#percentage drop; and yeah it makes the series he's still a part of that much more noticeable lol

[hirazuki]

I hadn't poked around seiyuu news/projects in ages, but was a little surprised to hear Sakurai as Geto in the new season (I'm assuming production had been far enough along at the time that finding someone else made no sense?), and it seems like Toriumi and the guy who does Mephisto in Ao no Ex are the main replacements in his projects which, yes, from a vocal perspective both are absolutely excellent choices.

Really curious to see who they'll pick for Cloud, though; that's a tough one :/

[elizabeth-mitchells]

Comfort Food - Dani/Grace - Terminator: Dark Fate

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Terminator (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Grace Harper/Dani Ramos Characters: Dani Ramos, Grace Harper, Sarah Connor, Carl (Terminator) Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Post-Canon, Missing Scene, McDonald's, Fast Food, Comfort Food, Fluff, basically grace survives and they stop by mcdonalds after they escape Words: 2870

The Rev-9 is destroyed. The four of them are barely alive after the fight. The first thing they need is to find a safe place to go.

That's when they step into McDonald's.

Sarah didn’t have time to say it, and she couldn’t exactly remember where she heard it first, but there was something oddly comforting about McDonald’s. That’s not to say she loved the place. A most likely despicable company, sure. But it was just so goddamned… big. It was available in most of the globe, and in every stupid country Sarah found herself in she could turn a corner and there it was, like a fucking mirage. The ridiculous “M”, the lights, the colors, the food, and the bathroom too. They were all mostly the same everywhere. The most childish spot for feeling like stepping into a sort of time loop. Somehow the most appropriate place to stop by after destroying the Rev-9.

The four of them were in various degrees of falling apart, some of them quite literally. “Wait here,” Sarah instructed Carl, not any more gently even after everything. He diligently hung back at the door, missing arm and all, while the three women entered the fast-food restaurant. “You two, sit,” Sarah pointed at one of the tables and confidently walked to the register. Dani and Grace hesitated at the door, but eventually gave in and followed the instructions.

Their little group probably looked beyond suspicious and out of place. They walked a long way until they found this place, and they were still covered in blood, dirt, and ashes. At least Dani’s long hair was the only thing still dripping water. Surprisingly, the employees of McDonald’s barely bat an eyelash at the new clients. It fascinated and worried Grace to think they weren’t the strangest thing these people had seen walk into the establishment in the middle of the night. Thankfully, there weren’t any other patrons.

“Are you alright?” Dani asked, as soon as the two were comfortably seated in one of the booths.

“Hm. Yeah, I think so,” Grace mumbled. She lowered her head, realizing Dani had noticed the way she had ungracefully fallen onto her seat, wincing and bleeding. “What about you?”

“Well, I’m alive.”

Dani’s answer came in a whisper. Her voice was trembling just slightly. This still wasn’t the time and place to think about the events that lead her here. However, this place, the bright lights above her, the clean floors, the smell of food, it was enough of a taste at normalcy to make her feel like she could take a break, like chaos was solved and she had made it out alive, for now. Which was enough, surprisingly. The best part? Seeing the moment that the words she just spoke fully registered in Grace’s mind as well. 

Dani had survived. The Rev-9 didn’t make it through the second explosion they had pushed it into. It was definitely gone. More and possibly worse problems could be waiting for them. But, for now, all that mattered was this, Dani’s little smile from the other side of the table. Dani was alive and Grace had completed her mission, “You know,” Grace started to speak, “I didn’t think…”

“Dig in,” Sarah interrupted them, dropping two trays of food on the table and sitting down beside Dani.

The following seconds were a quick flash of very different approaches to their meals from the three women. Sarah didn’t waste a second to get started on her burger. They needed food to stay alive, they had a chance to eat a warm meal, no time to waste. Dani, on the other hand, took a deep breath then turned her head away from the food. How could they eat after everything that just happened? Her stomach churned just thinking of all the violence she’d had to stomach since the previous days. Then there was Grace. For a second, she frowned at the food. Offended about the interruption, about the way it seemed to upset Dani, and… and then there was the smell of the fries. She took a handful of them, slowly chewed them, and then there was no turning back. She got started on her meal as if her life- as if Dani’s life depended on her eating that burger.

“Let’s get to the point,” Sarah announced after a few bites and a long sip of her drink. “Grace. The terminator was a hundred percent dead, correct?” Her question was met with silence and thumbs up, considering the augment soldier was halfway done with her burger. “And you? Will you live?” She ignored the look Dani her sent her way. Sarah was used to being blunt in worse scenarios, she wasn’t about to change things now. If anything, change within her was barely noticeable. But there was just something uncharacteristically earnest in her tone as she made her question. She cared about the answer, more than she was ready to admit.

They had to wait until Grace was done chewing, but finally, she got her appetite to slow down for a moment enough to give an answer. “There was a lot of damage,” she said, quickly scanning through the systems in her body, a series of unsatisfactory percentages showing up in her vision, but nothing too alarming. “Nothing I can’t fix,” Grace stated with finally, diving right back into her food. This would hold her up for a short while, but she would need to raid a pharmacy soon.

“Good,” Sarah nodded. After a few more moments of eating in silence, she turned toward Dani. “What about you? How, uh, how’re you holding up?”

Dani, almost without noticing, had started to slowly go through her set of fries. Eating them slowly, enjoying the warmth and the distraction. However, instead of answering, she ended up blurting out the first thing on her mind. “How are you so calm right now?”

“It isn’t my first rodeo. Hell, it isn’t even the second time I go through this shit,” Sarah replied, finishing her meal. “No time to dwell on it. We have to move to safety. Plus, we got that monster as a bodyguard waiting outside.” She nodded her head to the window, where they could glance at Carl, calmly waiting outside for them. Dani almost made a comment about Sarah forgetting her promise to destroy him if they managed to survive, but she decided against it. “I’m going to the bathroom,” Sarah continued, “you two finish up, get cleaned up. I’ll get us a phone and a vehicle. Then we need a pharmacy and a safe house. Don’t take too long.”

A moment later, she was done. Up and moving again. Dani was thinking about how much she would have to learn from Sarah, how much she would like to learn from her. Grace was thinking… “Dani,” she whispered, “Do you think I could get another one of these?”

“You can have mine,” Dani chuckled. She pushed the burger toward Grace. After taking notice of Grace’s frown and already knowing that was a sign for an upcoming speech about her protection and importance, she added, “Please, Grace. I can’t stomach it right now.”

Grace was reassured by the fact that Dani at least was steadily eating her fries. Encouraged by her deep hunger, she accepted the burger. “Thank you,” she smiled. After taking the first bite she made a sound of appreciation. If her attention wasn’t all taken by Dani and her meal, she would have attempted to think about how profundly human she felt. It was a comfort to eat this incredibly ordinary food and pretend everything was perfectly normal about her, her life, and the world around her.

“What were you going to say,” Dani asked her without preamble, “before the food arrived?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Grace shook her head softly.

It wasn’t convincing in the slightest. Even less so to Dani, whose stubbornness could easily match Sarah’s and Grace’s. But then again, there was something mesmerizing, comforting, but also so simple and easy about watching Grace have the time of her life eating ridiculous McDonald’s food. It rendered Dani speechless. It got her thinking a little. About the way Grace had gone through so many years without these simple pleasures. About the way Grace’s body worked differently, but the bigger part of her was always so endearingly human. About Grace in general, fascinating even under the worst conditions. Done with what little food she could tolerate and soothed by the space and the company around her, Dani allowed herself to close her eyes for just one moment…

“Dani… Dani?”

Grace’s voice eased her out of that unlikely sleep she had fallen into. The soldier sounded concerned enough to still sound like Grace. But it was undeniable the hint of amusement and fondness in her tone. Was she used to waking up her Commander from accidental naps like that? Was that a spark of jealousy that Dani was feeling for her own self of the future?

“Sorry,” she attempted an awkward laugh. “Let’s stop by the bathroom. We don’t want Sarah causing a scene because we’re taking too long.”

“Take your time,” Grace said. Her words were soft, her frown was unforgiving. The fondness between her and Sarah was reciprocated, but still complicated. Grace wouldn’t hesitate to stand her ground against anyone that tried to disturb Dani’s brief moments of peace.

The bathroom was another unlikely little piece of heaven. It was clean, empty, functional, quiet. Most importantly, it looked like Sarah had acquired a first aid kit from the employees and left it behind for the two of them. What followed was a slow and steady process of dealing with the most pressing issues both of them had. First, a visit to the toilet, sure. Then, washing faces, hands, and arms. Grace wet her hair, and was almost completely unaware of Dani's appreciative stares at the whole process. They didn’t have a lot to work with, and there were a lot of bandages and healing in their near future. But, at the very least, they had a small bottle of alcohol, and they did what they could with it.

Cut clean and bodies slightly refreshed, Dani had time to openly stare at Grace. “You’re incredible,” she sighed. She hadn’t meant to just blurt it out, but at the same time she couldn’t figure out a reason not to. Grace turned to look at her with genuine wonder in her eyes. “It already looks better,” Dani added, pointing at the wound on Grace’s neck. Back at the dam, it had looked beyond deadly. It would have been, to anyone who wasn’t an augmented soldier, apparently. Now the wound appeared to be closed, at least. Though there was still a long road of healing ahead.

“See? I still got it,” Grace replied. Technically, the smile she wore at that moment was small. But it was so… new, to Dani, that she found it to be the brightest most beautiful thing in the world. For a moment she felt like the luckiest person on Earth knowing that now she would have time to really get to know Grace, her sense of humor, her personality beyond being a soldier, all of her. She didn’t even have time to think about all the upcoming smiles from Grace that would soon come to lovingly blind her. For an instant, Dani opened her mouth to reply, but then she closed it and turned away to stare at the mirror again. “What?” Grace gently prompted her.

Dani took a deep breath, and started washing her hands again, quite unnecessarily too, but it was better than staring at the other woman as she said, “It’s just that… not running for our lives? Looks good on you.”

Grace stayed silent. She took her time processing the information. The look on her face was complicated. A small arch in her eyebrows showed she was at least a little impressed by the compliment. Then there was that absolutely gorgeous pair of expressive blue eyes. They were delighted, caught off guard, for sure, and very appreciative for Dani’s matching ease, the first time she saw her relaxed and awake since they met. But there was an unmistakable hint of grief, nostalgia for something impossible to recover, even if what was in front of her was just as good.

Dani took the opportunity to ask something that she hasn’t been able to shake off her mind. “What were you going to say,” she slowly asked Grace a second time, “before the food arrived?”

The expression on Grace’s face instantly dimmed, but she didn’t look too bothered about it either. “I just didn’t think I would survive this far,” she gave a small shrug, “that’s all.”

That’s all, she said. As if that wasn’t a pretty significant thing, Dani thought. “I can’t imagine,” Dani frowned and spoke in whispers, while Grace tilted her head and listened intently. “I can’t imagine… ever, you know, being the person that gives the order to send you, Grace, in a suicide mission.”

“It’s not like that,” Grace shook her head softly. She was leaning against the sink, staring at Dani with all the devotion she couldn’t seem to shake off her eyes whenever they locked eyes. “I volunteered,” Grace said, “I, you and I, we both knew I’d be the best one to protect you.”

“Why is that?” Dani asked, considerably more breathless than she meant to. Then she took a hesitant step forward, and nearly started shaking when Grace mimicked her move.

“Can’t you tell?”

In the back of her mind, Dani was thinking about how she could probably spend the rest of her life analyzing that question, and the way Grace said those three words. She was genuinely asking, she was hopeful, she was afraid, she was sad, she was… She was placing a hand on Dani’s cheek. Grace was cradling Dani’s jaw with a delicacy and gentleness that most likely shouldn’t be possible in a soldier like her, wounded, traumatized, transformed, and scarred. But Dani felt like the two of them were standing on top of a cloud, leaning forward, looking up into crystal clear blue eyes…

“A car is here,” Grace announced, sharply turning her head to the right and schooling her expression back into deadly professionalism.

“Righ,” Dani exhaled a heavy sigh, took an extra moment to recover herself, and added, “Let’s go.” Then, without allowing herself to think too hard about it, grabbed Grace’s hand and led her outside. She didn’t look back to see Grace’s reaction to her taking the lead like that, but she could have made a pretty good guess.

Outside McDonald’s, they met Carl. The retired Terminator looked at them with his familiar but stoic stare and said, “I hope your meals were satisfactory.”

“Yeah,” Dani nodded, “Thanks.”

“Is that safe?” Grace asked, nodding toward the car parking a few feet away from them.

“Stay put,” Sarah ordered as an answer.

Carl couldn’t help but take a couple of steps forward, to be closer to the stranger, to protect Sarah if necessary and possibly even against her will.

Hearing Sarah’s curt response, mutual fondness or not, Grace nearly groaned out loud in annoyance. She did tighten her hold on Dani’s hand. Which brought to Dani’s attention the fact that their fingers were still comfortably interlocked and how natural it felt to just continue to hold on.

“Hey, Grace,” she said softly, tugging a little on the hand she was holding.

With her attention back on Dani, Grace instantly relaxed. Irritation vanished from her face, and the pressure of her hand loosened a little too. “Yes?” she asked. Looking at her with that same exact spark of adoration from before. 

“Can I kiss you now?”

First, Grace just smiled at her. It was an honest grin. She genuinely looked elated. Not at all like she had expected this outcome based on experiences from a future that hadn’t happened. She looked overjoyed and relieved as if she was experiencing the completion of a dream she’d had her entire life. 

“Of course,” Grace replied, in the middle of taking a deep breath and exhaling a soft sigh.

Grace stepped closer, Dani placed a hand on the back of her neck, they met in the middle. At first, it felt like a spark, an explosion of all the action, the adrenaline, the terror, and the thrills they had experienced during nearly every second since they met. Then, the feeling melted into a slow and steady flame, it was comfort, relief, triumph, safety. It was an action of complete love, and hope, and the promise of a future together.

A moment of such levels of perfection, of course, could only be interrupted by the loud and tremendously inopportune sound of a car horn.

“Let’s go, lovebirds!” Sarah yelled from the window of the driver’s seat. She sounded like her usual self, even if she couldn’t hold back her smirk.

“Please,” Carl added, “excuse her for the interruption. Would you like to have an additional moment of privacy?”

“No, Carl, uh, thanks,” Dani replied, a giggle stuck in her throat. “We’re, um, we’re good. Yeah. Let’s… let’s go.” She could hardly keep her composure, not with Grace standing behind her, arm wrapped around her middle and holding her close, her lips smiling and pressing a kiss on the top of her head.

[after-avenging-hours]

Virtue & Valor [1]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

You and your husband have the perfect life. Jobs that you love, a happy marriage, an amazing sex life… You couldn’t ask for anything more. But when something unexpected shows up on your front doorstep that completely turns your world upside down, can your relationship survive the fallout? Or will you have to let your feelings go in favor of the greater good? Letting go of the past can be difficult, especially when the future looks so bleak, but maybe you can figure out how to move forward together. You may just make it out to see the other side.

Word Count: 4913

Warnings: this part contains smut at the end, 18+ content, mostly a lot of fluff

A/N: Val is getting used as a nickname for the Reader’s character. This will be explained a little later.

You wake up in the morning to the brush of lips against your shoulder. This is then followed by the feeling of a pair of strong arms tightening around your waist. “Good morning, Mrs. Rogers.”

You groan in protest, trying to bury your face into the pillow. “You’re lying, it’s not morning yet…”

His chuckle is deep, still filled with a hint of slumber. “I’m afraid it is.”

Blearily opening your eyes, it takes a second to adjust. The numbers on your alarm clock blur together into one green lump until you blink a few times, 6:05. “Wow, you let me sleep in a whole five minutes,” you comment, tilting your head to look back over your shoulder.

A pair of bright blue eyes shine back in amusement. “Well, I did keep you up late last night.”

A lazy smile tilts your lips upward. “Yes, you did. And on a school night, how dare you?”

“What can I say? My wife is irresistible,” he responds.

“What a coincidence. So is my husband.” You shift your body around to face him, leaning on your side as you reach up to pull his mouth down to yours. He moans against your mouth, one of his hands slipping underneath your tank top to slide up your back. Steve pulls you on top of him as he falls back against the pillows. Your hands roam across his bare chest as you straddle his waist. You can feel his half-hardened length brush against your core, separated by the thin material of your panties and his boxers. Grinding your hips down, Steve groans against your mouth.

His large hands grip your hips as he pulls out of the kiss. “We should stop. Or else we’ll be late. Not all of us have a free period first thing in the morning.”

You give him a coy look, running your tongue over your bottom lip, where you can still taste him. “You started it.”

He gives you a warning look. “You kissed me first.”

“I wouldn’t have if that mouth of yours didn’t look so delicious.”

Said lips twitch as he tries to fight off a smile. “Are you telling me that you only married me for my mouth?”

You release a laugh, smiling brightly, “That… among other things… Your butt is pretty high up there too.” You yelp in laughter when he suddenly flips you onto your back, taking a dominant position over you.

“I didn’t realize my wife was so superficial.”

Your arms loosely hook around his neck. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

He hums giving you another amused look. His head bends down and you tilt yours up expecting another kiss, however at the last second, he diverts and presses his lips to your cheek. “Nice try, sweetheart. But it’s time to get up.” He pulls your arms off and pushes himself up.

You groan in protest, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face into your pillow. “Do I have to?”

“Unless you want to drive yourself.”

Grumbling under your breath, you push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Sinking your hips back, you drop your shoulders and extend your arms in a stretch. A strained moan slips passed your lips as you work the kinks out of your fatigued muscles.

“Val…” Steve calls in a warning tone again.

“Yeah?” you respond, moving back up onto your hands and knees and curling your back to stretch your spine.

“Knock it off.”

“Knock what off?” you ask innocently.

He sighs and shakes his head. “Never mind, I’m just gonna go start the coffee.”

You can’t stop the small giggle that slips out after he’s left the room. Pushing yourself off the bed, you stretch your arms up and arch your back once more, before following Steve out and into the kitchen. He’s already standing at the coffee maker, scooping the grains into the top. You step up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso and place a soft kiss in between his shoulder blades.

“Is it possible to fall asleep standing up?” you ask, resting your cheek on his back and close your eyes.

He chuckles, twisting around to throw his arm over your shoulders and brings your body over to his front. He places a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’m sure you could figure it out. Which is why I can’t let you.” His hands fall to your hips, so he can lift you up and onto the counter. He settles himself between your legs, looking at you with a hooded gaze. “Have I told you how much I love you this morning?”

You hum, running your hands up his arms to loosely wrap around his neck. “No, not yet.”

He bends his head down, brushing his nose slightly against yours. His mouth tilts in a crooked smile. “Well, I love you.”

You smile back, tilting your face up to his. “Oh yeah, how much?”

His lips brush ever so slightly against yours. “I’m thinking that I should probably just show you.” He slants his mouth over yours, pulling you into a kiss. Your arms tighten around his neck, arching your body up into his. You moan into the kiss, hands running through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“What happened to not being late?” you mumble against his mouth.

You can feel his lips stretch into a smile. “Coffee’s brewing, we can afford a few minutes of distraction.”

You hum, “We could do a lot in a few minutes.”

He nips playfully at your lower lip. “We could... But you know how much I enjoy giving it to you long and slow.”

You release a small whimper, your knees squeezing his waist. “Mr. Rogers, that’s not how you should be speaking to your wife if you don’t intend to follow through.”

He chuckles, pulling back to look down at you. “If she’s patient enough to wait until after school, then I will follow through.”

You glare up at him, clearly unimpressed. “You don’t put a glass of water in front of a dying man and then tell him to wait 8 hours.”

He chuckles, “I guess it’s a good thing you’re not a dying man, then.” He pushes away from the counter, moving to the cupboards to pull down two mugs.

You jump off the counter trying to push the ache between your thighs out of your mind. “I didn’t realize how big of a tease you were when I married you.”

He grins crookedly. “Too late now.”

“What goes around comes around, Rogers,” you threaten mildly, warning that all this teasing is going to bite him in the ass later.

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he chuckles.

He gets your coffees ready while you whip up a quick breakfast for the two of you to share. With a mug and a plate each set out on the kitchen table, you and Steve take your seats and start digging in. “What are you teaching today?” you ask in between bites of food.

“We’re starting a new segment in the advanced class. Creating optical illusions.” 

You pause, thinking about what exactly goes into teaching a subject like that, let alone actually making the art piece. “That sounds… hard.”

Steve laughs. “That’s why it’s the advanced class. What about you?”

“We started Intro to Mixed Martial Arts at the beginning of the week.”

Steve gives you a questioning glance, “Mixed Martial Arts? In High School PE?”

You grin openly, gazing back at him. “Remember that survey I gave the kids at the beginning of the year? The one that asked them to tell me what subjects they wanted to cover. A good percentage actually picked MMA as their top 3. And thank God we actually work in a district that gives us funding. I think this is the most successful year we’ve ever had in PE. The kids are actually engaged for once.”

“It’s pretty incredible what kinds of things you can accomplish when the kids are willing to pay attention,” Steve agrees.

“You certainly don’t have any issues with that,” you grin cheekily before taking a sip of your coffee. “Those horny teenagers can’t take their eyes off of you, Mr. Red-Hot Rogers.”

Steve laughs loudly as you say the nickname that’s been circulating around the school halls for longer than you can remember. “It’s not just me they look at. My wife is sexy as hell.”

You hum curiously, “Is she now? You’ll have to introduce me.”

He grins and shakes his head. “I have a feeling you’ll like her.”

The two of you finish up your breakfast and coffee before heading back into the bedroom to get ready for your day. Steve pinches your ass when he moves passed you to get to the bathroom as you stop in front of your dresser. You yelp and swat his ass in retaliation. He laughs, sending you a cheeky grin over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.

You change into a set of yoga pants, a sports bra, and a loose t-shirt. When Steve emerges from the bathroom, with a fresh face and minty teeth, you switch spots so you can wash your own face and brush your teeth while he gets changed. As you step back out of the bathroom, you pause and lean against the open doorway, staring shamelessly at the man you get to call your husband.

A pair of black jeans fit snuggly to his thick thighs and perky ass. A white, linen, button-up shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. The shirt is tucked neatly into the top of his jeans, with the collar tucked and the top button left undone to reveal the hollow of his throat. He’s looking down, with a concentrated look on his face as the rolls up the sleeves on either side.

Sometimes, in quiet moments like this, you get a strange feeling that this can’t possibly be real. That he can’t be real, let alone that he’s even yours. Steve Rogers is the perfect man. He’s sweet, attentive, attractive, and a God in bed. He makes you feel loved, cherished, and alive. As he lifts his head and catches your gaze, the small tilt of his lips have you falling even deeper into this dream-like existence.

“You keep staring at me like that and we’re going to be late,” he chuckles.

Smiling back, you step forward into his open arms, hooking yours up around his neck while his hands settle around your waist. “Would that be so bad?” you ask.

He brings his lips down to place a sweet kiss on your forehead, knowing full well that’s not what you want out of him. “Yes,” he responds simply before releasing your waist and reaching up to unwind your arms from around his neck. He laughs at your pout, “Come on. The sooner we get to school, the sooner we get to the end of the day. Then you can have me in any way you want.”

You roll your eyes and huff, but comply and follow him obediently out of the bedroom. He grabs the car keys, his wallet, and his phone from the bowl on the kitchen counter. You then grab your keys for the school locker rooms, the gym, and the equipment building, which are attached to a lanyard. You place the lanyard around your neck, then grab your phone and wallet next before following Steve out the door in the kitchen that leads to the garage.

