possibly go to Gristle and convince him that you’ve seen the power armor and it’s wrecked, no worth the effort he’s spending on bottling this crew up, and the men he’s probably already lost in the process. Or maybe a character with high intelligence could work with Sturges to sabotage the power armor, handing it over to the raiders knowing that in a day or two it’ll fall apart. All of these make for some interesting shades-of-gray choices...

Then the deathclaw shows up. In the middle of negotiation. Everyone gets forced up to the upper floor; no time to kill each other, there’s a giant murder machine prowling around the lobby and it is only a matter of time before it climbs up to the second floor and starts ripping out walls and doors to get at people.

This could have served to make the situation even more interesting-- if you’d gone aggro in the beginning and started killing raiders in the streets, you have less people to deal with a massive threat that could kill the fuck out of you. If you’d been in the middle of convincing the raiders to take a sabotaged set of power armor, you’d have to explain to them why the power armor isn’t gonna help you... or let Gristle take it and get murdered when it freezes up and leaves him stranded to get ripped out of the can and munched. Is that murder? How’s the player feel about that? Meanwhile, if you hadn’t killed anyone and were in the middle of negotiating a bloodless solution, you might have a chance of unifying everyone to take down the deathclaw-- possibly with a future bonus that Gristle and his crew wanna go straight and giving you the choice to set them up within your settlement system, or becoming yet another ‘civilized’ system that won’t work with them because they’re too far gone. 

...................... I may have to write another fic just to explore these ideas in a modified canon.