Steve lets you pick the radio station, but the drive isn’t very long before he’s pulling into the faculty parking lot. The two of you walk hand in hand into the school, stopping first at the faculty lounge. Several of your coworkers already fill the room, many giving a wave or word of greeting upon your arrival. You and Steve split off into different directions as he moves to talk with one of the other art teachers and you head for the coffee table.

Fighting off a yawn, you pour out your second cup for the day, knowing that you’re going to need the extra caffeine to make it through the morning. Not only did Steve keep you up late the night before, but you’d also woken up several times due to some strange dreams. Dreams you couldn’t seem to recall once morning hit.

“Damn you, Val. Damn you to the deepest parts of hell.” A familiar voice has you lifting your head from where you’re trying to pour out some creamer into your coffee cup.

It’s Deborah, one of the biology teachers. You look at your friend incredulously. “What did I do?”

“You walk into the teacher’s lounge, with your gorgeous husband, looking like you’ve been plowed into half of the night.” She glares light-heartedly, her gaze sweeping over your form.

You can’t help but release a girlish giggle, attempting to hide it behind your coffee cup as you lift it up to your face. “Well, you’re not wrong…”

“Jesus! You guys have been married for how long? And yet you still go at it like you’re in your honeymoon phase! How is that fair?” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning a hip against the table.

You shrug. “What can I say, the sex is amazing.”

“Yeah, still not fair… When are you going to learn to share?” she gives you a pointed look.

“Not anytime soon, that’s for sure,” you laugh.

“Killjoy.”

You both stare at Steve from across the room. He’s in a conversation with Don Matthews at this point, one of the English teachers. Feeling the burn of your gaze, he looks over, locking eyes with you. You see the corner of his mouth curl upward before he sends you a wink.

“Good God, I want to sit on his face.” Your friend sighs. “Do you ever sit on his face?” she asks you.

“Deborah!” you laugh, slapping her shoulder.

“What? You could at least give me details. I’m living vicariously through you.”

“What happens between me and my husband in the bedroom stays between me and my husband,” you respond cryptically.

“So, that’s a yes,” she confirms. You notice her gaze drifting up to something over your shoulder.

Moments later, you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist. “What are you two lovely ladies giggling about over here?” Steve asks.

“We’re not giggling,” you respond right as Deb speaks.

“Oh, I was just asking Val how often she gets to sit on your gorgeous face,” she comments nonchalantly.

“Deb!” you hiss in warning.

Steve’s hand tightens on your hip as he chuckles. “I don’t know, maybe about twice a week? If we had it my way, she’d be there every day, but Val likes to keep things mixed up.”

“Steve!” you look up at him, appalled.

He grins cheekily at you, bending down to place a quick kiss on your lips. “I’m gonna head to my room to get ready for class.”

“Later, Deb,” he smiles politely at your friend.

“Bye…” she responds in a small squeak, watching him walk away. “God, if I could murder you and take over your life, I would in a heartbeat.”

“Gee, thanks,” you comment dryly. “I’m going to head to the gym to prepare for second period.” You take your coffee with you and walk out of the lounge. You wave hello and smile at the few students that are already on campus. Some you’ll see in class later and other’s you’ve had in previous years.

The day goes by fairly quickly. It helps that most of the kids are still excited about this new unit, although many of the boys groan in protest when you tell them you won’t be teaching any advanced takedowns today. “We’re concentrating on defensive maneuvers mostly. If I hear about any of you trying to pick fights in the schoolyard, using the moves I’ve taught you… not only will you have to answer to me, but you will be stuck running laps every day, all period long, until the end of the school year. Do I make myself clear?” you give the same spiel each period, and it’s luckily well received.

Before you know it, the watch on your wrist is buzzing in warning for ten minutes until the last bell rings. You dismiss your last period for the day, allowing them to head off to the locker rooms to change out of their PE uniforms. You clean up the gym a little to make less work for the janitorial staff and to kill a little time while the students are changing before locking up the empty locker rooms.

You walk down the halls of the school, heading for the art wing and then step into Steve’s room. You love Steve’s classroom. It’s vibrant and colorful. Every single possible inch of space is being used to display his student’s work. The joy and creativity seem to surround you like a warm blanket.

You find him sitting behind his desk, dexterous fingers clicking away at the keyboard to his computer. His gaze flicks up above the monitor as you approach and he smiles when he sees it’s you. “Give me just a minute, Sweetheart,” he tells you before turning back to the screen.

You nod in understanding and take a walk around his room, looking over the dozens of pieces of art. No matter how many times you look at them all, you never grow bored. In fact, it always seems like you’re able to find something new every day.

As promised, it doesn’t take him very long to finish up before he’s turning off his computer and stepping up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back against his chest.

“How was your day?” he asks, placing a kiss to your temple.

You sigh happily, falling into his embrace. “It was good, but I’m ready to go home.”

“Me, too,” he agrees. Taking your hand, he leads you out of the room, turning off the lights then he closes and locks the door. His palm is warm against yours, his touch sending tingles of awareness through your entire body. You have to separate once you get to the car, however, after he’s pulled into the garage and you’ve both stepped back out, he waits for you with his hand outstretched as you make your way around the vehicle. With fingers intertwined once again, he leads you through the door into the kitchen. You both deposit your cell phones, keys, and wallets back into the bowl on the counter and then head for the bedroom. You pull off your sports bra, tossing it into the laundry hamper and then bend down to remove your shoes and socks next. You leave the bedroom, barefoot, as you make your way back to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Steve changes out of his work clothes into a more comfortable t-shirt and basketball shorts combo before he joins you in the kitchen.

The two of you work in sync to get the food prepared, already having decided on what you were going to eat during the drive home. “Do you wanna watch a movie tonight?” Steve asks as he doles the food out evenly on the two plates.

“Sure. Whose turn to pick?” you ask, pouring out a glass of wine for you and grabbing a beer from the fridge for him.

“Yours,” Steve confirms, taking one plate in each hand before moving to the living room and setting the plates down on the coffee table.

You follow him and take your spot on the couch and set down your drinks. Grabbing the TV remote, you pull up Netflix and start to search through the various options. Steve had a tendency of picking historical documentaries or military based movies. You however had a pension for spy thrillers and action movies. You end up settling on a film that seems to touch Steve’s military interests along with your need for some blood-pumping action. As the movie buffers, you curl in close to your husband, pulling your dinner plate into your lap.

The two of you are fairly invested in the film, occasionally making a comment or some sort of reaction as the events play out. As soon as he’s cleaned off his plate, Steve sets it back down on the coffee table and stretches his arm over the back of the couch and across your shoulders to tuck your body in a little closer to his chest. You welcome the warmth that he provides, settling against him like a puzzle piece locking into place.

By the time the credits for the movie are rolling on the screen, your body is completely relaxed and pliant against his. “That one was pretty good,” Steve remarks, his thumb swiping across your shoulder absentmindedly.

You make a sound of agreement. “Mhm… Still don’t understand how they managed to walk away from that plane crash, though. No one could have survived that.”

He chuckles, “That’s why it’s a movie.”

You release a low hum and give a noncommittal shrug.

“So… dishes before or after?” Steve asks, his voice dropping with a suggestive lilt.

Your brows furrow in confusion. “What?” you ask, lifting your head off his chest to meet his gaze. Your breath hitches when you see the heated look in his eyes.

“I still owe you long and slow.”

That’s all the reminder you need to get on the same page as him. The flame deep in your belly ignites in an instant and you feel a clench between your legs. Pushing yourself up, you turn and throw a leg over his lap, pinning his hips between your knees. “Dishes after,” you respond before crashing your lips against his. You hold his cheeks between your hands, feeling the beginnings of his stubble tickling your palms. You deepen the kiss, your tongue sliding out to slip between his parted lips.

The hum of pleasure that you pull out of him resonates through your entire body. His hands slide from your waist down to your ass, gripping the flesh eagerly and rocking your hips forward. His basketball shorts do nothing to conceal his arousal as you grind down on him. The wet patch in your panties only grows until you’re sure it’s starting to seep through your yoga pants.

Steve’s hands slide up your back, slipping beneath the hem of your tank top. His fingers travel up the dip of your spine and come to a stop over your shoulder blades. Taking the hint, you pull out of the kiss and lift your arms, allowing him to pull off the bunched-up material and toss it to the floor. His t-shirt is the next to go and then he’s pulling you back in.

Your breasts are crushed against the hard plains of his chest as he holds you close. His cock begins to leak into the wet patch on the front of his shorts where you rub up on him like a cat in heat. He’s certain that if he lets you continue, that dribble of pre-cum will quickly turn into a full-blown climax, so he gathers his resolve and pushes your hips back.

The needy whimper that slips out of you is almost enough to break his resistance. His jaw clenches as he fights the urge to rut up into you like an animal until he creams his shorts. He knows that would probably excite the hell out of you, but he’d made a promise and he intended to keep it. Long and slow. He chants those words like a mantra in his head.

“Up,” he encourages, pushing against your hips until you’re sliding off his lap and standing on shaky legs before him. He sits up, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your belly before he releases you and turns to flip the back cushions up and over the top of the couch to make more room. They fall to the floor with a dull thud. “Strip,” he orders next as he moves to lay back across the length of the couch, his head supported by one of the decorative pillows. You are more than happy to comply, slipping your thumbs into the waistband of your pants and undies to push them down your legs. “Now get up here.” He reaches out for you, gripping one of your thighs to drag your leg across his body and settles your knee just above his shoulder. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you sitting on my face since Deb brought it up this morning.”

You manage to catch the briefest glimpse of his cheeky smile before his hands on your hips are pulling you down against him. You moan helplessly as his tongue glides over your slick folds. It’s enough to make your body shiver deliciously. He laves across your wet center with long, bold strokes. Like a predator feasting on his prey, he consumes you.

Sweeping his tongue up to the top of your folds, he circles his lips around your clit and sucks hard. Your back arches as you reach forward to grip the armrest of the couch. You try to not let your weight fall onto him all at once when all you desperately want to do is grind down shamelessly on his tongue. It’s an exquisite torture. Even though you’re the one on top, you’re completely at his mercy.

He transitions flawlessly between the long strokes over your dripping slit and the concentrated laps against your sensitive clit. He knows just what your body needs to get you into that euphoric state where all your worries and fears disappear, leaving nothing behind except pure, unfiltered pleasure. Steve knows your body just about as well as he knows his own. It’s like you’re an extension of himself, instead of a whole other person. He can feel your pleasure and he shares your pain. When your bodies join together it’s like fusing two souls into one. It’s more than just a husband loving his wife. It’s intimate and surreal and cataclysmic.

He knows that you’re close, but his own body is so tightly in tune with yours that he can read the signs of his own impending orgasm all because you’re so close to yours. He rips his mouth from your wet center with a gasping breath. “I need to be inside you,” his voice is so low, it nearly comes out as a growl.

He helps you shuffle back, so you’re no longer up on his shoulders. You lean against the back of the couch to make room for him to shift onto his side. It’s moments like these where the flexibility that comes with the territory of your job and his naturally unnatural strength comes in handy. The two of you move in unison like it’s a coordinated dance until your positions are switched and it’s now your back against the couch cushions while he hovers over you.

The decorative pillow has been pushed to the floor, but you don’t need it as you spread your thighs to make room for Steve’s hips between them. Your hands glide down his back until you’re pushing his shorts down the curve of his ass. He smiles in amusement at the promiscuous squeeze to his behind as he kicks the shorts the rest of the way off. His hips drop until he feels your hot slick against the sensitive tip of his cock. He drags his full length across your folds, still fighting that sensual temptation to take you hard and fast.

He studies your face as a distraction. You look back at him with lust-glazed eyes. They’re hungry and carnal but still manage to have a soft edge of tender affection. He loves looking into your eyes while he makes love to you. It’s like he can see an entire world hidden beneath their depths.

He feels the urgent squeeze of your hands where they’re still firmly planted on his ass. He huffs out a gentle laugh before allowing himself to sink into you. Your lips part into a gloriously wicked moan as he fills you up with every possible inch he has. Steve often finds himself wishing that he could paint sounds because every little sound that comes out of you is a piece of art in and of itself.

He pulls out about halfway before slowly easing back in. He wants to build you back up piece by piece. He wants to savor this like you’re his last meal on Earth. There are times that call for a frantic and rushed coupling, but this isn’t one of them. It’s agonizing and tantalizing, the way he can feel your walls pulse and caress every single nerve ending inside his cock.

He can feel you everywhere. Not just physically, but also mentally and emotionally. The love that you share for each other flows all around you like the air you breathe. It connects you and fills you up until you’re overflowing. “Steve…” his name slips out of you just above a whisper.

The smile he gives you is so warm and tender; you feel like you’re basking in the sun. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he gives you the assurance, letting you know that you’re free to let go. That he’ll be there to catch you.

He’ll always be there.

Part 2

[frenchfriesoverguys]

‘fate: the winx saga’ review

im very late to this trend but i finally watched this show all the way through.

if you watch the first episode alone, you probably hated this series, as you should. the first episode’s dialogue is awkward and stiff. the fatphobia was heavily present. and the outfits sucked. so did i hate the series? not even a little bit. 

first, and most importantly, lets talk about terra. i saw the most talk around her character and the fatphobia the show exuded. having watched all of it, i can safely say that terra was being bullied. not by her friends, or at least not her real ones, but the classic mean popular clique. any issues she faced with this bullying, her friends stuck up for her but didn’t get involved. they knew she could handle it and she did. she was shown sticking up for herself repeatedly. her friends have issues with her at first and i’ve seen a lot of people pointing that out as fatphobia. it’s really not as their annoyance of her was from her oversharing and inability to stop talking (relatable). saying that the girls disliked her because she’s fat is reducing her character to her dress size, something only the audience is seeming to do. she is a fully developed character and so lovable by the end of the first season. but i would love to get into her love life a little more or more into her powers as she is the only one who doesn’t struggle with her powers.

musa’s character is well written and fun. her mind powers are interesting and i loved seeing them develop as she learns control. the issues with musa in this series comes from the casting. the actress, elisha applebaum, is white passing but is half-Singaporean. the cartoon design from the original was fully asian. applebaum plays the character so well and is an amazing actress but many say that casting a white passing asian woman to play a fully asian character takes away from the diversity the original show had. as a white self-claimed film critic, i don’t think it’s appropriate for me to have an opinion. i did however want to bring it up as it’s being discussed in the criticism of the show. 

**** this is an edit: it’s been brought to my attention that the actress who plays Musa is fully white and that singapore is not an ethnicity. i saw a few articles say that she was half singaporean and didn’t question it (definitely should have researched that) now that i know she is fully white and not mixed, i do have an opinion. what the fuck. the actual fuck. that is so messed up. why would they take a show that was full of diversity in 2005 and make it whiter in 2021??? when i thought she was mixed i didn’t want to say anything bc mixed poc constantly get torn between the 1 drop rule where if they have any poc ancestor then they are poc or a minimum percentage of that ethnicity to be considered a “real” poc even if they grew up in that culture. i didn’t want to tell a half asian girl that she wasn’t asian enough but knowing she’s fully white? yeah that changes a lot of things. in doing more research, she is of middle eastern descent (as am i, still very much white) and if she was cast as stella or even bloom who were classically western europe in the original design, i would be so happy to see extra representation. but not when she took away a part from an asian actress - ESPECIALLY in a time when asian hate crimes are escalating. i don’t care if she’s a great actress and person…..recast her.

idk how many people watched the cartoons but i always hated sky and riven. sky was a much better character in this series. he still struggles with treating the fairies as damsels in distress, which bloom calls him out on. he has more depth and seems like genuinely good guy. riven was....lashing out alot. i liked him in the series because he does acknowledge his fatphobic remarks and ends up admitting to terra that she was a badass while he was struggling with fighting. he begins to work out some of his issues and i loved the dynamic that he has with sky where they get emotional with each other, both more than willing to point out the toxic traits the other has. i look forward to more riven character development. while i like sam, there was way more chemistry in one scene with musa and him. im hoping they keep the enemies to lovers idea that the cartoon had. 

NOW i need to talk about what i thought could improved. the wings. i loved them, like a lot, but i want at least one more of the girls to get them next season, if not all. it was a fun reveal but wings were such a staple fairy ability in the cartoon that i was nervous they wrote it out. they have the perfect opportunity to fix the outfits with the transformation scene. as we know in the cartoons they girls get new outfits when they transform. they’re fighting outfits could be so fun or maybe as they develop as fairies they develop different wardrobes. the outfits weren’t awful and at 16, most girls aren’t wearing skimpy bright colored clothing 24/7 while training. they don’t have to be the same as the cartoons but i would love to see terra in vintage 70′s clothing that works with her curves, stella in at least one glittery outfit, musa in a more pastel grunge look, aisha in matching sweats or some sort of updated street-style look, and bloom is actually fine but maybe  more flirty dresses with leather jackets and sneakers, mixing the tough and flirty look more consistently.

also, if you’re new to the fandom, you might not know things like what sky and riven can do, specifically who the specialists are and how they contribute to the fairy world. they struggled slightly with world building as i believe they expected most, if not all, people watching to have an idea of the world already. the show could have done a better job setting up these concepts.

i truly recommend watching the show before you write it off completely.

[sailorspazz]

[Fanfic] Internal Rhythms

Yup, my 10 Dance obsession has reached the point where I need to create fan works, since there’s so little out there (I don’t understand, this manga started 9 years ago, where are all the fics and fanarts?! There’s not even much in Japanese!)

Title: Internal Rhythms

Series: 10 Dance

Rating: M (for sexual content)

Words: 5,200

Summary: Suzuki and Sugiki are having issues syncing with each other's rhythms while practicing the quickstep. Sugiki's suggestion for how to get back in tune ends up pushing their relationship to a place it has never gone before.

Where to read: Posted on fanfiction.net and ao3. Or just stay here and click below!

Ah shit, here we go again…Somehow, I’ve wound up falling into a tiny fandom that has barely any fan works, so I guess I have to help fix that :P Since 10 Dance is an ongoing series, I actually have tons of speculative ideas/headcanons developing for what could happen, but for now I’m content to wait and see what direction the story heads in. Instead, I’ve chosen to write a smutty one-off based on chapter 32; though there are some details referenced from that chapter, if you’ve at least read through the end of volume 5, you should have enough context for where their relationship currently stands (as in, they definitely wouldn’t be messing around with each other at this point…and yet, I still couldn’t stop my dirty mind from imagining scenarios where they push things further >:D). Hope you enjoy this take on what could’ve gone down during a late-night training session!

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The wall clock inside the Sugiki Dance School struck 1:20am as both Shinyas took a few final sips of water and prepared to start their usual overnight practice session. Though at first it had felt awkward to spend so many hours together even after they had chosen to no longer pursue their romance, they had been able to effectively push their feelings aside and maintain a professional training partnership—even as both were keenly aware that those desires still remained simmering just under the surface.

“Alright, let’s give the quickstep another shot,” Suzuki stated as he walked over to where Sugiki stood loosening the top buttons of his shirt. “We lost out on practice time yesterday since our rhythms were off or whatever, so we gotta make up for it today.” He was eager to finish learning the basics of all five standard dances so he could spend the remaining months before the 10 Dance perfecting his movements and refining his style.

“Indeed. Let’s waste no time getting started, then.” They joined hands, and Sugiki instinctively closed his eyes as Suzuki’s arm wrapped around him and pulled him snug against his body. He began to hum a tune, as he knew his late-night partner benefitted from having music to dance to, and they started to move. Though they started out smoothly, it was not long before their feet were clearly moving at different paces, causing them to nearly trip and fall before catching themselves in each other’s arms.

“Dammit. Not again,” Suzuki sighed in frustration as he broke out of hold. “Why’s this happening now? We’ve never had this issue before. Not even right after…” He trailed off, not wanting to bring up the breakup that still felt too raw and heartbreaking to talk about a couple of months after it had occurred.

“I believe it is simply the nature of this dance. Since it relies so heavily on the two dancers being in sync with one another and dancing as one, any variance in their internal rhythms can throw it entirely off balance.”

“I get that, but do you got any bright ideas for how to fix this, Mr. ‘standard expert’? Has it happened before with other partners?”

“It has, and the solution was…well…” He paused a moment, looking slightly amused by the memories he was recalling. “When it occurred with partners I was romantically involved with, we would express our intimacy to get back in tune with each other.”

“What, you mean fuck?” Suzuki said bluntly.

“Eloquent as always, aren’t you?” he replied with a chuckle. “It needn’t go that far in most cases. Usually just a simple kiss would suffice.”

Suzuki found himself dwelling on Sugiki’s implication that he had dated more than one of his previous partners. “Just how many partners did you…ya know what, never mind.” Though he already suspected it was true, getting confirmation that Sugiki had a tendency to fall for his partners would make what they had shared feel less special.

“I have never shared that sort of relationship with Ms. Yagami, I can assure you.”

His response was not assuring in the slightest. “Yeah, thanks, but I wasn’t worried about you getting busy with your married partner. It just seems like you…” Suzuki stopped himself from finishing his thought, as he was still concerned that the answer to his earlier unfinished question was one he did not want to know. “Whatever, I said forget it already.”

“You’re one to talk,” Sugiki retorted, not allowing the subject to be dropped just yet. “I’m quite certain that percentage-wise, you have been involved with more of your partners than I have.”

Suzuki looked flabbergasted at this accusation. While it was true that he had had romances with one hundred percent of his partners, when that number only amounted to two people when he included the man in front of him, it was hardly a fair comparison. “Are you shitting me? Don’t go twisting this around to make me look bad! You know damn well I’ve…” Before he got too far into his tirade, he noticed the satisfied smirk Sugiki was wearing. Clearly he was riling him up on purpose for his own amusement, and Suzuki had unwittingly fallen into his trap—though there was a part of him that did not mind being baited by him, and it was something he had actually missed when their relationship had been in a more fragile place following their separation. “This ain’t helping solve our problem, smartass. You got any solutions that’re actually useful?”

“We could try it,” Sugiki murmured under his breath, just barely loud enough for Suzuki to hear.

“Huh?” Suzuki wondered if he was really implying what he assumed he was, but was almost afraid to ask. “What exactly do you wanna try out?”

Sugiki met his eyes with an expression that to most would come across as stoic, but because they had spent so much time together, he could see a twinge of heartache behind it. “We shared a romantic bond before. Perhaps we could realign if we connected in that manner once more, however briefly.”

The acknowledgment that he was suggesting exactly what he had suspected caused Suzuki’s heart to leap. Despite continuing to share incredibly close contact every night as they practiced, neither one had broken down and expressed the desire to rekindle the affectionate side of their bond, even though it was something they could mutually sense from each other through their touch. Now Sugiki had finally gone and voiced it aloud, and Suzuki did not know how to feel, his elation being tamped down by the memories of how badly things had ended before. But he found he could not just shoot down this suggestion outright. “So…you’re saying we should make out?” he asked incredulously.

“It can be much chaster than that. Perhaps just a light kiss would do the trick, like the ones you gave me to help loosen me up during our early Latin sessions.”

His face now looked inscrutable, to the point where Suzuki could not tell if he actually thought this would be helpful, or if he was just looking for an excuse to kiss him. However, there was a growing part of him that did not even care if it were the latter. We really shouldn’t do this, he thought to himself. But his inner doubts did not match the words that came out of his mouth. “Well…if you think it’s worth a shot, then…”

Suzuki sauntered closer to Sugiki. As they stood facing each other, both looked unsure if they should actually go through with this. It was an unfamiliar awkward tension that neither wished to endure any longer, so the two began leaning their faces toward one another. However, Suzuki noticed something and grabbed Sugiki’s face, squishing his cheeks with his hands. “Hold up, what’s this I see?” he asked suspiciously, peering into his partner’s mouth. “Looks like the tip of your tongue is poking out awful far for someone who was just gonna kiss me lightly.”

“And what about you, Suzuki-sensei?” Sugiki brought his thumb up to the other man’s mouth and ran it gently across his bottom lip. “I was peeking as well, and those lips of yours were parted quite wide.”

Neither could truly be upset at the other since both were guilty of the same offense. Which made it even clearer that it would be incredibly difficult to restrain themselves and keep to just the gentle kiss they had agreed upon. Suzuki knew this meant they needed to stop, but as he stared into his partner’s yearning eyes, he found it impossible to turn away. He wanted him, he had missed sharing this with him, and he could not allow this opportunity to slip away, even if he knew he might regret it later. “Ah, fuck it,” he mumbled as he slipped his hand around and clutched the back of Sugiki’s head, smashing their lips together forcefully. They quickly locked together in a tight embrace, their tongues thrusting vigorously into each other’s mouths. As ballroom professionals, they had previously compared their make out sessions to different styles of dance: sometimes their tongues slid smoothly together in a gentle foxtrot, at other times they undulated in a sensual rumba. This time, as months of pent-up passion poured out of each of them, it was more like an unconventional paso doble between two matadors battling for dominance.

Why’s it so easy to fall right back into this? And why does it feel so good with him? Suzuki wondered as they continued their maddening yet thrilling dance, relishing the feeling of Sugiki’s fingers twisting through his hair and tugging at his curls. Though in the past he had been more accustomed to romantic partners who would yield to him, there was something about the aggressive push and pull between the two of them that was undeniably appealing—in fact, he even preferred it now.

Sugiki began sucking on the tip of Suzuki’s tongue, causing a moan to slip out. Shit, this is getting out of hand. The urges he had harbored before about ravishing his late-night partner were coming back in full force; he needed to end this before he tried something regrettable again. Against the will of his body that was screaming for more, he managed to dislodge his tongue from Sugiki’s mouth and pull his face back. They breathed heavily as they gazed at each other, and Sugiki made a move toward him again, but Suzuki turned his face so the other man’s lips landed on his cheek instead. Sugiki seemed to accept this alternative, and placed a sequence of tender kisses along his jawline. “I knew this was a bad idea,” Suzuki lamented with a deep sigh.

“Why do you say that?” Sugiki whispered, pressing his lips to Suzuki’s ear.

“’Cause it’s gonna be really hard to stop now.”

“Indeed, I can see how…hard it is,” Sugiki noted with a sly glance downward. “That’s quite a bomer you’re sporting.”

Suzuki’s face turned red, though he also snorted out a laugh. “I seriously can’t tell if you’re fucking with me at this point, or you really don’t know that word. It’s boner.”

“Ah, right.” The sexual tension between them had cooled a bit during this brief exchange, but Sugiki found himself still craving more of his Latino partner. The fact that July was fast approaching and Norman would soon be arriving to take over Suzuki’s coaching made him truly want to make the most of the remaining time they had together. He was on the verge of suggesting something they had never done before, but struggled as he weighed his desires against logic telling him they should not take this any further. “It would be difficult for you to attempt to dance in that state. Perhaps…” His uncertainty caused him to trail off without finishing his proposal.

“Ah, y-yeah,” Suzuki laughed awkwardly. “I guess I could take a break and…”

Before he could walk away, Sugiki grabbed his arms and held him in place. “Perhaps,” he started again, sounding more confident this time as he met his partner’s eyes. “I could…take care of it for you.”

Suzuki’s eyes widened in disbelief. For one, he had never seen someone offer to get him off while wearing such a gravely serious expression. But more importantly, the fact that he was making this offer now when they had never gone beyond kissing was completely unexpected. And he knew allowing this to happen could jeopardize the comfortable working relationship they had developed with each other. Despite that, something awakened in him at the sound of the other Shinya’s words, and there was no way in hell he was going to turn him down. His mental state quickly switched over to the seductive mode that he typically got into when he went out to pick up women—though ever since their trip to Blackpool early in the year when he had started to recognize his feelings for Sugiki, he had actually not slept with anyone at all, and was currently in the longest dry spell of his adult life. Even if they were never officially dating, and even after their romance ended, it would have almost felt like cheating since he had sincerely fallen in love with him. A sensual grin spread across his face, his eyes half-lidded as he softly stroked Sugiki’s cheek. “Oh yeah? How do you plan to do it?” he purred flirtatiously.

Sugiki shivered as he was taken in by the sudden shift in Suzuki’s mannerisms. He did not give him an answer, but instead kept his eyes locked with his partner’s as he dropped down to his knees and reached for the waistband of Suzuki’s pants.

Suzuki raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t willing to do that.”

“Certainly not under the circumstances you presented me with before. That would have been highly undignified,” Sugiki explained in an agitated tone. “Under the right conditions, though, I don’t have a problem with it.” He pulled Suzuki’s pants down to his lower thighs, then slipped his hand through the opening in his underwear, pulling out his erection.

Suzuki chuckled as he noticed that, though Sugiki seemed to be willing himself to keep his expression as calm as possible, his eyes told the story of a man suddenly feeling apprehensive as he held another man’s dick in his hand for the first time in his life. “You say you’re fine with this, but it’s not like you’ve done it before.”

“Yes, well…” He did not finish his reply aloud, but thought to himself, For you—and only you—I’m willing to try just about anything. His hunger for this man had compelled him to push things further than he had intended, but at this point he could not back down. He gave Suzuki’s member some soft strokes with his hand, feeling it grow bigger and firmer. He brought his lips forward and placed them gently on the tip, then poked his tongue out and swirled it in circles around the head. He was stalling a bit due to his hesitation, and he knew Suzuki could sense that as he stared down at him in anticipation, so it was time to take the plunge. He moved forward and slipped the head of Suzuki’s erection into his mouth. He sucked lightly as he pressed him just a bit deeper inside, moving back and forth slowly as he got used to the sensation of having a foreign appendage inside his mouth. Once he got a bit more comfortable, he removed his hand and pushed further yet again, reaching a place where he had most of Suzuki’s length in his mouth. He began to relax a bit, and his head movements went from halting and erratic to smooth and consistent.

Holy shit, this is really happening. Suzuki closed his eyes and exhaled a lustful sigh. I can’t believe I’m getting a blowjob from a guy. He smirked as he thought on it further. No, not just any guy. The Shinya Sugiki. The Emperor. A man who sits near the top of the world, down on his knees for me. Fuck, that’s hot. The ego boost he got from this realization aroused him even further, making him want to feel the sensation of being completely enveloped by his partner. He gripped Sugiki’s hair and tried to hold him in place while shifting his hips forward, but Sugiki’s hand flew up and gripped the base of his shaft, preventing him from going any deeper. He shot a warning glare up at Suzuki, but did not stop what he was doing, now using his hand in conjunction with his mouth to stroke and suck him simultaneously. It seemed the balance of power was an issue between them, as it always had been; even though Sugiki had put himself in a vulnerable position, he still wanted to remain in control. Suzuki could respect that need, and though he still kept his hand resting on his partner’s head, he merely ran his fingers through his hair rather than made further attempts to steer his actions through force.

Suzuki recalled that the reason this had all started was because of their mistimed internal rhythms. There was certainly no more intimate demonstration of one’s rhythm than what Sugiki was doing to him currently, so he decided to concentrate on the pace of his partner’s actions. As soon as he put his focus on it, he was struck by how even and steady it was. Like a piece of music…oh my god, what if he’s playing a waltz in his head? A chuckle nearly escaped him, but he bit down hard on his lip to hold it back. Nah, he doesn’t even need music. He’s probably doing it to the count. One two three, four five six, one two three…it’s like I’m getting blown by a metronome. That mental image made him snicker aloud, causing Sugiki to stop and peer up at him quizzically. “Sorry, sorry. I just…thought of something weird.” He could tell from the look in his eyes that Sugiki was miffed that he was letting his mind wander when he was going extremely far out of his comfort zone to do this for him, so Suzuki felt the need to encourage him a bit. “Please don’t stop. It really does feel amazing.” Though he still looked slightly wary, Sugiki quickly got back into the same rhythm he had been using before. Clearly, thinking about anything was only going to get Suzuki in trouble, so he chose to just relax and enjoy Sugiki’s efforts.

Though the pace he was keeping felt good, it was not quite reaching the speed Suzuki would need to finish. The situation already felt delicate, and he did not want to seem like he was making demands of his partner, so instead of saying anything, he used the fingers resting on Sugiki’s head to gently tap out a faster rhythm. He immediately picked up on what Suzuki was subtly requesting of him, and altered his pace accordingly. Sugiki’s other hand reached around to squeeze one of his partner’s well-muscled ass cheeks. His fingers slipped ever closer toward the center, an avenue Suzuki was not ready to explore. “H-hey,” he protested firmly, causing Sugiki to return to merely caressing his backside. “Ah, Sugi…hngh…mmph.” He could not help but vocalize his pleasure as he drew closer and closer to his climax. He figured it was also probably fair to warn the other man so he could be prepared. “I’m gonna…gah!” He did not even finish the words before tossing his head back with a moan as a wave of ecstasy coursed throughout his body. Though Sugiki had been aware that this would be happening soon and had tried to brace himself, it was still a shock to feel another man’s essence spilling into his mouth. He swallowed a little bit, but the thick, unfamiliar texture sliding down his throat triggered his gag reflex and made him cough, causing most of Suzuki’s cum to dribble down onto his shirt.

Suzuki offered a hand to help Sugiki stand up. Even after pulling him up, he continued to grip his hand, flashing him a contented smile. “Well, I sure didn’t expect a training session like this.”

Sugiki could not help but grin back at him. His heartbeat quickened as they stared into each other’s eyes. He wished they could stay this way forever, but he knew that the longer they continued basking in the afterglow, the harder it would be to tear themselves away from each other. “Well then, shall we get back to training?”

“Whoa, hold on a minute,” Suzuki squeezed his hand tighter, keeping him from breaking away. “We might’ve solved my issue, but now it looks like you’re having one of your own.” His eyes darted downward to the obvious bulge in Sugiki’s pants, then looked back up at him with a lecherous grin.

“Ah, well, I…”

Suzuki swiftly eliminated the gap between their bodies, wrapping one arm around him while his other hand rubbed against the front of Sugiki’s pants. “Sucking me off got you pretty worked up, huh?” Suzuki murmured coquettishly. Sugiki could feel his neck and ears growing warm as he was once again being taken in by his partner’s highly effective seductive mode; it was hard to believe that a man who was so enticing in his everyday existence could amp up his sex appeal even more, but somehow Suzuki managed to pull it off. “You got such a low opinion of me that you didn’t think I’d return the favor?” he teased impishly.

Truth be told, this had all been quite an impulsive whim on Sugiki’s part, and he had not really thought ahead to what Suzuki might do for him in return. But now that the offer was on the table, there was no way he was going to pass it up. Sugiki draped his arms over Suzuki’s shoulders and gazed amorously into his eyes. “If you insist,” he answered softly before leaning forward to press his lips to his partner’s. The pace of this kiss was much more languid than the one they had shared earlier, yet still steeped with the passion of a tango as their tongues slipped past and against each other.

Suzuki began to shuffle his feet, leading them toward the side of the room as they remained attached at the mouth. They reached the benches and sat next to each other, then Suzuki pushed his weight toward Sugiki until he had him lying down. He brought his lips down upon Sugiki’s neck, kissing and sucking at his bare skin. Sugiki noted that he was definitely going to wind up with hickies from this, and would need to remember to keep his shirts completely buttoned up in the presence of others for the next few days, including at home with his mother.

Suzuki’s mouth drifted toward his throat, and he started moving on a pathway downward, placing kisses on each section of newly exposed skin as he undid his shirt buttons one by one. His other hand reached up to play with his nipples, and Sugiki could feel a part of him that wanted to resist; a man like him who was used to being in control was not entirely comfortable being put into such a submissive position. Still, he was willing to go against his own nature in this instance, as he craved the release his Latino partner was offering him.

After making his way down to Sugiki’s bellybutton, Suzuki went to work undoing the other man’s belt and unzipping his pants. He reached down into his underwear, frowning slightly as a realization hit him. “Um, wow. I could tell you were packing when our dicks said hello to each other in that first practice session, but god damn…” He sat up again and unveiled Sugiki’s erection, gawking at its impressive length. “Makin’ me feel inadequate here,” he muttered under his breath. Though he had desired Sugiki sexually for several months already, somehow he had never mentally prepared himself for the blow to his ego of being with a man who was better endowed than himself.

“You’re perfectly adequately sized, I can assure you.”

Suzuki looked dumbfounded for a second, then growled, “Your assurances are really shitty, ya know. How the hell’s being called ‘adequate’ supposed to make me feel better?!” In his mind, he added, Maybe someday I’ll fuck you, and we’ll see if you think my dick’s just ‘adequate’ then, but thought better of expressing that prospect aloud.

Sugiki was struggling to maintain a neutral expression, feeling a grin threatening to break out across his face. Getting Suzuki flustered was one of his favorite—and often easiest—forms of entertainment, and it was when he found him the most adorable. Though on second thought, perhaps this was not the smartest time to aggravate him, as it could cause his hot-headed partner to go back on his offer.

Suzuki narrowed his eyes at him, now noticing the smug glee Sugiki was trying to conceal. “You son of a bitch…” He had gotten him again, and though he was a bit peeved, he nevertheless loved seeing the spark of joy in the other Shinya’s eyes, which had become a rarer sight following their breakup. “You’re lucky I’m such a nice guy,” Suzuki said with a bit of a sneer as he began moving his hand in long strokes up and down Sugiki’s shaft. His partner sighed softly, closing his eyes and turning his head to the side, but Suzuki reached up and grabbed his chin, forcing him to face him again. “Hey. We ain’t dancing the waltz here. Don’t look away from me.” His lips curled up in a lascivious smile. “I wanna see your face when you come.” His grin widened even more as he watched Sugiki’s entire face turn beet red. “Wow. I’ve never seen you blush that hard before.” After repeatedly falling victim to his partner’s efforts to mess with him, Suzuki was pleased to achieve a small victory of his own.

As Suzuki continued to caress him, Sugiki tried to maintain the eye contact that the other man wanted, but it felt too intimate, to the point where it was uncomfortable for him. He continued facing upward, but instead of concentrating on what was in his field of vision, he fixated his attention on the rhythm Suzuki was using to pleasure him. Like when he danced, it was a bit inconsistent and unconventional, yet imbued with passion and enthusiasm. In any case, after spending months secretly wondering what it would be like if they pushed beyond just kissing, being touched by Suzuki like this was quite the thrill.

Suzuki saw a blissful smile appear on his partner’s face, which in these circumstances actually annoyed him. Ugh, why’s he always so elegant? I don’t wanna see that gentlemanly front when I’m jerking you off. He started pumping his hand faster, hoping to coax more of a lustful reaction out of Sugiki. His response of breathing slightly faster and biting down lightly on his lip was not nearly enough to sate Suzuki’s desire to see him let go, so he quickened his pace even more. Soon after, a slight hitch in Sugiki’s breath and his body tensing under him were the only signs Suzuki got to indicate that his partner was climaxing, which was immediately followed by the sensation of ejaculate spilling over his hand.

After taking a few moments to recover, Sugiki arose from the bench. “Let me get something so you can clean up,” he offered as he started walking across the room. He returned shortly with a towel and handed it to Suzuki.

“So…did you like that?” Suzuki asked curiously as he wiped his hands.

“Hmm? Of course. Why would you think otherwise?” Sugiki answered, looking confused.

“I mean, you weren’t really reacting very much, so…”

“Does the end result not make it obvious that I found it pleasurable?” He glanced at the towel Suzuki held, seeming to view it as proof of his point.

“Okay, yeah, obviously you got off, but I’m just more used to…”

“Oh, is it that you usually have women screaming your name in bed?” he chortled.

“That’s…not what I was trying to say…though it is true,” Suzuki acknowledged. “I just thought maybe I’d…I dunno, get to see you let loose a bit, get sloppy or something.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t tend to do that.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Despite his best efforts, he had not succeeded in making Sugiki drop the impervious guard he kept around himself. Maybe I can’t get you to show me that side of you yet, but someday…

Sugiki could tell it was frustrating for the other Shinya that he had not given him the sort of responses he was accustomed to, but the fact was that it was difficult to open himself entirely up knowing that they could not be in a relationship at this point. Still, he could not let go of the hope that they might one day be together. If anyone’s capable of pulling that side out of me, you’ll be the one to do it.

Once they finished cleaning up, Sugiki disposed of the towel and changed into a new shirt before returning to his partner once more. “All right, shall we resume practice, then?”

“Yeah, but could we work on some dances I already know first? My brain’s a bit…foggy right now, so it’d be hard to try something so new.” He always fell into a fairly relaxed state following sex, so he wanted to save Sugiki the headache of trying to teach him quickstep when it was likely he would absorb very little.

“Certainly, but do you not think we should at least try to see if the compatibility of our rhythms has improved at all first?” He looked at Suzuki with a sly smirk. “That is why we did this, yes?”

“O-of course,” Suzuki stammered. “Yeah, let’s test it out a bit.” They positioned themselves in hold once more, beginning to move to the tune of Sugiki’s humming. Their feet flew across the floor in the basic quickstep patterns Suzuki had learned so far, each of them keeping in mind the feeling of the internal rhythms they had sensed from each other. This time around, they were able to continue moving at high speeds without stumbling, dancing around the room for a while before coming to a stop. Both were panting heavily from the effort, and as they stayed in hold a bit longer, Suzuki blushed slightly as Sugiki beamed at him with a dreamy smile on his face.

“Perfect.”

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Oh ho ho…my Shinyas are very naughty boys! Much more so than they’ve been in the story so far (I suppose a similar level to the Taboo side story, but that’s not exactly canon). I’m excited to get this done and add another fic to the very small pile that currently exists. I really hope more fans will join me in celebrating this beautiful manga and its central pair of dance crazy dumbasses who can’t yet—but will hopefully, eventually—figure out how to make it work between them *cough*just be switch goddammit*cough*. In the meantime, I’ll keep wallowing in headcanons that might possibly become fics if the mood strikes me again. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! ^_^

[theres-a-goldensky]

32 Reddie Fic Recs

In honor of the joy I feel in finally getting out of this miserably terrible fucking year of my life, I thought I’d do something fun and make up a list of Reddie fic recs, since this has fandom has taken over my life recently. Strap in, friends. This is gonna be a long one.

These recs are in the order in which I read them. 

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

IT chapter 2 list part two - Reddie

Good Omens fic

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

Various BL Series fic (fandoms: Love By Chance, TharnType, 2Moons series, My Engineer, Until We Meet Again, 2gether, History3: Trapped)

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

All fics are Reddie, all are complete.

** - denotes personal favorite

1. first love / late spring by vowelinthug - ~36,000 words, explicit - They both survive It, but not without some injuries, both physical and psychological. Richie takes Eddie to a secluded cabin to help him recover. And then they accidentally make a podcast. Nice slowburn, a good Richie characterization. I liked the conversations between the two of them, in particular one about Richie’s disdain for shoes that was pitch perfect.

The doctor’s evil eye is on both of them now. “Your friend is gonna be fine. Broken collarbone and a lot of blood loss, but the arm stays on, for now anyway.” Probably at the way Richie sags in relief so hard he groans in pain, the doctor stops looking so severe. “He’s a tough guy. I’ve never seen anyone regain consciousness from that much blood loss just to give me a full medical history.”

“Oh my god,” says Richie, covering his mouth. “I like him so much.”

Bill pats his shoulder in sympathy.

2. the fireworks that go off when you smile by zach_stone - ~10,000 words, teen - Post-movie the adult Losers, including Stan, go on a vacation together. There’s just lots of Richie staring at a wet, shirtless Eddie and pining.

Richie blinks at him, his stomach doing a fucking somersault, pinned under Eddie’s weirdly passionate stare. He swallows another mouthful of beer to stall for time, shifting his gaze away. Spread out before him, the lake looks like flat, black glass. “Jeez, is the risk analyst really telling me to ignore the risks? What’s the world coming to?” he manages to joke.

He expects Eddie to roll his eyes, to huff and lean away again, but he doesn’t. He says, still earnest, “I just think some things are worth the risk.”

And Richie doesn’t know  what  the fuck to do with that. He resolutely tells himself not to puke on Ben and Beverly’s porch, because he thinks if he did it would just be the words  I love Eddie Kaspbrak a hundred times over, all puddled on the slats of wood. He stands up rather abruptly. “I should go to bed,” he says, aware that he’s talking too loud, being too fucking obvious. “I’m jetlagged as fuck. Also maybe a little drunk.”

3. oh, i want the truth to be known by ShowMeAHero - ~7000 words, explicit - Richie sees Eddie die in the deadlights and then manages to save him at the last second, but It skewers him instead. I’m honestly not sure why there isn’t more fic with this premise, because Richie sacrificing his own safety for Eddie and then Eddie losing his shit is absolutely, 100% my jam.

The claw isn’t in Eddie’s chest. Instead, it’s in Richie’s, caught in his side, pinning him to the ground. He chokes on a scream, caught in his throat, and pushes at Eddie, just trying to get them away. He rolls into him, ripping Pennywise’s claw through his side to get away, but once he’s free, he’s scrambling into a half-stumble and dragging Eddie with him until they’re hidden under an outcropping of rock. His side is bleeding, he can feel it, and his entire fucking abdomen hurts, and, for a moment, it’s all he can process.

“Holy shit, Richie,” Eddie exclaims. The pain shuffles to the back of Richie’s mind so he can focus on Eddie instead. He sounds winded, but he’s fucking alive, unhurt and breathing and okay, and Richie huffs a laugh. He’s in so much fucking pain, but he can’t even figure out where it’s all originating from, and the only thought cycling through his brain is it’s okay, he’s okay, Eddie’s okay, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, over and over.

4. we'll be a fine line (we'll be alright)  by buckyjerkbarnes - ~9,000 words, teen - Richie and the other Losers in the hospital after killing It, waiting for news on Eddie. Richie has a bit of a breakdown.

The ambulance ride had been the longest twenty minutes of Richie’s life. He'd tried not to get in the way of the EMTs who worked frantically to keep Eddie alive; who were far more patient with him than Richie likely deserved. By the time they'd rolled up to the emergency entrance at the hospital, Ben stamping his breaks as the rest of the Losers came to a grinding halt not fifteen yards away, Richie was still a sobbing mess. He couldn't see through the cracked lens of his glasses, and when Eddie, who had not opened his eyes or said a word since they were still in the sewers, was about to be wheeled out of sight, Richie made like a battering ram and lunged towards the pair of swinging doors.

“Sir!" An orderly yelped. "You can’t—!"

And Stan, who had materialized at Richie's elbow, told the orderly: "He's the husband."

5. ** It’s Hard to Tell Sometimes by gallopingmelancholia - ~21,000 words, explicit - Eddie divorces his wife and moves to LA to live with Richie. Richie promptly has like five emotional meltdowns over it. So much pining. So much. This is one of very few that has Eddie in the hospital for a realistic amount of time, which I appreciate. When writers have been hoping out of bed after a day or whatever, it really throws me out of the story.

“When can we see him?” Mike asks.

“He’s asleep, but we’ll send in a nurse when he wakes up. I wouldn’t expect it until tomorrow morning at the earliest. He’s been through quite a lot, eleven hours of surgery, and is on a lot of pain medication.”

“Will he survive? What’s the percentage? He’ll want to know the probability, he’s a risk analyst,” Richie says.

The doctor hesitates. “The chances he makes it through the night are 65%.”

“That’s not bad!” Richie says even as his heart drops to somewhere in the region of his feet. The others look at him pitifully. “Tell him we’re here and we love him. Tell him the Losers are here and we’ll see him soon.”

6. ** it’s a nice day to start again by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson) - ~6000 words, teen - Post-movie, Eddie wakes up one morning to discover that Richie and a woman had a shotgun wedding in Vegas the night before. Great, sad-but-trying-not-to-show-it Eddie here. (And yes, Richie is a total disaster gay who marries a woman on a whim.)

 “Are you sitting down?”

 “I didn’t even get out of bed yet! Bev please just tell me what the fuck is happening.”

 “Sorry, I’m sorry. Just- Richie got married.”

 “What? No he didn’t,” Eddie scoffs, throwing the covers off. “I’m not - he’s not even dating anybody, I see him all the time. It’s probably just a big joke or something, that’s-”

 “He got married, in Vegas. It’s all over Twitter, and he- he sent pictures to the group chat last night. She’s some other comedian. None of us have ever met her, he didn’t invite any of us.”

7. Oh, But He Makes You Laugh by MellytheHun - ~9,000 words, mature - Teenage Eddie has to deal with some serious jealousy when a new friend enters their group. This one has a good, slow realization on Eddie’s part.

The boy is in their grade, though not part of their social sphere; he’s nearly as tall as Richie, with light eyes, and walnut colored hair. Eddie recognizes him from his AP bio class, but can’t inwardly recall his name.

The boy nods toward Stanley while keeping eye-contact with Richie, and informs him, “alligators - they can grow up to twenty feet.”

Richie opens his mouth to argue with the new kid, but he’s cut off.

“Which is weird, cause they usually only grow four.”

Eddie watches in abject bewilderment as a hearty, genuine laugh  is startled out of Richie.

8. Richie Tozier: Pray Away the Gay by QueerOnTilMorning - ~4,500 words, teen - The official transcript of Richie Tozier’s comeback Netflix special. A lot of writers try to do Richie’s stand-up routine, but not many can nail it. This one feels realistic and contains actual, like, jokes and stuff.

Because I grew up in this little town called Derry, Maine--nope, absolutely not, do not cheer for that. Fuck Derry! I had this friend, for years he thought I was lactose intolerant, because he'd mention dairy and I'd be like "fuck Derry! Derry tried to fucking kill me!" No, I can eat cheese, I just hate my hometown. They did not fuck with the gays, in Derry. That's probably why I dress so shitty. It's a survival thing. I was already super into dudes. If I had developed fashion sense on top of that? No. Oh my God. It was so--I was so fucking scared all the time.

 And like, to put this in perspective, has anyone ever heard of Henry Bowers? Any true crime fans in the house? Henry Bowers, the baby serial killer? Yeah, you listened to that podcast! My friend Bill was on that podcast, doesn't he have a sexy voice? Anyway, Henry Bowers, also known very creatively as The Derry Killer, murdered a bunch of kids the summer we were thirteen. I say we, because that dude was in my fucking class. There was an active serial killer in Derry during my childhood and still, still my greatest fear was that someone would find out I was gay.

9. RICHIE TOZIER IS...THE COMEBACK CLOWN by owlinaminor & tinypersonhotel - ~11,500, teen - An excellent multimedia fic about Richie’s life with Eddie post-movie.

While Richie Tozier never stops talking, Eddie Kaspbrak never stops moving. Listening to a conversation between the two men is akin to watching a pinball machine with two balls going at once, slamming into each other and the walls and the levers and each other, lighting up their surroundings in a trance as mesmerizing as it is chaotic. (Kaspbrack laughed when I told him this metaphor—apparently Tozier spent many an afternoon at the town arcade when they were kids.)

Over the course of one twenty-minute walk with their dog, a beagle named Stanley, through their L.A. neighborhood, they manage to call off their engagement, call it back on, invite me, uninvite me, call the engagement off again, debate eloping, call the whole thing back on but disinvite everyone except me, and finally agree on what color napkins to have at the reception.

10. ** The Jenga Dream Date by stitchy - ~15,000 words, explicit - Richie and Eddie domestic fluff that starts at Ben and Bev’s wedding. It feels so sweet, and you can just see the happiness radiating off the screen. This is truly the ending they deserve.

Then a seriously, unbearably cute thought occurs to Richie. A thought he can’t immediately share with Eddie, because Bill and Mike each independently cornered him and made him swear not to steal Bev and Ben’s thunder.

Ah, fuck it.

“I can’t think why we would possibly be in another situation in the near future where there’s dancing but also my mother is there for some reason, but holy shit, Eds! I have got to see you dance with Mom. During this very special situation. For which I will make hand calligraphed invitations and hire a photographer and-”

Eddie’s eyes dart in either direction before he lets out a short, slightly hysterical laugh. “Uhhh, I  also have no idea when or why that would happen, or what sort of event that would be appropriate for.”

11. Bad Parts In by 50artists - ~9,000 words, not rated - It’s Richie that ends up in the hospital after it all goes down, and Eddie who has the crisis. And also some serious misapprehensions.

"I feel like Richie might be  slightly  weirded out," Eddie says dryly. "Like oh, hey, we've not spoken for decades and you're the straightest man I know, but it turns out I have been subconsciously in love with you since we were teenagers. I dunno, might make things a bit awkward."

"I'm sorry," says Beverly, "just to clarify, Richie Tozier is the straightest man you know?"

"Dude, have you seen his comedy? It's all, 'I love fucking chicks while drinking beer and watching football'."

"You mean the material that Richie doesn't write himself?'

12. ** We Found Love in a Chili’s ToGo by Amuly - ~14,000, explicit - Richie confesses his feelings to Eddie in the airport before they both headed back to their own lives. This is such a lovely story about friendship and love and putting yourself back together. And there’s some A+++ phone sex.

“Nah, Eds. It’s because I had a big gay crush and needed Stan to bitch at about it.”

Eddie frowned, then shook his head. “That doesn’t explain why you couldn’t bitch at me about it.”

“Well bitching about your secret crush to your secret crush is generally frowned upon, Eds. Kinda fucks up the ‘secret’ part.”

Eddie, bless his tiny heart, didn’t get it for a second. His expression scrunched up, about to say something stupid back to Richie, when his brain processed Richie’s words. In a second his expression fell open, jaw actually agape.

“Oh look: drinks!” Richie grabbed his marg, licking and drinking without even letting the waitress set it down onto the tabletop. Eddie barely had the courtesy left to let her set his down before he was grabbing at it.

13. ** Ask Me About My New Material by twoseas - ~7,000 words, explicit - I could read 10,000 stories about a confused and horny Eddie jerking it to Richie’s stand up without understanding why before they meet again in Derry. This one has a great Richie, who reacts like he got hit in the face with a bat when the truth comes out.

In the restaurant, as the gong resounded around them, Eddie looked up at a four-eyed, messy, middle aged Trashmouth and suddenly it all clicked.

 He had two thoughts.

Oh, he realized, it’s because I’m in love with the dumbass.

And, Aw fuck.

14. No Parenthesis by pineapplecrushface - 13,000 words, explicit - In the deadlights, Stan gives Richie some instructions on how to bring him back. Spoilers: it involves an orgy. And Richie and Eddie dealing with their feelings.

“Okay,” Mike said, holding his hands out to placate him, and honestly Richie was really fucking sick of Mike saying crazy shit and then somehow—somehow!—convincing them to do it anyway. “I’m not saying we have to do it. I’m just saying, the ritual exists and we could do it, and now that it’s out there, I feel like you should all have the choice.”

“Great. I choose no. I’m fucking leaving before I get ritualed into giving all my money to a cult leader and I end up spending the rest of my sad short life on an alpaca farm,” Richie said, standing up too fast and stalking across the room.

“Richie,” Bev said, and she sounded, unbelievably, like she was not thinking this was completely insane.

“Are you fucking serious?” He whirled around to look at them. They were all giving him varying levels of Richie, be reasonable, which was a look he was familiar with, but not when it came to sex rituals, for some fucking reason.

15. ** Stupid Deep series by anonymous - ~50,000 words, explicit - Richie has a huge dick, and Eddie is obsessed with it. Come for the super, super hot sex, stay for the sweet romance, twist of angst and happy ending.

It’s been five months since then, and Eddie has spent at least 40% of that time thinking about Richie’s big fucking dick. He spends about 20% working from home, 20% arguing with Richie about dumb shit, and the remaining 30% sleeping—this adds up to 110%, but that’s because there’s overlap between the sleeping and the thinking about Richie’s huge dick in the form of extremely graphic dreams.

He thinks about Richie’s dick in the shower. He thinks about Richie’s dick when they’re watching TV together. He thinks about Richie’s dick when he’s trying to eat breakfast. He hasn’t even seen it hard. But god, he thinks about it. Thinks about it hot and thick in his hand, thinks about it twitching as Eddie strokes it, thinks about it stretching his lips, thinks about it leaking precum all over Eddie’s fingers and tongue and stomach. And, most importantly—most vividly—he thinks about Richie’s dick inside of him, filling him up, fucking him.

At the same time, Eddie also spent a good amount of time, woven through the rest of his daily activities, falling so deeply in love with his best-friend-cum-roommate that it was disturbing at best. There was pining. There were lingering glances. There was lying on Richie’s bed while he was out just to ease the ache in his chest with Richie’s warm, familiar scent, which is disgusting and Eddie hates to think about it. There were, in Eddie’s darkest moments, daydreams about Richie holding his hand and kissing him and telling Eddie he’s in love with him. Like a fucking sap.

16. I’m quite alright hiding today by remusjohn - ~7,000 words, explicit - Eddie kisses Richie out of the deadlights, but Richie doesn’t know if that means anything.

On the first night they don’t do much of anything. They unpack (well, Eddie unpacks his massive bags while Richie tries to figure out how to sign in to his Netflix account on the tiny TV in the living room), and they order in, and they argue over what to watch while they’re eating, and Eddie falls asleep some hours later with his head tucked into Richie’s shoulder, and Richie tries not to think too much of it.

There’s been a lot of that, the last couple of days. Richie doesn’t know how to say, You kissed me to wake me up from the deadlights and I don’t know if you did it to save my life or if there’s something else too, but it’s kind of killing me, man.

So Richie doesn’t say anything at all.

17. Haunt Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me by Vulcanodon - ~20,000 words, explicit - AU where Eddie and Richie are ghost hunters who get stuck in a very trippy haunted house. This concept really shouldn’t work, and I’m not big on AUs in the fandom, but the relationship between the two of them really sells it. And, obviously, the pining. There’s so much.

The only time Eddie has ever witnessed Richie freaking out was when they had been fucking about in the woods near Montana for their werewolf episode. Eddie had been walking backwards, trying to get Richie and a creepy footprint in frame when he had suddenly felt nothing but air behind him. He had fallen for an impressively long time down the hill, blacking out briefly when a branch caught his head and when he came to Richie had been leaning over him, white and frantic, hands all fisted up in Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie, Eddie, Eds, Richie had said, nearly crying. Are you alright, can you talk?

Is my camera broken? Eddie had managed woozily to say, and for a moment Eddie had thought Richie might do something crazy like slap him or even kiss him.

He hadn’t done either in the end and Eddie remembers the disappointment, even with the haze of a mild concussion.

18. Five Times The Losers Gave Richie Permission by toomuchrootbeer -  ~11,000 words, mature - Each loser tries to let Richie know that they know in their own special way.  

“No I don’t mind,” Stan says evenly, shrugging his shoulders like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I don’t mind any of it.”

“Cool,” Richie chirps, grabbing his backpack off of the grass and pushing himself to his feet. “Pip pip Edward,” he calls. “Shall we endeavor to find you a cleaner wardrobe?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says back, but there is no venom behind his words.

But then Stan is reaching out, gripping Richie’s arm, “Dude what are you-”

“I don’t mind any of it, Tozier,” he repeats, voice lower and his words somehow more weighty, fixing Richie with an indecipherable look. “And I don’t think any of the other Losers would mind it either. If you wanted to,” he jerks his head in the direction of Eddie, “you know.”

19. String Theory by neverfaraway - ~17,000 words, mature - Richie starts slowly regaining his memories and has a disturbing experience in the deadlights.

The thing is, Richie knows this is a version of himself and Eddie that never existed. He can taste the pretence on the tip of his tongue, but the sticky air seems to sharpen and solidify around him. He can’t remember where he was before this moment, watching his fingers alight on the buckle of Eddie’s hundred-dollar belt.

The Voice wavers and Richie comes pouring through the cracks. It's painful to watch the careful way he places his hands on Eddie’s skin. "Fuck, I missed you," he says. "Even when I couldn't remember, I had a hole right through me, straight through the middle. You left a fucking entry and exit wound."

"Damnit, Richie," Eddie mutters, blinking rapidly. "Beep, beep."

20. hoping to be found by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson) - ~25,000 words, mature - Things don’t magically work out after Derry for Eddie. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he goes back to Myra and his depressig life. But at least now he has his friends. He has Richie.

With his memories back now, with all the knowledge of his mother and his placebos and his fake inhaler and his friends, it feels like Eddie has been living the last 27 years in sickly, yellow sepia tones. His memories and even the brief time he spent with everyone at the Chinese restaurant shine in his mind in vivid technicolor, and everything else pales in comparison.

He thought he would die, and now he doesn’t have a plan. His life in New York is miserable and cramped and leaves him feeling small, so he puts it off as long as he can.

The drive isn’t long, even with Eddie taking his time. He takes a detour just to drive along the coast and see the ocean, and stops at any given exit or National Forest along the way that strikes his fancy. He’s still home before nightfall.

21. After Derry series by pineapplecrushface - ~47,000 words, explicit - Richie and Eddie are both pining and miserable disasters post-movie. Until they finally get their shit together and figure some things out.

He woke when Eddie sat on the edge of the bed and touched his back, under his disgusting shirt. “Hey,” he said. “Your turn. I mean, your turn after I wash my hand again. What did you lie down in?”

“Your mom,” he said, sitting up and glaring at Eddie, who was half-naked, a towel wrapped around his waist. “How do you all look so good and I ended up looking like fucking Christopher Lloyd? Like, not young Christopher Lloyd. Present day.”

Eddie’s hand was still tucked under his shirt, rubbing a path across his lower back. “I guess you did grow into your looks.”

“Oh, fuck you, you weirdly muscular little shitweasel,” Richie said, escaping to the shower so he didn’t have to look at the slope of Eddie’s arms. He was weak for that, the line of a man’s shoulders and back. He was weak for all of Eddie, really. After everything he had seen, he guessed it was something he could admit to himself. There was no panic left in it.

22. for better, for worse by kaspbrak_kid - ~26,000 words, not rated - Eddie has just gotten through a messy divorce and is trying to deal with the fact that he’s been in love with Richie for 30 years, and then he has to go to Ben and Bev’s wedding. Not a great combination of things.

Eddie blows out a shaky breath and puts down his phone, then picks it back up again, restless. He scrolls up through his and Richie’s texts.

They’re not that frequent. They talk in the group chat, mostly. Eddie thinks about texting him all the time, several times a day, and then never does. It’s all just stupid shit, anyway. A dream he had or a movie he saw on TV that he remembers Richie used to like, and does he still like it? Some things his therapist tells him he should say, like that he’s been in love with Richie for somewhere between six months and thirty-odd years.

Instead, most of their private texts are just inane bickering, or Richie trying out jokes on him, or Eddie telling Richie how to clean the cut he just accidentally gave himself opening a can. He could have just googled it. But he asked Eddie.

23. feet on the ground, head in the sky by peggyolson - ~21,000 words, teen - I’m kind of a sucker for the slowburn, falling in love over distance trope. This one does it well, with bonus Richie dealing with his issues and figuring shit out.

Mostly, though, it’s just a slight tug at the back of his mind, another part of his day. A mumbled  let me call Eddie, like an afterthought, while he’s tapping his foot in line at Whole Foods.

Eddie always, always answers.

“Edward Kaspbrak,” he chirps during business hours, dry and glib, and Richie will respond in a deep, exaggerated baritone with something awful like  Mr. Kaspbrak, your test results are in and unfortunately you  will  keep shrinking at an alarming rate for the rest of your life, something barely funny that he says just to get a reaction.

(It had been  such  a mistake to give Richie his work number.)

24. it’s about time that you just unwind by fuckener - ~9,500 words, explicit - Eddie finds out that Richie is gay via his stand-up and promptly loses his mind.

“Yeah? Mine was weird, guys, I’m not going to lie. I came up with this really good idea on how to cause total chaos at a family event, you wanna hear it?” There it was - glasses adjustment, not even past the one minute mark. “If you really want to shake up another dull as fuck Thanksgiving with your parents, just wait ‘til you’re in your forties and your elderly father is spooning out his first helping of mashed potatoes for the night and then drop the bomb that you’ve been gay the whole time. Boom, happy Thanksgiving. Pass the sweet corn, I want to fuck the huge green dude on the can.” People laughed. Richie did that thing with his face between a smile and a scowl. “It’s the long game, yeah, but -”

Eddie slammed his laptop shut.

25. feel this burning, love of mine by floatingonthelehigh - 17,000 words, mature - The clown is a bastard. Richie gets a second chance.

“Don’t leave,” Eddie says quietly, and god  fucking  damn it, it breaks him that Eddie thinks he ever would.

“No,  fuck no, Eddie. I’m not going to.” He adjusts his grip on the jacket against Eddie’s stomach, winces when Eddie gasps in pain. Richie’s lip shakes again as he just keeps talking. “Frankly I’m insulted that you’d think I’d leave you, after just remembering you're my best fucking friend in the world, after twenty seven fucking years. My clown-murdering partner in crime! How could I ever leave you? Fuck no, I’m not leaving you, Eds. Idiot,” He laughs emptily, rubbing Eddie’s cheek, and pauses, beginning to nod to himself as a goal flits into his mind. “I’m going to pick you up, I’m going to get you out of here, to a hospital. Right now. And—” Eddie’s grip on his arm tightens, and he stops.

26. hey there demons (it's me, ya boi) by dharmainitiative - 12,000 words, teen - Is this another ghosthunters AU? Why, yes it is. I don’t know why there are two of these, but I enjoyed them both. This one is much lighter, and I really liked the way that the writer creates a very lived-in feeling as soon as you jump into this universe.

 As it was, BuzzFeed wasn’t a bad place to work, despite all the shit Richie gave it. He was paid well, there were always a bunch of cushy chairs everywhere, and the food that got brought in for lunch everyday was way better than the shitty grilled cheeses he ate at home for dinner. And despite what Richie expected, his coworkers were actually pretty cool, all things considered. Sure, they were all millenials who thought landing an internship at BuzzFeed was the height of success, but most of them were friendly, and occasionally funny, and like Richie, just excited to get paid to do something that required little to no effort.

 Most of them, at least. There was also Eddie Kaspbrak.

 Richie met Eddie his first day at BuzzFeed, when he was shown his desk and the incessantly chatty intern that sat at the desk right next to him. Working side by side — literally — let Richie learn a lot of things about Eddie Kaspbrak: he was a neurotic hypochondriac, exclusively owned Polo shirts, and talked faster than Richie could even blink.

27. New Page, Same Old Book by Rend_Herring - 17,000 words, explicit - Post-movie, Eddie divorces his wife, moves across the country and makes himself comfortable in Richie’s home. Richie is totally fine and not freaking out at all.

He clips the wall coming into the foyer, practically crashes over the little table he uses to stack mail—fumbles around with the chain, the deadbolt, before finally wrenching open the door.  It doesn’t occur to him until he’s sending it bouncing back against the doorstop, that it might have been a good idea to check the peephole and make sure it actually  wasn’t  some asshole out for a smash and grab in the middle of the night, or worse — a  fan.  

Richie would be less dumbfounded by either option.

He squints at the person standing in front of him, blinks.

“I’ve had this dream before,” Richie says, voice still croaky from sleep, “usually you’re wearing less clothes.”

“Jesus christ,” Eddie sighs, and rolls his eyes when Richie jumps back a bit, genuinely startled that it’s  not some manufacturing of his sordid imagination.  “I knew I shouldn’t have come here.”

28. Drives Me Wild by rustywrites - ~4,000 words, explicit - Eddie and Richie have hotel sex after RIchie wins himself an Emmy.

"I thought I told you no more jokes about how much you love my dick," Eddie says, shifting to straddle Richie's waist in earnest, rolling his hips downward just to emphasize his point, no doubt. His hands are braced on both of Richie's shoulders, pinning him back with his bodyweight, while Richie's hands are on his waist, holding him in place. It's not the most comfortable position, all things considered--Richie's knees are bent over the end of the mattress, his feet still on the floor, and they're both still in their fucking monkey suits.

Richie had tried to make the case with his agent and his manager that he should be allowed to attend the Emmys in the same clothes he always wore (jeans, a shitty t-shirt, a semi-fashionable jacket, you know, the works.) They were good enough for his specials, one of which had earned him the nomination to begin with, but both Anna and Johnathan had pushed back hard, and when Eddie had not-so-subtly sided with them, well. Suit and tie it was.

29. Rewrite by sachi_sama - ~13,000 words, mature - Stan is dead, but somehow only Eddie can see him as they race to beat It. That’s...probably not a good sign. (note: Stan stays dead in this fic.)

“Whoa. Hey, Eds, you being a weepy drunk over there?” Richie asks, and he scoots over into Stan's seemingly empty chair, and Stan vanishes as Richie's hand is suddenly on Eddie's shoulder.

“I just—I saw...” Eddie pauses, and he wipes his hands over his eyes, sniffling. When's the last time he cried? It makes his head hurt every time. “Fuck. I'm sorry, guys.” He stands abruptly. “I'm gonna go splash some water on my face.” He hurriedly exits the room and he hears Mike asking what he saw, but Eddie is already power-walking across the restaurant to the bathroom, aware Dead Stan is hot on his heels.

“Lucky. The bathroom is empty,” Stan says as he leans against the wall. Eddie looks at him, really looks, and he sees the blood on Stan's wrists.

30. ** we are all going forward, none of us are going back series by theappliepielifestyle - ~21,000 words, teen - Richie gets stuck in a time loop and forced to repeat their last stand at Neibolt over and over until he gets it right.

Richie hears himself finish saying Let’s kill this clown  and it’s only when he finishes forming the  n  that reality sets in. What the  fuck -

He whirls around. Everyone’s standing around him, just like they were last night - they’re in front of the fucking house, it’s standing again.

“What the fuck,” Richie croaks. “No, come on - what’s going on? Ohhhh fuck.”

He only lets himself stare at it for a few seconds of unbridled hate before he keeps looking at the others, who are now staring at him, pausing from where they’d all taken a step towards the house before looking back and stopping to watch Richie’s nervous breakdown.

31. ** keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. by theapplepielifestyle - 16,000 words, teen - Eddie dies, sort of, and meets Stan in the afterlife. The two of them realize that they can communicate with their friends in their dreams. Eddie has to watch Richie slowly breakdown in his absence.

32. ** happily ever afters all the way around series by theapplepielifestyle - ~35,000 words, teen - I have so much appreciation for this author’s desire to fix the ending by any means necessary. In this one, that good old turtle lends a hand and sends Richie back in time to fix everything. It’s...a lot.

Then it smooths out into an actual scene, if jumpy: a sigil on wooden boards that look a lot like the floor of Richie’s apartment. The sigil is probably drawn in blood, but it could also be red paint. Although Richie’s being  very  optimistic about that. Anyway, the dream is mostly that: the sigil being drawn, slow and precise, by Richie. It’s dark in the dream, and the sigil being drawn is overcut with more fleeting images, chased with sounds: Stan’s bloody hand dangling out of a bath. Stan as a kid, on the tail end of saying something as he walks home in the evening. Eddie with blank eyed, slumped in IT’s lair. Eddie as a kid, in mid-argument in the clubhouse. A voice so deep and impossible that it hurts, a voice that reminds him of the turtle’s gaze:  come back come back you can change the -

At the end of the dream, the scene will stabilize. Dream-Richie will say some shit he can't make out. Then he'll say the one thing he can make out, which is: I’m coming.

And then he’ll wake up.

LINK TO REDDIE FIC REC LIST PART TWO 

[innovativestruggles]

TsukiYachi speculations, thoughts and theories based on canonical evidence - PART 2

EDIT: Read Part 1 here

Okay following on from my original thesis, I thought I would put up a Part 2 now that I have finally caught up with the manga. And seeing as the manga is in it’s final arc (though this may take awhile to complete considering how long an arc takes), I thought I would do a final wrap up of my TsukiYachi speculations/theories up until the timeskip (final arc of the manga). If I see any other interesting stuff during the final arc, I will write a Part 3 but judging from what I have read so far, I am unsure if there will be any more details.

In saying all this, Part 2 is relatively short as the interactions between Tsukki and Yachi are non-existent minimal. So what I will do is draw on some comparisons between the earlier parts of the manga series and the arc before the timeskip. Do I make sense? My mind has been a jumble these past few months ughh

WARNING: This post contains some manga spoilers

Interactions

Following on from the Shiratorizawa arc, it’s sad to see the very minimal page time for Yachi. Tsukki still had some of his moments but there was nothing major in terms of character development. There were scenes of flashbacks that looked at comparing his development re; before vs. after but that was pretty much it. 

Yachi just had a few panels of interesting facial expressions during the game.

Yeah I’m gonna put them in below even if it is irrelevant to TsukiYachi - cause Yachi is a gorgeous lil freaked out bean. And mind you, a couple these reactions involved Tsukki blocking so yeah maybe it is like 30% relevant (don’t ask me how I came to that percentage) lmao

Comparisons with Earlier and Later Chapters

I want to use the Shiratorizawa arc as the ultimate baseline for this paragraph, as this was where we saw the most (and important) TsukiYachi moments hehe. So having just caught up with the manga, I’d still like to say that Yachi’s page time over time becomes less and less. When she was first introduced to about the first quarter of the Inter High Spring Tournament prelims, we get to see quite a lot of Yachi. Then it dropped dramatically until the Shiratorizawa arc and then very, very minimal again thereafter. 

Likewise on Tsukki’s end, post-Shiratorizawa we see a lot less of him (prob because his major development time has been done and dusted). 

So my concluding thoughts? We don’t see anymore Tsukki character development after this arc, so the one and most important time for his growth occurred with Yachi having extra page time (yeah she makes a comeback with more page time just for this dork). Hehe, overanalysing much? Yeah I think so too but I fucking love it, cause it proves this ship ain’t no crack ship. 

Again, Furudate could pick anyone to get in on the Tsukki character development commentary (he did so with Yamaguchi in the earlier parts of the manga, and considering how close Yama is to Tsukki, I would think Furudate would use him again. Or even Kiyoko! She’s the damn manager! but yeah he chose cute Yachi instead).

Post Spring Nationals (before timeskip)

YO CHECK THIS OUT! FURUDATE DREW THEM NEXT TO EACH OTHER AGAIN! 

FOR THE SECOND DAMN TIME! 

Cause we all know how important a panel with all them players are sitting down together and eating. The panel below was of the team after they finished up at Nationals. LOOK AT THEM! LOOK AT TSUKKI AND YACHI EATING BESIDE EACH OTHER! I can’t. I’m gonna cry tears of joy.

AND THEN THIS ONE! WHEN THEY WERE SAYING GOODBYE TO THE GRADUATING THIRD YEARS! Ughhhhhh ... look at how small Yachi is next to Tsukki. These twwwwwwooooooo <333 

Furudate thank you for feeding my TsukiYachi soul. Like one panel after another. I’m gonna faint....

Extra Info on Star References

I already wrote this in my other post, but I wanted to put an image of how much Yachi loves her damn stars...HER BLANKET...AND THE LIL END OF THE SANTA HAT AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH 

(and Tsukki with his giant star in the manga)...I’ve lost count of how many star shirts he got in varying colours and with different star sizes lmao...

Timeskip

Not much to post here except the fact that Yachi looked adorably pretty and her star accessory migrated to her ears as earrings instead. Yeah this girl still obsessed with them stars. 

So I am looking for future references whether grown up Tsukki still wearing his star shirts..or got any other...variations...

Currently awaiting for more chapters. Fingers crossed Furudate gives us more subtle references for grown up TsukiYachi teehee.

Bonus

The three lil munchkins all grown up. Lmao Tsukki looks so sass here..

Bonus Bonus

Unsure why Tanaka gotta be in this image but Tsukki and Yachi together in a merchandise promotion for Season 2

Bonus Bonus Bonus

Both these precious dorks were born in September (Yachi: September 4th, Tsukki: September 27th). They be September babies together <333

Why are these two so matching?!?!?!?!? <3

I had so much fun doing this! HAHA! The major evidence are all in the first post I wrote. So this one is just some extra materials I found along the way and whilst finally catching up in the manga.

Also, for @mimi-cee-hq​ because I know you will always be interested in TsukiYachi materials hehe

That’s all folks ! Peace out !

[arkus-rhapsode]

My Hero Academia Chapter 217 Review

So, it’s been a while since I did a review of this, eh? Yah, sorry. And next week is a hiatus so, lets dive in

We open up on Bakugou and Deku fighting, well more training. As Bakugou is trying to force the Black Whip to activate. All Might has to tell Bakugou that this is about testing Deku and making sure he doesn’t release the Black Whip unintentionally.

We get a flashback revealing that now that Bakugou is in on the One for All secret, he now gets to be meeting with Deku and All Might. I can’t help but imagine Bakugou being at least a little giddy on the inside considering he now gets to hang out with his favorite hero. Though he’s spending it with Deku so maybe it balances out.

Anyway, we get confirmation here that All Might did not know of these multiple quirks and likely Nana didn’t either. So this makes Deku the first of all the users to complete one for all.

Also, we see Bakugou’s addition this duo’s dynamic, he is master of cutting straight to the point. Already, asking questions to move the conversation forward. And when Deku suggests that this was possibly was caused through external means, Bakugou is the one who suggests that this was thanks to All for One.

Bakugou compares the quirks of All for One and One for All, as well as being the one who puts forward the fact that the quirk of One for All originated from All for One.

We cut back to the present where Bakugou’s trying to force out the black whip, but All Might needs to reel him back a little. Deku says that the quirk will only activate when with his feelings. My guess is from what the Hell Boy looking guy said, the feeling Deku needs to have to awaken Black Whip isn’t danger, but rather, feeling of grabbing or catching something or something. So maybe we should get Iida and start a chase or something?

Okay, make up your mind already Hori! Look I appreciate that Horikoshi had seemed to make it out as Deku needed to master the percentage portion of All for One to withstand the physical taxation of quirks like Black Whip. But now it seems like its implying that Deku should start figuring out how to unlock it instead of waiting till the fiiture like he had said 2 weeks ago.

I guess what this could be implying is that Deku should learn what “feeling” activates his other quirk, but he shouldn’t use it until he’s mastered the strength portion of the quirk. Now that would be fine if that were the case. Its also a possibility that this is a transnational issue and I might just be misinterpreting it.

Also, Deku is a little hung up on the comparison to All for One. And likely the fact if this was caused by him, its very likely All for One might be able to do other things to his body.

We cut away to the best part of the chapter.

All of class 1-a and class 1-b hanging out and enjoying dinner together.

We see Kirishima and Tetsutetsu discussing quirks, and it highlights what I said about them during the team Todoroki vs team Honenuki fight. That Tetsutetsu and Kirishima, while almost a joke on how similar they are, are fundamentally different people. As Kirishima suffers from a lack of confidence while Tetsutetsu suffers from overconfidence. I know its pretty much a foot note in the grand scheme of things, but I do appreciate that Hori does go the extra mile with these characters when he could’ve just made it the simple joke of, “their the same person basically.”

Also, Tetsutetsu brings up that while he can become iron, its only so hard. But Kirishima, he can keep hardening. I bet in his unbreakable mode, Kirishima is so much harder than Tetsutetsu that he could potentially crack his iron. But as iron, Tetsutetsu doesn’t have to worry about fire or other extreme weather cause his skin is metal. Kirishima will have to worry though, as while he is hard, he’s still made of flesh which can burn or freeze.

Also we have Momo and Kendou catching up with eachother. Then, my personal favorite, Tokoyami getting asked by Komori if he has photos of Hawks from off duty.

And yes, Mineta is locked in a clockwork orange chair. Actually that’s kinda brilliant.

I wish we could do more, but we gotta get to plot.

Wow... Now that Todoroki mentions how when they fought during the sports fest, Deku told him to come at him with everything he had and yet Deku wasn’t truly giving everything he had. Now to be fair, as Deku tries to say, this power just started to manifest, so its not like that was intentional. But you get what I mean here, that really awesome moment has been a bit cheapened in hindsight.

Well, I’m still glad someone is trying to press Deku about the two quirk thing cause last week everyon kinda dropped it. Though Todoroki now is dropping it so...

Well that all aside, Todoroki has actually texted back endeavor. Though its mainly to learn about the flashfire, but hey, baby steps.

Oh you just know Endeavor has been checking his phone every other goddamn minute.

We cut to the UA teachers meeting and they pretty much are done discussing where Shindou will be going.

We see Mic finally say what the fandom has kinda been saying for a while now, Aizawa sees some of himself in Shinsou. Which... Yeah, a super powerful quirk that could be totally used for evil, but you still have something on the inside that makes want to do good. Also, you’re really both pretty surly.

But Mic also asks if SHinsou reminds him of Shirakumo, likely the flame haired guy in Aizawa’s flashback last chapter. And can I take a minute to say I love how Hori likes to foreshadow new character? Because he often doesn’t just drop them in as an individual, but he tends to show them with characters that have already established. Like when Gentle was going through famous villains he mention All for One and Stain, but then mentioned two other guys who will potentially be related to other obstacles. Or like with Overhaul’s gang who first appear during a Twice focused chapter.

Anyway, we cut to Eri who is naturally a little scared of Monoma.

So Monoma was brought here to copy Eri’s quirk, but considering his... everything (I love that line) It might be best that Mirio and Deku be here to.

Monoma explains that he can’t use quirks that accumulates power through converting it, then its basically a dud. Same with Eri here.

Mirio asks why then was Monoma even brought here.

Aizawa says that having Monoma copy it would’ve helped Eri with control and here we go again. Adorable Eri moments.

I wanna take this moment to say Eri’s however, don’t feel like a cheap gimmick to pull at the audience’s heartstrings like other daughteru characters. She actually lived a life of physical and psychological torment and is still haunted it by it. Its not like we have one arc, boom, your cured from depression and can now exist just to do cute shit. So while Eri let go of Overhaul’s psychological grasps, she is still likely holding a lot of self loathing for her powers and what its done to people. So I wanna say that Eri is a great example of the cute young child character with a tragic backstory to make the audience care about protecting her, because she actually really needs it.

I know, kinda a wierd tangent, but with some recent shit in other series, some child characters just seem to exist to be cute after their “tragic” backstory and it bugs me.

And our chapter ends, with Deku giving a vote of confidence that she will one day control her powers and he to vows he’ll do the same.

Post Chapter Follow Up: This chapter was great. Last week I had some issues, mainly because this recent arc kinda has the same problem as the Overhaul arc. Namely, it starts off really strong, has a contender for one of the greatest moments in the series, then a twist out of left field happens and the entire few chapters become a total cluster fuck. Which while last week, we were all happy for Shinsou and Uraraka, but how that arc concluded was still a bit of a disappointment when you saw how it was going before.

This chapter however, was a perfect little epilogue.

Positives are all of the character work from Todoroki and Endeavor, to Deku and All Might’s dynamic shift with the introduction of Bakugou, to Eri and Deku etc. I also wanna say this chapter is full of content, yet it is paced wonderfully.

Nothing feels too long, nothing feels too short. It also manages to start setting some stuff for the future. But nothing so obvious that its like, “This is what the next arc will be about!” no this was a self contained little chapter and I really enjoyed that.

I have no negatives for this chapter. Any that I could think of, I might blame that on more just what came before this chapter, but its nothing that it could fix or change right now.

Final Verdict: 10/10

While I have issues with the last third of the joint exercise arc, this chapter on its own is still a great epilogue to it

Great bits of character

Great bits of development

Hints of foreshadowing

Just all around good

[dailytechnologynews]

Common PSU Misconceptions: Adopted from LTT forum.

This is just some misconceptions I hope to flatten out in regards to PSUs, I have adopted this from another user on LTT forum (with permission!).

“80+ rating is the best indicator of PSU quality”

Not wholly true. You also have to look at ripple, voltage regulation, transient response, noise, fan bearing, topology, load regulation (including 12V crossloads), temperatures (includes rated temperature, 30C 40C 50C etc.). That’s why even though Raider II spinoffs like EVGA GQ and Be Quiet! Pure Power 10/11 are Gold, they are still worse than Corsair CX in quality (ACRF vs Half Bridge LLC). 

​

“You should get a higher wattage PSU because of efficiency curve”

First, let’s look at what an efficiency curve on a modern PSU looks like.

(Left percentage is 115VAC, right is 230VAC) Efficiency peaks at 200/650 = 31% of the rated wattage at ~91.5/93%, then decreases until it hits ~88/92%  at max load and ~87.5/91.5% above 700W. The difference between max load and peak load efficiency is 3.5/1%, which is extremely insignificant. 

Even on older platforms, this trend of efficiency plateauing above ~20-40% load is present.

Now for the real world calculations: let’s say that a person is debating on whether to get a 550W or 750W PSU for a build that consumes 400W when overclocked to its max. Also, he’s debating on whether to get the Corsair RMx 550 or 750. 

These are the efficiency curves for both:

RMx 550W

RMx 750W

The 550W has ~90/92% efficiency at 400W, and the 750 also has ~90/92% efficiency at 400W. Conclusion? He should get the 550 since it’s probably much cheaper, he doesn’t need 750W anyway since his build consumes 400W max, and the efficiency is the same!

​

“Get more wattage than you need because it will last longer/running your PSU at max will significantly decrease its lifespan” 

First off, most modern not trash PSUs are rated for 40C or higher, which is good for most cases. And the advertised wattage is usually CONTINUOUS, not PEAK. If a 550W continuous PSU at 40C were not able to deliver 550W constantly at 40C, then that would be false advertising and the manufacturer would get sued. Thus, the claim that running the PSU at max would significantly decrease its lifespan is generally false. Besides, most PSUs are overbuilt to ~120%+ of their rated wattage, and you can see that from where the protections are set. 

More wattage = last longer isn’t necessarily true; a MOSFET or the fan can still fail under high wattage PSUs. In fact, higher wattage PSUs can be more dangerous; this is especially true for single rail PSUs, because highly set OCP (OPP’s even slower!) is much slower than lower set OCP. And in the event of a short within the PSU or within the motherboard, FET/VRM failure on the motherboard etc. the OCP/OPP on the PSU won’t be fast enough to trip before the short causes massive damage on the PSU and/or the motherboard.

A demonstration on why higher wattage PSUs are more dangerous. The reasoning.

​

“PSUs branded by [Brand name] are always good” 

Every brand except Delta and Diablotek, etc have made good and bad PSUs (Delta have made only good PSUs if you don’t care about noise, and Diablotek only makes bombs). The most common brands I've seen people spout as “never having made a bad PSU” are Seasonic and EVGA. 

First off, both have their fair share of bad PSUs. Look no further than Seasonic’s S12ii/M12ii/EVO series or their S12III series, and EVGA’s G3 (protections are set too high)/BQ/BT etc. 

Secondly, EVGA doesn’t even make PSUs (that job goes to FSP, HEC, Super Flower, RSY, Andyson etc.), and Seasonic along with Super Flower often outsource to RSY because their manufacturing capacity is small. If Seasonic/Super Flower choose to manufacture a certain PSU themselves, the Quality Control will be worse on those because every part is outsourced, compared to FSP, CWT etc who do not outsource the PCB-A. 

This misconception also falls under statements such as “just get a brand name PSU, they’re all fine”. 

​

“Modularity is extremely important for the consumer” 

Truth: unless the person in question is doing Cablemod, Mod vs Semi-Mod will make absolutely no difference, as the cables that are preattached on semimod PSUs will be necessary cables, such as the 24pin for motherboard. Also, in my and many other people’s experiences, on lower wattages (<=550W) nonmod is actually EASIER to work with than semi/full mod because there’s only a few cables left over from nonmod, which are easily ziptied and tucked under the PSU shroud (or left out in the open). Of course the issue of nonmod vs semi-mod is subjective, but at least I have found that the ~2 cables to ziptie after all the cables are attached on nonmod PSUs are easily dealt with. 

​

“Japanese Caps are the most important factor of a PSU's quality”

A PSU is not just a box of caps. There is also the bridge rectifier, transformer, MOSFETs (particularly the 12V ones), fan quality, and topology to worry about when judging a PSU’s quality. The capacitor plague is over; for most modern PSUs, tier 2 Teapo/whatever else caps are as good as Japanese caps, and MOSFETs/the fan are usually the first to fail anyway (Stefan Payne). 

​

“PSU calculators are good for estimating your system’s wattage” 

Ever notice how PSU calculators have affiliate links for their recommended PSUs? Yeah, they’re not there for YOUR benefit, they’re there to make money. And in this case, it’s by overestimating the wattage a lot so that they make money off higher wattage PSUs, which cost more thus bringing better profit margins. Outervision is by far the worst offender here; when I put in an RX 5700 XT, 3600, 2x8gb RAM, 1 SSD, 1 HDD, I got ~550W for my power consumption during gaming. However, when I look at Tom’s Hardware power consumption measurements, I see that the 3600 draws about 70W when PBO is turned on during gaming, and RX 5700 XT full OC draws 250W during gaming. Add 30W for everything else (because everything else draws minimal wattage) and we get 350W, which is FAR from the 550W that Outervision proclaimed. 

Be Quiet!’s PSU calculator doesn’t brashly overestimate as much as Outervision’s; when I put in the same specs, I got 387W, which is still overestimating by ~37W but not as much as 550W. However, Be Quiet! Calculator is still overestimating for their own benefit, not yours. Moral of the story? Use THW’s power consumption measurements for the CPU and GPU, then tack on 30W for your true power consumption when gaming and overclocking.

​

“Get a PSU with higher wattage than you need for headroom” 

Nothing about the current trend of CPU and GPU power consumption says that their power consumption will go up in the future. In fact, with die shrinks, the opposite is likely to happen, as same core CPU from Zen+ to Zen 2 power consumption has dropped, similarly with GCN to RDNA. 

[imaginesofeverykind]

Humans Are Oddities 2.2 [Connor DBH]

Pairing: Human!Fem!Reader x Connor (sorry i forgot to specify hecK)

Fandom: Detroit Become Human

Prompt: A thousand questions can and will be asked but it won’t be enough to get you to talk. Giving up the location of Deviants is an immediate betrayal, one you aren’t taking lightly. But its a classic tale of you want something he has and he wants something you have. If he wants the information he’s going to have to meet your terms and conditions. 

Part(s): 2 of ?? [Part 1 is here!]  [[PART 3]] [[PART 4]] [[PART 5]] [[PART 6]] [[PART 7]] [[PART 8]]

Tags down the bottom!

Word Count:  2,201 

Never in your lifetime had you thought you would see yourself in handcuffs and sitting uncomfortably in a metal chair inside an interrogation room. Of course, since deciding to help Deviants this scenario had popped into your head many times, but you never thought you’d get caught. It was a risk worth taking in your eyes, helping so many lost and helpless Androids flee was the most important thing to you.

Unheard to you, both the Lieutenant and Connor talked outside the room, every now and again glancing into the room behind the incredibly conspicuous one way mirror. “This is the first human lead we have in this case, Lieutenant. But we can’t move forward if she refuses to talk to us.” Connor pointed out, he was truly taken with you.

You seemed to be the type of unpredictable that he wasn’t programmed for, it was a note he had hard wired down somewhere to tell CyberLife for improvements and enhancements.

“I just don’t get why a human would be helping Androids - Deviants actually, if she even is helping them. I don’t see you being much help getting information out of her, stay here and let me talk to her.” Hank was curious of your motives, like most people would be, but it seemed he held a certain sympathy toward you given the fact you aren’t an Android.

He entered the room, eyeing you with curiosity before pulling a seat out, ensuring it dragged across the floor to conjure an unpleasant sound as he seated himself. “Have you finished with the silent treatment?” Hank questioned, making note to look into your eyes for signs of odd expressions.

“Have you found something to charge me for, Lieutenant?” You raised a brow, a challenge if you will. They couldn’t properly charge you for assisting Androids without a verbal confession or evidence and if you were going to be stuck here for performing selfless acts then you weren’t going down easily. At least until Connor saw that or Hank. “hmm so far we can only charge you for stealing work assets, but there’s much more going on isn’t there?”

You nodded, “the crime rates increased I know that much, Deviancy has increased because of ill-treatment. Thats whats going on here. Did you ever stop to consider the possibility that those Androids don’t like being beaten to near shut down sometimes?” You were a small margin of people that would gladly help the cause against ill-treatment of Androids.

“What are you implying?” Hank questioned, he leaned forward onto the table, his arms crossed over his chest as if it would intimidate you. “I’m implying nothing, but I have a question, Lieutenant. Did you ever like history at school?” An odd question it was but regardless of her situation it prompted an answer, even as simple of a head nod.

“You were born in the seventies or eighties? Then you grew up most of your life with racism, and history was taught with scarcity about the slave trades when America became populated. You should know that history is always due to repeat itself so why are Androids so different? What, because they aren’t flesh and bone? They’re flesh, but it’s still a being underneath regardless of their interior. Why should we deny their right to be free, it’s no different than the racism we were so quick to ban post 2024.”

The words you articulated engaged a reaction from Hank and Connor - not that you saw him. Instead of inspiring Hank like you had intended too he simply shook his head, still remaining indifferent toward Androids maybe with a slight change of heart but you couldn’t tell. “If you aren’t going to be any help then i’ll be on my way-”

“If I may, Lieutenant. Perhaps I could try.” Connor’s voice was a surprise to you, you hadn’t seen him come in at all and neither did Hank given his reaction. “Knock yourself out, kid. She’s not gonna talk.” Hank stood, seemingly tired as neither him or you had slept at all through the night.

He left the small room and now it was just you and Connor, the first time you’d speak to him directly. “Y/N, you said you worked at CyberLife, at your house. An engineer, correct?” He sat where Hank previously sat and rested his arms on the table. His LED flashed as he was probably trying to configure the best approach to get an answer from you.

“Yeah… I’ve never had the pleasure of working on your model before.” You pointed out, it wasn’t a lie that you were immensely intrigued by the series and what parts functioned differently to others. “Would you say you understand Deviant behaviour? Know what could trigger them, perhaps a software problem?”

Shaking your head you smiled at the Android, he was definitely innocent toward the deviant situation despite he was most likely programmed to hunt them. “It’s much more than a software programming issue…” You trailed off as you thought of something that could potentially help yourself and help the climbing numbers of deviant androids.

“I am willing to exchange information with you once you understand the deviant issue better. I think it’s important for you to understand the bigger picture, doll… You hear that Hank!” You shouted out, waiting momentarily before Hanks voice filled the room over a speaker. “Loud and clear.”

Connors head tilted slightly, trying his hardest to understand and decrypt the words you said. “I don’t… Understand…” he softly spoke, the LED glowing yellow. “I understand Androids better than they can understand themselves, you’re no different. I’ll help you to some degree but if helping you means killing innocent Androids then the deals off.”

Silence ensued between the two of you, it was like you could literally hear him think.

“Perhaps… allowing you to talk with found deviants may be the best approach on this case.” His face twitched slightly as he gathered information that seemed to have a better outcome. After all, you were intriguing to him, an oddity that seemed to stand out in a pixel piece of normalities.

———————

“- suspect was owned by Carlos Ortiz, found in the attic sixteen days after he murdered his owner.” Hank debriefed you, sitting in front of you was the somber looking Android. You examined the state of him, he looked just like any other Android who walked through your door which was sad.

The cuffs hung tightly around your wrists still but it didn’t stop you from pacing around the small room. “Did you happen to find strange markings… writings on the wall in the home?” You questioned, stopping your feet to lean against the metal table. You looked between Hank and Connor for an answer. One of them would’ve had to of known the answer, and you put your money on Connor to know it.

“Yes. ra9 was written on the bathroom walls, I had trouble trying to decipher what it could possibly mean.” Connor admitted which made you smile, he was a pragmatic Android and it was a surprise that of his intelligence he didn’t know what it meant yet or at all. You clasped your hands together as you couldn’t do anything else with them and tilted your head slightly. “What do you think it means?”

Connor’s face twitched, formulating a response, “At first I thought it was a malfunction, due to the injuries.” He started, causing you to raise a brow and look down at the Android across the table. “But now I think we need more clues.” He finished confidently.

“Well it’s not a malfunction I can tell you that, it’s a code.” You pushed forward off the table and knelt down in front of the beaten Android. “Lieutenant, I assume my things are in evidence?” You at least watched enough cop shows to understand how they order things, but this entire interrogation on you took a turn and it wasn’t a standard thing you were familiar with.

Hank nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line while he watched you meander with the suspect. “Can you get a canister of blue blood from it?” You asked as you carefully examined the wounds. “It’s in evidence for a reason.” Hank scoffed in response, something you were expecting. “Do you want my help or not?” You turned, the harsh gaze of your eyes locked with Hanks eyes before he reluctantly left the small room.

Connor, much like any normal Android, stood awkwardly behind you, fair enough away to not disrupt any concentration but close enough for it to be unnerving. “You said ra9 was a code. A code for what?” Connors voice startled and unsuspecting you, his voice was rather loud in a room that echoed. “That, I don’t know. Can you check his stress level for me.” You bluntly asked, the tone was telling rather than questioning.

“Stress levels are low, he won’t talk at this percentage. We dealt with this earlier and I would advise you not to provoke him. The consequence could be… catastrophic.” His words were well thought, as you figured they would be but it didn’t deter you from continuing. “Ah, see this is what I mean about understanding the motives of these people. You can run schematics, analytics or outcomes at the drop of a hat, but understanding that they don’t work like that is detrimental to your investigation, Connor.”

You stood up, looking at the slightly perplexed and well dressed Android. “I’ve never worked on your model series before, but I can guarantee that you are systematically the same as every Android I’ve worked on.” You weren’t harsh with your words, actually it appeared that the calmness of your tone seemed to sit well with Connor, appease him almost.

Hank entered into the room with a sour look on his face and carelessly tosses the canister to you. “Is everything okay, Lieutenant?” Connor questioned, a tilt of his head while he seemed to analyse his superior.

“Oh the usual assholes occupying this dump.” He grumbled, most likely in reference to Gavin but that was unknown knowledge to you.

“You two are free to watch but i’d prefer it if you did it in there.” You gestured to room behind the one way mirror. At your behest without argument the two respected your request and left you alone with the Deviant.

Calmly you moved your chair next to the Deviant and examined it more, you softly put the canister on the table in front of it. “I can see you’ve lost some blood… They didn’t tell me what your owner did but I want you to know you’re not the only one.” You spoke, waiting for a response, if any. “I’m sorry I can’t be much help, if I had my toolbox I could fix you right up. But you should drink some of that, I don’t want you to shut down on me okay?”

You could feel the eyes of Hank and Connor watching you, it was nerving of course but you kept calm. It pained you to see a lost Android who didn’t make it out of this dreadful city.

“Why?” His voice seemed to squeak in the silence and immediately caught your attention and the two partners in the room next door. “Why what?” You prompted for him to continue, unsure with what he wanted to know. “You’re… so nice to me… after what I did…” His eyes flickered up to the blue blood before focusing on his hands.

“It’s my understanding that Carlos, your owner, is at fault. You don’t beat someone for the sake of it… In my eyes you’re being human, which you’re allowed to be. Unfortunately my opinion is nothing but some hope for you.” You admitted, call it false hope but it was something to ease his spirits before he could be deactivated.

His eyes focused on you, trying to gather information on you in which he succeeded well. “I never imagined a human as kind as you… You’re the one who helps the Androids, aren’t you?” You weren’t mad that the Android had basically blurted to Hank and Connor that you help Deviants, but at this moment you could only be comforting for him.

“Guilty as charged, it’s a shame you never got around to me… I’m afraid i’ll be spending a long time in here… But for now drink up, you’ll need it.” You smiled kindly at him before standing and looking into the mirror, the smallest movement of your head indicated for the partners to come back inside.

Tags: @crazy-rafe-madler @lecapitainedetous @axolotlqueen @lillmisbrave

@acupofhotlatte @nightie-chan-blog @solitary-domain @odd-otter @kishi420

@projectcherry12 @maroon-scarf @samfuckingdrake @plethora-of-things  

@aceddia @katherineschild @spn-mudkip @di-the-happy-psychopath

[pass-the-bechdel]

Supergirl season three full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

100% (twenty-three of twenty-three).

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

57.23%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

All but one (it was that crappy crossover episode). All but four have casts over 50%.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Forty-four. Twenty who appeared in more than one episode, five who appeared in at least half the episodes, and two who appeared in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Thirty-four. Ten who appeared in more than one episode, four who appeared in at least half the episodes, and one who appeared in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Not bad; a handful of episodes included some sincere effort to make quality statements about social issues, but they were pretty clunky about it and not always successful; certainly never impressive enough to increase the content rating (average rating of 3).

General Season Quality:

Middling. It was full of useless plot threads and wasted time, and much of the content had no real function; consequently, the central story arc lacked stakes, emotional resonance, and heart. That said, most of the episodes are basically solid viewing, and there was infinitely less rage-inducing content than there was in season two. That’s a weak win, but still a win.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

Hey, remember Morgan Edge? He was in four episodes at the beginning of the season, served no real narrative function despite his prominent treatment within those recurrences, and then Lena had him arrested using the most obviously-coerced confession in history? Sure, he was guilty, but he confessed under duress while being actively threatened with death by drone, the evidence of both the tape itself and of the testimony of the many eyewitnesses to the attack would have had him bouncing out of jail like that. The ridiculousness of that plot ‘resolution’ was even worse than the meaninglessness of Edge’s character in the first place. Remember when, briefly, they pretended that Morgan Edge was important?

Edge is a prime example of the fatal flaw in this entire season: pointless plot threads that went nowhere, meant nothing, furthered no characterisation for regular characters, and had no impact on the central arc of the season. Story-wise, the season lurched all over the place, and while it wasn’t without its good elements, ultimately it achieved very little. Sure, the season ended with a number of apparent changes for most of the major characters’ lives (though, conspicuously, not Kara’s) - Alex is now head of the DEO, J’onn is doing...something else, hopefully not something that removes him from the show, Winn has apparently gone to the future, traded out for our new friend ‘Brainy’ (a change I will be happy for if it sticks), and James has publicly revealed himself as Guardian - but the thing is, these changes are mostly last-minute, not things that the season was building toward all along. These changes are mostly not the result of character arcs, they’re just things that are happening now as set-up for next season. This season itself? Not much happened.

We wasted quite a lot of time with Mon-El, AGAIN, which is especially disappointing because it’s the largest time-and-attention-suck of the season, and it is completely irrelevant to everything; at least when we were wasting time with Mon-El last season, it was because he was the centrepiece of the (awful) plot. This time around, he’s just there to draaagg out the fallout from his departure, so that instead of getting over the relationship within the six months between the end of last season and the beginning of this one, Kara can continue to pine ridiculously and then get caught up in ~complicated feelings~ when Mon-El reappears, back from the future and bringing his new wife with him. That’s the closest thing Kara gets to a personal arc this season, actually; having ~complicated feelings~ about Mon-El. So, her story isn’t really about herself, it’s about whatever Mon-El is doing (again!), and then after wasting the entire season on that sorry excuse for a story, they amicably split in the end and he goes back to the future and that’s...it? I sincerely hope that’s it, and that he won’t be appearing again as a regular on the show, but it’s also a super disappointing waste of time. They didn’t have to bring Mon-El back at all, not for some drawn-out version of ‘closure’ for Kara, and not for any of the other nothing that his presence achieved in the meantime. Honestly, having characters show up FROM THE FUTURE and then not doing anything useful or important with it is so weird. We coulda dropped Brainy here and sent Winn away in a short-arc subplot, it’d have been neater and less time consuming, and we wouldn’t have troubled with all the Mon-El and Imra crap. As much as Mon-El kept carrying on about how he would never disrespect Imra, the story itself disrespects her by giving her no other meaningful narrative function than to be a barrier between Mon-El and Kara (which, as the story plays out...didn’t matter anyway). The whole thing amounts to a lot of bluster with no real impact; we end the season with Mon-El gone and Kara having to move on, and that’s EXACTLY HOW WE ENDED LAST TIME.

Meanwhile, back at the actual central arc for the season, shit was still whack, y’all. I wondered what they were gonna do with it after they went and had Reign show up so early in the piece (I thought maybe they were gonna build over the course of the season with Samantha progressively losing more control, but, that woulda required narrative pacing and story building to be in play, and the creators weren’t into that kind of crap this season), and what they went for was a completely pointless side-distraction with two other, lesser world-killers, who appeared out of nowhere, fooled around for a few episodes, and then died, ne’er to trouble the story again. Reign absorbing their powers didn’t have any effect (particularly egregious since the Legion was so worried about Pestilence, only to declare their work done once she was gone because apparently, Reign wasn’t gonna go around using that particular world-killer power anyway, because...reasons), they might as well have never included other world-killers at all, the only reason they were there was so that the plot could tread water for a while after revealing its Big Gun at mid-season and having nowhere left to go. Selena and her fellow witches, likewise, proved utterly pointless, just another distraction that wound up easily dispatched, and meanwhile Reign was killed/separated from Samantha only to return again and then be pretty easily defeated anyway with a combination of shoddy time travel and the last-minute addition of a convenient...magic fountain. Yeah. Even the oft-repeated notion they hammered about saving Samantha by recalling her to herself, using her connection with Ruby, etc, turned out to be a total smokescreen - Samantha and Ruby both proved to be total plot devices rather than characters in their own right, foisted on the pre-existing characters to generate artificial emotional stakes with a friendship that burst forth fully-formed in the space of two episodes, and giving Alex a child to focus her maternal instincts on for a while. Presumably, we’ll now never see them again. 

Oh, and did I mention that Kara finds out that her mother and a whole chunk of Krypton actually survived, but they totally underplay it and she has essentially no emotional reaction to this development at all? Since this seemingly life-altering revelation also has no impact on character or story, they might as well not have bothered, I mean, Kara is more hung up on losing her asshole boyfriend from last season than she is on discovering that a whole piece of her world (friends/family included) is actually still around, so. Who needs logical characterisation, anyway? For all that Kara complains about feeling out of balance living two lives, she also spends almost no time living as Kara Danvers instead of Supergirl in this season (especially the second half); remember when her job as a reporter used to matter to character or story, like, at all? Remember when actually being seen to balance things was a source of narrative conflict and development? Now, if she had discovered that surviving part of Krypton near the BEGINNING of the season instead of in the fourth-last episode, maybe she could have spent the season having, I dunno, a sort of character arc about dealing with it? Selena and the relevant mythology on the world-killers and the ways to kill them/make them/whatever could have all been introduced in earlier parts of the season so that they could BUILD THE FUCKING NARRATIVE instead of just throwing in convenient new plot devices and information at the last second? Maybe the whole story could have been improved by making it actually about the character the series is named after, and analysing her still-developing relationship with her identity and its duality? It’s such a fucking obvious character arc I want to punch something. How, HOW was this not what the whole season was about? How did we end up futzing around with Mon-El and pointless future-visitors and extra antagonists who didn’t matter to the season or its characters at all?

If you forgot that they also had some time-wasting with some fanatical cult crap on Earth that mostly just served to provide Kara with yet another character to drop explainers about things instead of having her learn stuff in some kind of plot-related fashion, I could understand; it was pretty forgettable. Alex and Maggie broke up, which was rather sudden and wasteful, really, but at least it was tied to Alex’s realisation that she wants to have children and that constituted one of the only solid character threads of this messy, wishy-washy season (though it also often kept Alex distracted in other parts of the story and not having those all-important sisterly interactions with Kara which formed the backbone of the show in the first season, so, boo for that). J’onn had his dad around for a while, and that was legitimately pretty good stuff (y’all know I’m weak for Martians), though I really hope it has some strong narrative fallout in season four because otherwise it seems like a plot designed to torture J’onn emotionally, as if his story isn’t already tragic enough. They also wasted James less this season? Unfortunately, they wasted Lena more, and I’m especially suspicious of the way they not only strangled the amount of story she spent with Kara as a friend, they also threw in this awkwardly-executed situation with Lena actively disliking Supergirl and turning Kara’s secret into something which jeopardises their future relationship. Their interactions last season were so strong, and the effort to put space between them in this season feels overt (giving Lena a romance with James and a new/old best friend in Samantha contributes to this); I can’t help but wonder if the Powers That Be were upset that they’d accidentally made a female relationship with more chemistry than the canon-lesbian couple (and at the same time as they were badly failing at giving Kara a believable hetero love interest, no less) and decided that breaking up one of their best character partnerships was preferable to anyone reading the hero of the story as anything other than straight. They’ve made so many hugely questionable decisions about Kara’s personal life at this point, no BTS fuckery would surprise me. Remember season one, when the plot had a shape and the characters generally did things for understandable reasons? Those were the days. We’re closer to getting back to them now than we were after the disaster that was last season, but I’m still not banking on the show ever regaining the focused quality which made the first season work so well. To do that, they have to start telling stories about Kara again, at minimum. That would be a start.

[abumblebeeat221b]

you know what, i think i’m doing all this being a fan thing wrong. Steven Moffat once said that you know you’re a real fan when you decide to watch something that makes you unhappy. and while i think “unhappy” is a bit of a strong word here, in my opinion Moffat got it mostly right. because, it’s the only explanation i have for me being almost at the end of Chibnall’s second series.

is his idea of Doctor Who perfect? no, and there are (at times pretty big) bits and pieces which are bothering me about the way he writes things.

exhibit a: i’m sorry but who thought the Doctor fangirling over a general is in character? i  know she used to have friends who were soldiers, or with UNIT/ Torchwood  or some army. BUT the Doctor doesn’t exactly have a track record of liking or trusting soldiers, unless she knows them personally. like, the writers have never been exactly subtle about it. at least in the same episode we meet the Pting and i’m not gonna lie, watching the Doctor figuring out how to get that cute (but deadly) creature off of that shuttle was fun.

just let’s not get into the one episode with the witch hunts. while not all of it was bad - (the companions reaction to some of the stuff going on was fun, the Doctor’s reaction to not being taken seriously because of her gender was nice too), i just didn’t enjoy most of it.

or the Amazon knock-off. while it being the sentient system running the warehouse that's calling for help is pretty genius, i can't believe the same person thought having a higher percentage of humans doing repetitive jobs was a good conclusion to that episode. Like SERIOUSLY??? Who did  greenlight this episode?

or why did Chibnall think he’d have to reset all of Missy’s character development? in fact, i might be wrong as i’ve only ever watched NewWho, but i cannot remember a single episode in which the Master would have actually wanted to kill the Doctor. for real. Torture him, yes, manipulate him into seeing things from the Master’s perspective, also yes. but i’ve never pictured him as someone who’d point a gun at the Doctor and pull the trigger. where would be the fun in that? i mean, if she actually had died in Paris, who would have received his message when on Gallifrey? and while big parts of Spyfall Part 2 are great, apparently *that one specific scene* also triggered some generational trauma i didn’t even know was there. no, i won’t elaborate (but feel free to take an educated a guess). really, I am not sure how the script went through various production stages without people picking up on THAT!?

and since we are already in the middle of complaining about stuff: i’m not sure i like whatever Chibnall is up to with that other Doctor. neither of them recognising their past selves goes against the rules, if you ask me.

talking about rules: again, i might be wrong, but isn’t Earth becoming Orphan 55 some sort of a paradox? as much as i appreciate the eco-message, i’m not sure we want to explore the implication of *that* being one *possible* reality. yeah, time is in flux and there can be timey-whimey stuff, BUT once upon a time things were fixed enough so that the Doctor was able to have a relationship with his future wife because he could rely on those timelines. if time were that unstable, Chibnall could decide to rewrite all of canon and that’s not something he should be doing, in spite of all the hints he’s been dropping during series 11 (likes seriously, please tell me that’s not what he’s up to. or actually don’t. you know - spoilers). 

and yet, even  though at times the show feels as if someone was trying to do a pretty good job at faking Doctor Who episodes, i’m still here watching from behind my (figurative) sofa, because at the end of the day, you always stumble across a story which is truly and utterly brilliant, and just makes those less stellar moments worth it. the Demons of Punjabi, Spyfall, the one with Ux, Nikolas Tesla, or Shelly - they all remind me of what this silly show is really about.

i even like Thirteen’s TARDIS much more than the designs we had during Moffat’s run. then again, i always had a soft spot for the interface the TARDIS had when she was Nine and Ten’s. i also love that her interior looks a lot more organic than it had in years.

and last but not least, Jodie Whittaker *is* hands down an amazing Doctor. even tough the logic behind some of the Whoniverse’s rules have changed, i’m utterly grateful that Chibnall hasn’t changed much about the Doctor. she’s still that curious scientist who is exploring the universe for fun, with a few dark moments thrown in there for good measure.

so yeah. this is me basically promising to myself that i’ll be a better fan - after all, this stupid show will always have a special place in my heart, so there is really no use in complaining.

[insidethegiftbasket]

Stats Club 101 - Counting and Basic Rates

Evan’s Note: Hey, look at this! Another new contributor. We’re growing faster than Ortiz’s ass after the steroid needle hits it. Anyway, everyone say hi to AJ and yeah, go ahead and make another one more when you bring cupcakes to class next week. 

———

While Evan, Sam, and now Julio are breaking down players and series previews, I’ll be focusing on the NUMBERS! and SCIENCE! that surround baseball. Before you even think about yawning, let’s be clear: you’re a baseball fan. You do like those things in this context; you just don’t realize it. Hopefully I can help demystify the decimals and acronyms and spinning and launching, making it a little less scary and giving you a new perspective with which to think and talk about our beloved sport.

First up: The first installment of a dive into baseball statistics. 

———

It’s no surprise: baseball is numbers-heavy. Likely because it can be mostly described by discrete and well-defined events, baseball lends itself to digits upon digits upon digits. The spectrum of fan acceptance of this spans from those developing modern sabermetrics, to those who blame the Inevitable and Imminent Downfall of the Sport (100+ years and counting!) on anything outside of “traditional” stats. In-between you have everyone else: fans who don’t care either way; those who care a little either way; those who want to understand but find it all so damn intimidating; and even those who think they get it but carry major misconceptions (looking at you, r/baseball and your abuse of ‘regression’).

Well regardless of where you sit, Welcome to Stats Club! We’re gonna take a close look at the classes of baseball metrics, where they come from, and how to interpret them. Before we kick things off you should know of a few key rules:

The first rule of Stats Club is: Stats are not bad. 

The second rule of Stats Club is: Stats are not bad!!

But seriously, statistics are tools. Saying a specific stat is fundamentally bad because it doesn’t tell you something it wasn’t designed for is like saying a screwdriver sucks because it can’t hammer nails. The formula is what it is: what’s potentially bad are the inferences you draw from it. 

For example, suppose I make a measurement that is the total number of apples and oranges in my fruit basket: I call it 'wAO’. It’s very specific, sure, but it’s still carrying information. And although it only counts those two fruits directly, you may be able to infer what’s happening with the rest of my fruit supply if you know how much my basket can hold; e.g. a low wAO may mean I have bananas and kiwis too. But if you’re wrong, that’s not the fault of wAO. Rather, your methodology is flawed by not accounting for your own assumptions. Keep this in mind as we step through baseball statistics, especially when we get into sabermetrics.

A third thing to be aware of is: unless stated otherwise, baseball stats are not predictive. They are records of the past, and we assume things will stay mostly the same going forward. But this is an assumption, and depending on what we’re talking about it can be a pretty bold one.

Part I. The Counting Stats

<Hits, home runs, RBIs, strikeouts, innings pitched, etc…>

Ah, it’s the most basic category: the stuff you can literally count. Counting stats get scoffed at because of how simple they are, but they’re at the core of everything that follows. After all, you can’t build a model of player production without having raw data to throw into your equations.

As I mentioned earlier, baseball is a nice sport from a statistics perspective because it can be almost completely described by counting stats, which are descriptions of discrete events. A batter does or doesn’t reach base; a pitcher either gets a strikeout on 3-2 or he does not; and so on. Compare to, say, soccer, where it’s not so easy to cleanly describe and quantify the details of player performance.

I say almost completely described because fielding remains a challenge. Errors are an attempt, but errors are a divisive counting stat because they’re uncharacteristically subjective for baseball. Like with soccer where we’re trying to measure continuous and complicated events, advanced analytics are really the only way to quantify fielding in any detail. But we’ll save that discussion for a later post.

Part II. The Rate Stats

<Batting average (BA), On-base percentage (OBP), Slugging percentage (SLG), etc…>

Counting’s great, but raw numbers can get large and unwieldy and difficult to interpret. We solve this by normalizing them, i.e. dividing the count by some standard unit. Then we get a rate, or measure of how often something has occurred (remember: baseball stats are not inherently predictive). BA is the rate of hits per official at-bats; OBP is the rate of reaching base—hits and walks and hit-by-pitch—per plate appearance; and so on.

For pitchers, Earned Run Average (ERA) is earned runs per inning pitched times nine, which just scales the rate to an entire 9-inning game. There’s also Walks and Hits per Inning Pitched (WHIP) which says what it is right in the name. On baseball-reference you’ll find SO9 and HR9, which are strikeouts and homeruns per inning, respectively, also times nine for the same scaling as ERA (for whatever reason pitchers get their rates expressed as whole numbers while hitters are stuck with fractions).

Let’s illustrate the first two rules of Stats Club by looking at the much maligned BA. It’s perfectly reasonable to measure how often a batter reaches base via a hit. Hits are exciting! There’s a crack of the bat, the ball goes into play, and the fielders scamper to unsuccessfully throw the ball in before the batter-turned-runner can reach. Not to mention, making contact with a small 90mph projectile and placing it where it can’t be fielded may be the hardest thing to do in all of sports, so getting a hit is always an impressive feat. 

But none of this is to say hits are the only things that matter. If you’re trying to get on base you don’t really care how you do it, and from that perspective a walk is just as beneficial as a single (even if Nick Johnson’s knowledge of the strike zone is slightly less dramatic than a clutch Gio Urshela double down the line). Thus the problem is not in BA being what it is, but rather in old-school baseball minds deciding it is the be-all, end-all of offensive measures. So definitely celebrate high batting averages, but don’t use it to definitively say one player is better than another. There are more appropriate tools for that.

Part IIa. OPS and Other Fun Rates

On-base Plus Slugging (OPS) is technically a rate, but it’s unique because it rather unceremoniously—but somehow very comfortably—smashes two other rates together: OBP, and the intimidatingly named SLUGGING PERCENTAGE (SLG), which is bases per at-bat. 

The idea behind adding the two is straightforward. In baseball you want to generate runs. And you do this by either getting on base or by hitting the ball so you get a lot of bases. Hey, that’s OBP and SLG! So if we add the two together we get a number that kinda captures a player’s rate of run creation. Hence, OPS.

There was a time when I ignored the first two rules of Stats Club and hated this number. Since the same hit is captured in both OBP and SLG, isn’t it double counting? And wait a second, OBP and SLG have different denominators; you can’t just add them! But as I went through my career I realized I was overthinking it: OPS is fine. Between 9am and 5pm on weekdays I’d call OPS a basic heuristic. A heuristic is a broad concept: it refers to any good-effort way to get a solution or estimate to a problem. Heuristics are explicitly not meant to be optimal or perfect: they just need to be justified by the designer. And OPS can be justified! Aside from the conceptual idea of run creation, it can be shown that OPS tracks with—and even has some level of prediction for!—actual runs scored. So there you go.

But be aware that even given that, we’re still inferring things about run creation from OPS. Inferences still rely on assumptions and interpretations and there was a desire to get more precise. Stats guys wanted a more refined tool to directly measure production. One of these tools is called weighted on base average (wOBA), but we’ll discuss that later when we dive into advanced metrics.

Batting Average on Balls in Play (BABIP) is another fun one. BABIP also has its description in its name: it’s like BA, but instead of hits per at-bats, it’s hits per balls-in-play (i.e. it ignores strikeouts and HRs). BABIP is used to gauge the statistical un/likehood of a hitter’s performance. The logic is as follows:

Major league ballplayers have a baseline level of fielding skill. That is, there are zones in which any competent player should be able to field a ball and record an out. That means there are also zones where that fielder won’t be able to make a play, and thus the batter—if he places it there—will get a hit. 

Given all that, we can expect a ball in play to be a hit about 30% of the time. If a hitter’s BABIP is far below .300, the implication is that fielders are making spectacular plays. And since spectacular plays are spectacular for a reason, the hitter is probably getting “unlucky”. Or perhaps he’s hitting into crazy shifts. Either way, a good hitter will adjust his approach and/or benefit from defenses being less spectacular. As a result, the expectation is that in due time he will see his BABIP regress upward towards .300. And if his BABIP goes up, so will his BA.

On the other hand, if a BABIP is far above .300, it implies the hitter is getting lots of bloop hits, which he certainly isn’t planning. Or maybe he’s beating defensive alignments, which any competent defense will recognize and adjust to. Whatever the reason, we’d expect his BABIP to regress down towards .300, accompanied by a drop in BA.

(BIG NOTE: Player skill is a factor here too! Elite hitters will be better at finding those gaps and can maintain a BABIP of around .350, while the worst hitters may sit as low as .260. If we know a player’s true BABIP after seasons of playing, we can have a good guess of how his BA may trend based on BABIP.)

For a while BABIP was THE indicator of statistical un/likelihood (or un/luckiness). This is why we curse the BABIP gods when one of our guys is “robbed” or when a team--probably the Rays or mid-aught Angels--bloops us to death. But thanks to Statcast, BABIP has been given a partner. Because Statcast logs everything about batted balls, we can, in real time, know exactly how often that type of contact (launch angle, exit velocity, etc.) has resulted in a hit vs. an out. No more inferences required! You know this stat as expected batting average (xBA). But more on that later.

Remember: Stats Are Not Bad. This is some cool synergy between classic rates and new-age Statcast. Use xBA for real-time analysis, but turn to BABIP when trying to project long-term trends.

Part IIb. Time to Normalize…Again!

Rate stats exist to make counting stats more readable, but it’s still not obvious what rate is a good rate. This is something you had to learn when you first got into baseball: you weren’t born with the knowledge that a .330 BA may win the batting title, or that a 5.36 ERA for a starter is disappointing. Rate stats are a useful tool but they don’t tell if a rate is what you want.

Enter the “pluses”, mainly OPS+ for hitters and ERA+ for pitchers. These are essentially the raw rates normalized by the league average rate, times 100 (so it’s not a fraction) with a few other adjustments. This gives a direct comparison to everyone else in the league over that period of time. If a pitcher has an ERA+ of 101 it means he’s in the middle of the pack, whereas an ERA+ of 205 means he’s 100% better than the league average pitcher. Similarly, an OPS+ of 90 says a hitter’s inferred run production is 10% worse than the rest of the league. The pluses are my favorite to look at because they’re nice clean numbers that quickly provide a lot of information.

Baseball-reference iterates on this with tOPS+ for player splits. This is the player’s OPS for that split, e.g. the month of April, normalized by his OPS for the entire year. This lets you quickly check out fluctuations over months, counts, and other situations.

Ok, two caveats here. First, the pluses are also adjusted by a “park factor”, which is a number that describes how pitcher- or hitter-friendly a stadium is. If two pitchers have the same ERA but one plays in an extreme hitters park, he will have a higher (i.e. better) ERA+ because the park factor adjustment accounts for how he has to work harder.

Secondly, because of how OPS+ is calculated—it actually sums what you could call OBP+ and SLG+—an OPS of 90 doesn’t exactly mean 10% worse than league average OPS. That’s why, in the example above, I said 10% worse run production instead. And now we’re bordering on more abstract concepts that may require additional tools to describe...

———

--And that is a good place to end today’s lesson. To recap: we started with counting to collect raw baseball data, and then we normalized those counts to get rates. To easily compare those rates we normalized again, but with a twist: to be a fair comparison we needed to adjust for the quirkiness of the various ballparks. And that’s not exactly something you can just count. You need a model, and more specifically, a model that checks out.

Furthermore, what about our sharper version of OPS? How do we more accurately and directly measure run production? And since errors are a weirdly subjective stat, and because hits themselves depend somewhat on defense, is there a way to meaningfully evaluate a pitcher’s performance while somehow ignoring hits and runs? 

The search for answers to these questions gave rise to the advanced metrics, or “Sabermetics”. wOBA, FIP, WAR and others are newer heuristics that use the history of baseball stats to develop models of performance. Next time we’ll dissect a few of these to better understand what exactly they’re telling us.

— Extra Credit —

< A place for footnotes and other remarks for the nerdiest nerds >

Throughout all this I’m going to use the statistics meaning of regression, which means a trend. The concept of regression towards the mean refers to trending towards a true average. It does NOT mean “To arbitrarily get worse”! Baseball fans routinely mess this up and it leads to very bad analysis! Much more on that later.

Isolated Power (ISO) is a rate like SLG, but it only counts doubles, triples, and HRs and gives them weights of one, two, and three, respectively (It can also be calculated as SLG minus BA). As you can guess from its name and its components, it’s a heuristic used to capture power hitting.

Here’s a fun quirk. A player’s OBP is always higher than his BA, right? Not necessarily! Check it out:

Two players with identical BAs for this game but very different OBPs. What’s happening here? It’s the sac flies! Since SFs count as a plate appearance but obviously not as getting on base, they go into the denominator of OBP but not the numerator. So if a player has more SFs than BBs, it won’t affect his BA but it will bring down his OBP. Of course, no actual major league player should have more sac flies than walks over any meaningful period of time, so this is mostly an early season quirk.

[taeguboi]

“Can’t Buy Me, Love” PART 1 Jungkook x Reader Angst / Fluff

I added gifs, similarly to my “Goddammit, Hoseok!” fiction based on another dream [I think I’m a bit too deep into the k-pop fandom now, having solid dreams about idols but ah well]. Though this one turned out to be way longer in word count than expected so it’s in 2 parts whilst I get to the ending!

Fiction Masterlist // Reactions Masterlist - Requests always open

Jeon Jeongguk. He’s a beautiful man. You have to sometimes try excuse and justify yourself for being, what can only be referred to as, shallow.

But you've always been a sucker for pretty people; it's probably the reason you've always managed to utter the courage to let your feelings be known to the targets of your desires. Sure, it's a little unconventional, even nowadays, for a girl to ask the guy out, but it anything otherwise just isn't you. You're just not a fan of suppressing emotions and bowing down to over-oppression.

You first saw him from across a crowded room, just like a dream. It was cliché and surreal, and you were drawn in. You knew you should have known better than to fall for looks, but… Well actually, there was something in the expression of his features that suggested a kind person inside and out.

Each time his glistening brown eyes occasionally glanced your way that day, you felt energized.

The way he stood with grandeur made you weak at the knees with his broad shoulders and strong arms that seemed like they were about to break out of that shirt...

When he scrunched up his nose when he let out an infectious laugh paired with a bright smile, you felt a connection, even though you weren't even in the conversation… You couldn't even hear the conversation, but it felt like you were right next to him.

So then you started imagining what it would have been like. What would it have been like, after taking in his perfect features from all the way over there, if it was you to walk over to him and have that comfortable grip on his arm. If you were the one who got to openly laugh at those jokes you couldn't hear right now. If you were… that bitch.

Yep, of course he was taken. And there was nothing you could do about it; look how happy he is.

The best ones are always taken.

It was either fortune or disaster, the day he walked into your place of work, sporting one of the company shirts. It amazed you why anyone with his appearance aura would want to go into retail, but this was happening.

You figured it’d only be a matter of time before they promote him from serving and stocking into modelling the clothes…

“Y/n, this is Jeongguk, and I have appointed you to train him” your manager tells you.

The training, initially speaking, should be straightforward. Just show him the ropes and he can get started independently in no time.

But…

“Oh dammit!” you exclaim as you find yourself dropping change everywhere upon serving a customer… for the fifth time today…

Jesus Christ, he must think I'm stupid… Okay, maybe I am when his stupid cute face and firm muscles are literally being shoved in my face…

You know you're being an embarrassment to yourself, but it’s involuntary how you keep dropping things with weak hands and shaking slightly each time he brushes past you to help stock the rails.

The same shit happens even a few weeks later, when you really should have gotten used to Jeongguk’s presence by now. Today is a particularly weak day for you; the weather is humid and it doesn't help how the store can be poorly ventilated in some areas…

Now, it's not like you've been flirting as such with this guy, but you've most definitely been dropping subtle hints in those moments that you do manage to compose yourself. There's even been a few times where you'll jest

“I bet tonight's date can't accidentally knock over a ton of boxes with skill like I can…”

“She's cute, but she isn't me. But I'm sure you're just having your freedom whilst you're getting round to that.”

Ignore the caption in the gif 

Okay, so they're a bit stronger than subtle hints, more rejected requests of a date that have become quite infamous now, but he actually talks to you about personal matters quite a lot, and likewise on your part. You consider that this is probably because it can be generally easier to talk to someone less familiar about the difficulties in life, but your hopeless self just falls a little deeper with each experience he shares with you.

You were right, you know. About his features indicating a kind personality. He seems almost too perfect.

Perhaps you aren't thinking straight, but you realize today that you haven't actually indicated your romantic status to him… Besides, you haven't seen (a seriously considered, but inevitably discarded character from the beloved series of children's books, of course,) Little Miss Tart Face around for a while. Of course, it could just mean he's separating personal and professional life quite well, but in your mesmerization of him, you catch that glint of hope.

So you leave him your number upon scooting out of your chair after having coffee together and leave it at that.

The shift that follows is intense, or at least it feels that way to you. Is he going to say anything about the number? What meaning has he taken from it?

“Here’s £2.01 change. Enjoy the rest of your day” you smile to your customer.

The last customer of the day, it would appear as you glance at your watch to read 17:54.

It’s strange how many strangers you have to smile to. Pleasantries mean bugger all when you have a real reason to smile.

“I have a date on Saturday” Jeongguk tells you abruptly.

“Dammit” you mumble under your breath, hoping he didn't hear that moment of frustration.

But in your mind, you're not quite willing to give up just yet, no. Y/n always puts up something of a fight, at least a mental debate, before letting go of something.

A date? He didn't say with whom? Could this be a different girl from the last time? Of course, he can get whoever he wants. Which is probably girls a lot less clumsy and boisterous than me, let's be honest… The basic bitches probably just lead him on and take him for a meal ticket and don't see what I see...

“I'll keep the number though,” he smiles. “It might be useful some time.”

Okay, a little heartbreaking. ‘It might be useful some time’ doesn't exactly scream promise of even a remote interest… Of course, the date with another girl is the biggest signal, but the fact that he said it only might be useful is a bit shattering. Might suggests that it's an unlikely event to happen, that he would need you. Might suggests that only when he's being held at gunpoint and being demanded to give a ransom, only then he could need you…

Okay y/n, you're over thinking this...

...

He probably works out enough to fight his way out of a situation like that.

Goddammit he’s handsome.

This craziness has to stop. You're chasing something travelling faster than your maximum speed. Life is too short to dwell on a guy who doesn't give you the time of day, at least not romantically.

You’re pretty good at moving on. You know that if you don't, then what else can you do with yourself? All you can do it enjoy life.

And you do for a couple of months.

You still talk regularly to Jeongguk, but you pay much less attention to the little things now.

Yet it became increasingly difficult not to notice how the glimmer in his eyes had disappeared recently. Come to think of it, his recounts of dates were becoming less consistent. Lately, it was a different girl each time as opposed to the same one about three or four times before he concluded it wasn't working out. Sometimes there would be a few weeks before the next one. Sometimes it would be the very next day. Maybe he just became better at reading people. Maybe his perspective had changed with experience.

But more importantly, maybe it was all getting him down.

“It was awful, y/n. She clearly just saw me as a one night stand, even despite me pulling out all the stops for her. I treated her to a romantic film and payed for the ridiculously over priced popcorn there… A meal at the finest restaurant I know... I guess it felt right at the time to take her home and… She just left in the morning…” he sighs, head in his hands, and it would seem his eyes are watering.

You've seen him rant and vent before but this is something else.

And this something else broke your heart too.

He left it for a whole month. Not a single chat about a date, not even a spark of interest as a cute girl would arrive at his til to make a purchase.

In your mind, you're half joking, half serious, when you wonder

Is he broken?

At this point, you and Jeongguk have established a relationship on which you make slightly harsh but meaningless jokes about each other, so it’s really just like any other day when you notice him pouting and you walk past him down the shop aisle

“Jeongguk, I know we're at work but you could at least smile when I'm around”

Admittedly, your comments hold a somewhat large percentage of arrogance at times, but it's become your way of holding back on expressing directly how you wish he felt about you. Y/n can be dumb enough to fall for a guy, but never to appear desperate or embarrass herself about him.

“Sorry, yeah” is all he replies with a forced smile. This is odd. Usually it's some fast paced witty comment right back at you…

Again, I didn’t pick that gif for the caption hahahaha

“Seriously, if you're feeling that depressed, you should take another girl out again” you suggest, kind of bored of seeing him become a bit more and more lame and tragic each day. Yes, you still scream inside that you're right in front of him, but you don't want to see this. Like you said, in your mind around the time of Jeongguk’s a hundreth-and-something date; people have to just get on with life.

“Oh yeah, like who? I don't even go out once a week anymore, it's hardly enough to meet new people…”

“Yeah I suppose it is hard when you've dated almost half the town” you retort, only saying almost half because the other half are guys.

“Will you just leave it, okay?” he snaps, desperately trying to get on with stock taking.

After a moment of silence, you continue on the topic anyway “No. I don't think I will leave it. Just go do something about your mood; I hate seeing people miserable and unwilling to help themselves.”

“I hate it when you're right…”

A few hours later at lunch break, you sit at the usual table at the usual coffee shop next door to your workplace. You take in the view you get from looking through the window to see hundreds of people just getting on with their own lives, each with a story to tell. You wonder how many of the girls that pass you have had Jeongguk in theirs…

“I've got it” Jeongguk tells you, slamming his cup of coffee to go on the table in a spot right in front of you, more than enough to make you lose your train of thought.

“Huh?” is all you can question as he sits opposite you.

“I need to find a different type of person to take out.”

“Different type of person? Ah, so you're going to try guys!” you joke, taking in a sip of coffee.

“Look I'm serious! I know what my problem is now! I always just go for girls who just stand there looking pretty and feign politeness for free things… So I need someone with a bit more… I don't know, like umph to them? A bit more bold and feisty…”

As he babbles on, you feel something again. He looks even more handsome when he talks about something with a bit of passion and courage. His eyes are lighting up with each time he gives you an adjective of the type of girl he’s planning to go for. It’s like he's the sun as you eyes take in his bright expressions and you can return the same energy and cheerfulness that he gives with his words and gestures. So much so that you almost believe he could finally notice you.

“I need someone like…”

“Someone like me.”

“Yeah, someone like you.”

Almost.

You have got to be kidding me.

So when Jeongguk gave you his little lecture, he might as well have just been talking to any old stranger down the street, because when he said someone like you, he really did mean only like you, as in similar to you.

“I've asked y/f/n out” he tells you cheerily on the way out as you close the shop.

Great.

Sometimes, it can be harder to pick yourself back up after falling in the same place several times. You know you have to do it, but it’s a slower process since all you can recall is the times when you fell back down from an all time high and you gained more injuries. So you try to ignore anything you feel about Jeongguk being more interested in y/f/n, but you don't lift your spirits too high so there is less of a fall next time.

You've just come to accept that there's going to be another fall.

Thank goodness for the sake of your little broken heart that it all shatters to pieces.

“It’s got to be me, not them.”

“What are you rambling on about Jeongguk?”

The two of you are in the storage room on a very unbusy Sunday morning, seated on the most sturdy boxes you could find next to one another.

“Turns out y/f/n wasn't looking for the same thing as I was -- Well I know I most definitely wasn't looking to fuck another person…”

You wonder why you still comfort him when you could just walk away and spare yourself from any more torture but…

“Crap, really? Did she actually…?...”

“Right there round the alley of the club… Fuck’s sake, why did I take her out to a club?!” he angrily questions with a clenched fist.

“Wow, class…” you comment, trying not to take his stupid sorry ass in for a hug right now.

She may have hurt him, but you've been hurt too

“Ugh, what's the use? I don't even know if I really cared that much… I just don't know what to feel about anyone anymore.”

Neither do I.

“Actually, d’ya know what?” you begin, bringing yourself to your feet.

Fuck it. This is it. If it doesn't happen this time, then I'll accept that it never will. I've been holding back; it's so unlike me. But it means he's changed me. It’s worth one. last. try.

“What?” he enquires.

“I'm fed up of hearing about you spending all your work money on girls who take it without a second thought - and don't deny the spending part Jeongguk, I've seen the receipts for watches and necklaces and expensive wines stuffed in your pockets… I want to take you out for a date. We split the bill, we have meaningful conversation, see whatever movie you want to see, and at the end of the evening, you know I won't be expecting anything more. I'm probably really in over my head with the amount of months I've been hardly anything but obvious and still gone unnoticed, but… what d’ya say?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, really?”

“You're right y/n. It's time to stop being taken for everything I've got.”

Read PART 2 HERE

[brosura]

memento mori (the curious case of the baker on baker st.) pt. 3/4

Word Count: 3453 Rating: T probably Pairings: Prompto Argentum x Ignis Scientia Warnings: minor character death, major character death (VERY temporary), alcohol consumption, survivor’s guilt

“Ignis Scientia, young baker and private investigator’s assistant, has a peculiar gift. With a touch, he can bring the dead back to life.”

AKA the promnis pushing da*sies au no one asked for

in the penultimate chapter, four rowdy boys investigate a murder!

once again, big thanks to @danielkesslers for the last minute quick read to make sure, once again, that i am not being my needlessly confusing little self

[start with part I here] [read part II here] [read part IV here] [fic on ao3]

The facts are these.

Ignis Scientia - twenty-two years, six months, three weeks and five days old, off-duty baker, on-duty private investigator’s assistant and on-call mistake-maker - has many, many regrets.

They’re numerous and indiscriminate. He regrets drinking so much. He regrets not checking his text messages, a set of 20, all from Noctis, all announcing his arrival to the bakery. He regrets lying to Gladio. He regrets lying to Prompto. He regrets that spur of the moment decision that had lead to the death of a mean and greedy but otherwise healthy funeral director.

Well, he can’t say he particularly regrets that last one, as selfish as it makes him feel. Not when Prompto, young and full of life, is across from him, reading the obituary Gladio has pulled up on his phone from over his shoulder. Noctis, in all his kindness, has poured them all some coffee in spite of the lateness of the hour and Ignis nurses the cup with an anxious energy as Prompto squints hard at the screen between rubbing away the tears from his eyes with one of the sleeves of Ignis’ cardigan.

“So, like, how does it work?” Gladio drawls. He’s drunk but sobering quickly, and there’s still a smear of the blueberry pie on his forehead. “How does your power pick who dies?”

“Sixty-two years old…” Prompto mumbles.

“I’m not sure,” Ignis says. His mouth feels dry. “So far it seemed most reliant on proximity.”

“Proximity?” Gladio runs a hand through his hair, smearing a little more blueberry through it. “Like, the proximity that I was in?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Ignis can only say in answer. “I’m not proud.”

“Survived by…” Prompto chokes. “You’re fucking kidding me, survived by his two-year-old pomeranian?! Ignis, what the fuck?”

“I said I wasn’t proud,” Ignis sighs. “I’m- I don’t know how to apologize for putting you through this, Prompto. I don’t know if I can.”

The table falls quiet for a moment, a brief, but heavy moment where Ignis can’t focus on anything but the trembling of Prompto’s shoulders as he stares intently at Gladio’s screen, refusing to make eye contact. Noct’s knee bumps his gently under the table, clearly an effort at comfort, but it’s one he doesn’t deserve.

“Well,” Gladio breaks the silence before Ignis’ thoughts can get too dangerous. “Considering how things could have gone, I’d say things turned out just fine!”

“Fine?!” Prompto grimaces. “A dude is dead because of me! How is that fine?”

“Well, first things first. He’s dead because of Ignis,” Gladio says, matter-of-factly, with a gesture to Ignis across the table. “You didn’t ask to die and you didn’t ask to undie, so you’re not even kind of a guilty party here. Now, take a good look at the outcome. I’m not dead, which is great. You’re not dead, which- well, I don’t know you, but you seem like a good guy- so that’s great. That funeral director’s dead, which isn’t so great, but he was kind of an asshole.”

“He was still a person,” Prompto insists, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, but I’m just saying. Out of all the possible outcomes, we’ve somehow landed in the one with the least net shittiness. I say we just accept it and move on.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it at this point, anyway,” Noctis continues, tone gentle. He gives Prompto a tentative smile when Prompto’s eyes flick up to meet his. “Ignis can’t control who dies, so even if he did raise that funeral director, there’s no guarantee it’d be you that died in his place and not someone else. I think I’m with Gladio on this one.”

Prompto frowns, teeth coming out to tease at his bottom lip. With mounting horror, Ignis realizes that he’s blaming himself for this. And not only that, there’s something familiar about the crease of his brow, the way he’s trying to make himself smaller.

“Prompto, could I get a word?” he says.

Prompto doesn’t say a thing, but follows him easily to the kitchen where he hunches next to a fridge, eyes downcast.

“Prompto,” he starts. He hates the way Prompto flinches at the sound of his name. “I made a mistake. And I’m not proud to admit that I don’t regret it as much as I should. But it was my mistake, you needn’t blame yourself.”

“Lot of people been telling me that tonight,” Prompto says around a bitter laugh. He taps the fridge with his heel. “Maybe I’ll believe it one day.”

Ignis sighs. “Listen, Prompto. There’s something else I wanted to tell you. You don’t have to forgive me, you can never speak to me again if that’s what you want, but please, please, stop acting like we’d all be better off if you were still dead.”

Prompto bites his lip, the skin going white around where he’s clamping down, and Ignis knows he’s hit the mark. “How did you-?”

“It’s not an unfamiliar feeling,” Ignis says with a sad smile as Prompto hesitantly meets his eyes. “And, I can say with certainty it’s the furthest thing from the truth. You’re no burden. As untraditional as it might have been for you to come back like this, no one here hates you for being alive.”

Then Prompto’s blinking, and blinking, and rolling his eyes in a clear effort to keep the tears from falling. He clears his throat, muttering what sounds like a curse under his breath, then leans back hard on the fridge, tapping it a few times with his heel again.

“H-hey Ignis?” he finally says, voice rough with emotion. “Could you do me a favor and leave me alone for a minute?”

“Prompto-”

“You said,” Prompto interrupts. “You said if I wanted, I didn’t have to talk to you. Well, I don’t want to talk to you right now. J-just- I just need to be alone for a minute. Please.”

Ignis hesitates. He doesn’t want to leave Prompto like this, but he thinks if he ignores Prompto’s request he’ll damage something between them beyond repair. After a long moment, Ignis gives Prompto a little nod and leaves him standing there in the dark of the kitchen, alone.

He hopes this doesn’t become one of his regrets.

“Not great, huh,” is the first thing Gladio says as Ignis sits heavily back at their table. Then he goes back to eating his pie.

“You did what you could,” Noctis says, splaying a warm hand on his back.

“Did I?”

Noctis gives him a half-smile, half-grimace. “Well, you could have done better. Want me to check on him?”

Ignis just shakes his head and follows Gladio’s lead. They all sit in that silence for a long time, one that’s not so awkward, not so miserable, not so drunk. The companionable silence of three people who are all in different places, but can all enjoy the light, fruity flavor of a good slice of pie.

Ignis isn’t quite sure how long that silence lasts, but it’s broken abruptly and all at once by Prompto dropping a large metal bowl full of profiterole filling on the table. He slides into the booth on the tail end of the sound, bumping into Gladio on accident. He has the look of someone who’s been crying, eyes rimmed by red around the edges, but he doesn’t look quite so miserable as he shoves a spoonful of the vanilla custard into his mouth.

“Alright you guys,” he says, muffled around the mouthful of custard. “Here’s the plan.”

Gladio snorts, stealing some of the custard from the bowl with the tip of his finger. “I like this kid.”  

“Ignis,” he says, and Ignis is so surprised that Prompto’s speaking directly to him so soon that he jumps at the sound. “You brought me back to get information, right? Is there like, a bounty or something? For catching my killer?”

“Eighty thousand gil,” Gladio answers for him, and even though he’s still drunk his posture changes. He leans forward on both elbows, clasping his hands together, and turns his head to face Prompto directly. Even alcohol can’t stop him from conducting business, it seems. “That’s my case, though. You discuss the terms with me.”

Prompto flinches at being addressed directly, but the furrow of his brow is resolute as he says, “I want a cut.”

“That’s fair.” Gladio nods. “What percentage?”

“F-fifty percent.”

“No-go,” Gladio says in a neutral tone. “You died for this, so I’ll give you forty percent, but it’s still my case. And Ignis may have fucked up, but we couldn’t have gotten here without him. So it’ll be forty-thirty-thirty, and you still walk away with the biggest cut. Sound good?”

“Y-yeah,” Prompto says. Ignis gets the feeling he wasn’t prepared to actually negotiate, and Ignis is just relieved Gladio is his employer and not a sleazier man. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Great, let’s shake on it,” he puts out a hand.

Prompto, in all his good graces, only flinches a little at what must be a sticky and unpleasant sensation as Gladio’s pie-stained fingers wrap around his to give him a hearty handshake. Even from across the table, Ignis can see the remnants of blueberry filling smeared all over Prompto’s hand as Gladio pulls away, but Gladio himself doesn’t seem to be aware of the damage he’s done.

“We’re good, then,” Gladio slouches back, business conducting mode over and fully drunk again. He starts scooting out of the booth - bumping into Prompto in the process - and gets up with his pie in one sticky hand. “I’m gonna go home, eat this pie and knock the fuck out. You guys come by my office tomorrow morning and we’ll get started on that case of yours, Prompto.”

They all say a series of hushed goodnights and goodbyes, then Prompto wipes the stickiness from his hand and asks Noctis for his phone. As he types away, Ignis thinks he’s done talking for the night, that maybe he really did only want to deliver that ultimatum and now they’re back to not talking.

But then Prompto finally says, “And Ignis?”

“Yes?” he says, not ashamed at how relieved he sounds.

“You wanted to know if there was something you could do to apologize?” Ignis nods, then Prompto’s turning Noct’s screen around and he can see that it’s pulled up to the picture of a little pomeranian on the website of some kennel. “Start by adopting that dog.”

The facts were these.

Ignis Scientia - twenty-two years, six months, three weeks and five days old, occupational baker, contractual private investigator’s assistant and soon-to-be dog father - wakes up with a hangover and a singular drive to make his way to the animal shelter.

“Your owner had good taste, at least,” he murmurs to the little dog as she pants and keeps pace with him. “Basil is a very versatile spice and it has a lovely aroma. You could do much worse for namesakes.”

Basil, who turned out to be a delightful little thing with a tastefully black and tan coat and very well defined eyebrows, gives him a wheeze and a wiggle as they wait to cross the intersection to Gladio’s office in order to rendezvous with Noctis and Prompto.

Noctis, the good friend that he was, had sent him a few updates throughout the night and had even woken up as early as ten in the morning to send Ignis a text that he and Prompto would head to Gladio’s after brunch. So he’s not surprised to find them already there when he opens the door, letting Basil through first before stepping in himself.

“Oh,” Prompto gasps, grin rapidly brightening his face as Basil snorts at each of them in greeting. “You actually adopted the dog!”

“Well, I try to keep my promises,” Ignis says.

He doesn’t want to dwell on the delighted surprise in Prompto’s expression, the sort that suggests that Prompto’s so used to people breaking their promises with him that he’s stopped expecting anything, so he focuses on the fact that Prompto’s still wearing the gray cardigan instead.

“Did you have to bring it here?” Gladio grumbles, but it’s most likely because Basil has started sniffing at his pant leg and his fingers stiffen around the sandwich in his hands.

“I’m afraid I had to,” he says, calling Basil over with a few snaps of his fingers. “I couldn’t very well leave Basil here to her own devices.”

“Her name is Basil?” Prompto wheezes and she diverts her attention to him at the sound of her name, waddling over to sniff at his outstretched palm.

“You gonna help us solve a murder, girl?” Noctis coos, squatting down next to her to scratch under her chin.

“Are you gonna help us solve a murder, Prompto?” Gladio cuts in sternly, but Ignis doesn’t miss the way he’s tearing a piece of bread from the corner of his sandwich. “Or are we trying to get into the dog-sitting business?”

“R-right,” Prompto stutters and pulls himself back into the chair. “Right, so. What did you want to know?”

Gladio puts his sandwich down, leaning in towards Prompto with both elbows on the table. It’s a perfectly executed move from a Hollywood detective film, save for the subtle bump that shoves the torn bread corner off the table and into Basil’s eye line. Gladio looks pleased as she totters over to feast on it.

“So tell me: a young guy like you, lives with his parents, part-time mechanic with five payments left on a motorcycle,” Ignis blinks at the information, looking to Prompto only to see him nod with earnestness. A motorcycle? It seems there’s still quite a lot he’s yet to learn about Prompto. “Where’d you get the spare change for a luxury cruise?”

Prompto winces. “You’re really cutting right to the point here, huh?”

“I’m a private investigator,” Gladio offers, but he’s leaning in closer in the way he does when he knows he’s onto something. “So where’d you get the money?”

“I, er, ok. Ok.” His eyes flick around to each person before settling on Ignis. “Just don’t get mad.”

“Prompto,” Ignis says as gently as he can in spite of the anxiety rising in the pit of his stomach. “What did you do?”

“N-nothing bad,” Prompto flinches again. “I mean, I don’t think it was anything bad. B-but I really didn’t- I was stupid, ok?”

“What kind of stupid?” Gladio presses.

Prompto gulps audibly. “There’s this travel agency near the garage where I work. The guy who runs it, he said he’d pay for my trip if I just brought these two tonberry statues to give to someone at our destination.”

Everyone in the room lets out some kind of breath. Gladio shakes his head. “Kid…”

“He said they weren’t worth anything! He was very clear that they only had sentimental value!” Prompto insists, but the shaking of his voice suggests that he knows the mistake he made. He lets out a tired sigh. “Look, I said I was stupid. I just- I had a shitty life, ok? Everything felt like a dead-end and I was so sick of it. I just wanted to get away for a bit, wanted to see the world and all that. I didn’t ask questions because I didn’t want to think about it. I was stupid.”

“Well, I’d say you paid your dues already,” Ignis offers with a tentative smile that Prompto returns with a wobbling one of his own. “And you’re hardly to blame for wanting a little something better out of life.”

Gladio grumbles something, then he’s pulling a familiar leather notebook out from a deskside cabinet.

“So this guy, he’s got regular business hours?” Prompto nods. “Let’s pay a visit, then.”

“Well, this certainly wasn’t what I was expecting,” Ignis says.

“O-oh man, is he-?” Prompto says.

“Dead. Recent, by the looks of it,” Gladio says.

“Pah!” Basil says.

The facts were these.

Dino Ghiranze was a man with his hands in many pies, so to speak. He was careful and attentive in organizing the preparation, baking and shipping of these metaphorical pies and had seen a great increase in wealth in a short amount of time, as evidenced by his recently gold-plated name tag.

Unfortunately, one of the consequences of having hands in many pies is having just as many competitors, and one of them seems to have a penchant for strangling people with plastic bags.

“Ignis.” Gladio waves him over as he pulls the plastic bag from over Dino’s head. “Do your thing.”

“Right,” Ignis huffs, handing Basil off to Noctis.

He sets the timer on his watch as Prompto settles in the chair across from Dino with a resolute set to his brow.

“Is that how I looked?” He grimaces. “God, that’s embarrassing.”

“Stay focused, Prompto,” Gladio scolds, and Ignis sets his fingers tentatively on Dino’s left hand.

He awakens as if from sleep. Then, noticing his company, leans forward amicably on his marble desk.

“What can I do for- Oh, Prompto! What a surprise! Thought I might see you here, kid!” he reaches over to give Prompto a hearty slap on the shoulder. “So, what is this? Up top or down low.”

“Er,” Prompto stutters, blinking at Ignis. “The middle? Well, whatever it is, Dino, we don’t have long to talk.”

“Does everyone get to talk?” Dino asks, eyes shifting from person to person. “Or is this like, an unfinished business thing?”

Prompto narrows his eyes. “You knew this was going to happen.”

“I mean, I knew something was gonna happen,” Dino shrugs. He starts to right the things on his desk that he must have toppled while being strangled to death. “Didn’t know what, exactly, but if it had been a safe trip, let’s just say I would have gone myself. The tropics are beautiful this time of year.”

“Y-you-” Prompto stutters.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that, kiddo. I tried to warn you, y’know.” Prompto’s glare deepens. “What? I did! It was in the liability waiver. Didn’t anyone tell you to read those things?”

“It was in the- Dino, you mother-”

“Prompto,” Gladio warns, gently pushing Prompto’s rolling chair out of the way. “Mr. Ghiranze-”

“Please, it’s Dino! Mr. Ghiranze is my father.”

“Dino,” Gladio says, tone edging on impatience. “Do you know who killed you and Prompto?”

“Can’t say,” he says, as casual as if he’s discussing the weather. “Real professional, that guy. Came up from behind, bag over the head. He even had gloves! Couldn’t have gotten an ID even if I tried.”

“You said he’s a professional. The hired kind?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Got a lot of people in my business, don’t know which one’s finally decided to do something about the competition. I can tell you this, though: those little tonberries would have made someone very, very rich, very, very quick. Can’t blame a guy for being an opportunist.”

Gladio huffs. “Another dead end.”

“So, can I interest any of you boys in-?” he doesn’t get the chance to finish before his head drops to the table with an audible thud.

“S-sorry,” Ignis says softly as he pulls his hand out from under Dino’s now lifeless body ten full seconds before the deadline. “I was getting nervous. It’s just, you’re all in here, and-”

“You’re fine,” Gladio mutters off-handedly. He’s got his brow drawn with intense concentration, the way Ignis has only seen a handful of times. “Prompto?”

“Y-yeah?” Prompto straightens under the severity of his tone.

“How did you die? Exactly.”

“Well,” he frowns, both hands clenched on his knees as one bounces with a rapidly increasing tempo. Ignis wishes he could hold one of his hands, but, well, he’d just held Dino’s and the results were right in front of him. “I was trying to get a picture on the top deck, so I was kind of distracted, and someone came up behind me and put a bag over my head. That’s- That’s all I can remember, I’m sorry.”

Gladio lets out a thoughtful huff. “If they’d gotten what they wanted from you, they wouldn’t have killed Dino...”

“If they had…” Prompto frowns again, mouth straightening to a tight line. “Oh! My room key! I dropped my room key in the ocean! I remember! I was kind of freaking out about it, so I was taking pictures to calm down before I went to the front lobby for a new one. But then what happened happened and-”

“And if he didn’t have your room key,” Ignis says, latching onto the train of thought. “He couldn’t have gotten into your room for the tonberries.”

“Yeah!” Prompto says with a grin, clearly excited by this development. But then just as quickly, his face falls. “Uh, guys? Where do they send your stuff when you die on a boat?”

Oh, woops??? - Prompto

up next, four rowdy boys and a very good dog solve a murder!

let me know how ya felt!

[welllpthisishappening]

Ok... so I went to the Winter Classic today (and my first ever NHL game). I’m not sure if you’ve done a Winter Classic one shot but I would adore one from the Blue Line series, preferably with Killian being the one who is playing.(Sorry, my favorite parts of your series focus on his hockey play and Emma’s lovey reactions to said hockey play.) It was just such a fun atmosphere, despite that I ended my day not being able to feel my toes.

Anon, that is the best kind of first NHL game ever! I hope your toes have recovered. And, seriously, never apologize for enjoy something. Especially when you’re telling me it’s something I wrote. That’s, like, the best. Ever. So there’s a bit in The PyeongChang Triple where the Rangers play in the Winter Classic at Yankee Stadium, but it’s all pre-game and from Emma’s POV. So here’s some game action, Killian’s POV and Emma inevitably being into him playing hockey.

“How many times do you think Arthur can use the phrase pucks to net before his tongue just falls off?”

Killian did his best not to let Arthur hear his answering laugh, but that only led to the air getting caught in his lungs and it was so goddamn cold he could barely hold his stick.

He refused to think about the state his toes were in.

Will winked conspiratorially – or, at least tried, the whole movement slightly exaggerated and vaguely absurd and Phillip’s shoulders were shaking with the effort of staying quiet. Robin wasn’t even trying.

And Arthur couldn’t possibly glare at all of them at once.

“Are you done?” he asked pointedly, eyebrows pulled low and a twist to his mouth that was probably going to freeze that way. It was so cold.

Will shrugged. “I mean—I guess I kind of have to be right? That’s how timeouts work?”

“In theory,” Robin mumbled, and Arthur did a fairly good job of glaring straight at him. He didn’t look all that put out by it. “C’mon, Arthur. We know how the game works.”

Arthur’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on the white board in his hand tightened just a bit. He inhaled sharply, which probably didn’t feel all that great considering the temperature of the air around them and probably something about the wind chill and for a team facing a one-goal deficit midway through the third period, they were all rather chipper.

It was probably playing because they were playing outside.

There was something about that same temperature and wind chill that did something very specific to a bunch of very adult, professional hockey players – made them feel younger and fresh-faced and certain they could win a game because they’d won every game they’d ever played on ponds and outdoor rinks and a one-goal deficit, simply, made it that much more exciting.

As long as they got pucks to the net.

“It will only work if you win the goddamn face-off, Locksley,” Arthur hissed, and if he narrowed his eyes anymore he was never going to be able to open them again.

“Your lack of faith is astounding.”

“Your face-off percentage this period is dismal.”

Will let out a low whistle, eyes flashing towards Killian again and he knew he was going to regret pressing the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth, but he couldn’t quite come to terms with the actual butterflies in his stomach and it wasn’t nerves. It was excitement and the way his cheeks burned when the wind blew a particular direction out of left field because they were playing in Yankee Stadium and his kids were there and they were absolutely going to win.

“Were we actually going to talk about the play?” Phillip asked, resting half his weight on his stick and the other half on Robin’s back. “Because the ref looks like he wants to kill us.”

“Just Arthur, probably,” Killian amended. “He’d get fined if he killed us.”

Will’s laugh was loud enough that they probably heard it in the bleachers.

Arthur blinked. “Pucks to—“

“—Wait, wait,” Will interrupted. “Is there more than one puck?”

They probably heard the snap of the white board in the bleachers too. Killian wasn’t even sure if they sold tickets in the bleachers. He’d have to ask Emma. Once they won.

They were totally going to win.

“You’d get fined if you killed Scarlet too,” Killian said, flashing Arthur a grin that even he knew was almost too confident. Arthur grimaced.

“I’d almost be willing to pay it.”

“Hey,” Will snapped, but Arthur waved him off and someone had already handed him a new white board. 

“Alright, well, now that we’ve fucked around—“ He sighed, a frustrated nod when the ref blew his whistle. “Right, right, fine—yes! Locksley, you better win the goddamn face-off or I’m going to tell Rol that you’re the worst player on this team—“

“Wow, ok,” Robin grumbled while Phillip muttered several pointed curses under his breath. Killian seriously could not feel his toes.

Arthur wasn’t done. “Win the face-off, get the puck to the point. Scarlet don’t miss your set up and Jones redirects into the net. Simple.”

“Simple,” Will echoed, tapping the blade of his stick against Killian’s leg. He couldn’t feel it.

“Pucks to net.”

“All those multiple pucks on the ice.”

“Hey, Arthur,” Robin cut in, moving away from the boards when the ref blew the whistle again and the Caps players were already standing in the circle in their zone. “If Cap misses the redirect, you going to trash talk him to his kids? Fair’s only fair.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Maybe you’re the one with a lack of faith,” Killian muttered.

“And,” Will added, drifting back towards the blue line with a smile on his face, “if you think Dr. J would ever believe that Cap is anything except the greatest hockey player to ever lace up skates then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“What about Peggy?”

“The actual baby? Who doesn’t speak?”

“Please,” Robin said, crouching in the middle of the circle and every single Caps player on the ice probably thought they were insane. “That kid already knows more about hockey than some grown adults.”

“Most grown adults,” Killian grinned. The Caps winger on his right gaped at him – and bumped against his side, skates digging into the ice and stick twisting in his hand. And it took, exactly, one slightly painful deep breath to realize what he was doing. “Oh, you’re trying to jump in front of me aren’t you?”

The winger – Volokov, or so his jersey claimed, but Killian figured the jersey wouldn’t lie – chuckled with something that was presumably supposed to be confidence and Killian glanced at Will. He nodded.

“So you’ve been watching tape, huh?” Killian asked. “That’s good. Preparation’s always key in big games like this.”

When he’d first started playing hockey he’d been quite a bit smaller than just about everyone else on his team and everyone else he played against and, more often than not, that led to teammates and opponents, in equal measure, believing they could push him around. Literally, metaphorically, the whole nine yards.

That was the wrong cliché.

And for awhile it had worked. He’d gotten pushed and prodded and checked more times than he could count, a walking bruise for the first few games of his career – until Anna dragged him onto the ice, started a fight and told him to take care of yourself out there and, well, that was that. So he stopped getting pushed and started checking back, learned Liam’s technique without getting whistled for it, and, maybe most importantly, started talking.

It wasn’t ever anything bad, was only ever occasionally in English, but it was a habit that grew when he was in juniors and became part of him when he was at Minnesota and if playing outside felt like a call back to all of that, the beginnings and learning curves and figuring out how to get position in front of the net, then Killian figured it only made sense to start chirping a little bit.

The butterflies in his stomach had evolved into something that felt a bit more like joy. He really liked playing hockey. He really liked playing hockey outside.

With his kids watching. And his wife.

They were totally going to win.

“You do the same thing every time, Jones,” Volokov said, still jockeying for position and he was wobbling on his skates a bit. Killian could just barely make out Phillip’s laugh from the other side of the circle. “You’re going to drop back towards the net, get the pass and juke around the nearest guy.”

Killian hummed. “That’s really impressive.”

“Same thing. Every time. Predictable.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess it would be if you’re just watching film. That’s—you know, that’s commendable. Good prep.”

Volokov moved again, an exhale that was almost as good as scoring because it meant the talk was working and Robin won the face-off clean. “But, uh, if you’ve been watching a lot of film and, well, you’re going to want to watch this too,” Killian said, pushing off his skate and Volokov barely had a chance to react, let alone move.

Killian’s stick didn’t leave the ice, head up and eyes wide and it was impossible to hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

And it didn’t take Will long to shoot, an almost-clear lane from the blue line – a flick of his stick and a blur of a puck and Killian spun as soon as he heard it land, twisting his wrists as quickly as he could. The goalie didn’t move. He hardly even flinched.

The puck went under his right pad.

The light went off.

And Killian heard that over everything else, the screams and the hands on the glass behind him, his own cry sounding scratchy and emotional and he was going to be sore for days because it was, honestly, so goddamn cold, but he couldn’t think about that when he spun around, blue jerseys flying towards him. His back collided with the boards – what might have been actual fireworks going off because this was the Winter Classic and they hadn’t won yet, but it was looking better every minute and it was always important to back up the trash talk.

“You’ll probably want to see what went wrong there after the game,” Killian called after Volokov, the letters on the back of his jersey twisted as he skated back towards the bench. “Maybe do some reflex work during the All-Star break or something.”

Will threw his whole head back when he laughed, Phillip’s mouth dropping open and Robin didn’t look remotely surprised. “Scathing, Cap,” he muttered, yanking on the front of his jersey and directing them towards an already-frustrated that they didn’t score quicker Arthur.

“I’m really good at screening the net.”

“Say that during post.”

Killian grinned – and didn’t say that during post because he hadn’t scored the game-winner and most of the New York media contingent was circled around Robin, both Roland and Henry flanking him in front of his locker, smiles on their faces and matching Locksley jerseys.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his hands through the air and Will kept making the world’s most ridiculous noises every time a different reporter asked him a question. “You know, the whole thing opened up and you get that little slice of net and you have to—“

“—If he says put pucks to net, I will walk over there and strangle him myself,” Will promised.

Killian leaned back, tugging the league-mended Winter Classic hats they had to wear further over his ears. “You know, I never really understood that saying. It’s kind of obvious isn’t?”

“The multiple pucks in a game that requires only one?”

“Nah, nah, wouldn’t you want to get the puck to the net? Like as much as possible?”

“You’re getting existential on me, Cap.”

“Look at you and the post-game vocabulary.”

“I’m trying to attract the press too,” Will said, shifting the bag of ice taped to the side of his leg. “Make myself more appealing to clickbait headlines.”

“Will Scarlet, premiere talker with non-cliché quotes?”

“I’d click it.”

Killian laughed, leaning back and he knew they were there before he actually saw him. The dad screech helped too. So did the three-year-old flinging himself across the last few feet of locker room, head colliding with Killian’s collarbone and Emma mumbled something that sounded like can’t even stop on land under her breath.

She had the hat on too.

“Dad, Dad, Dad,” Matt continued, climbing onto his lap and standing on his legs, a slightly precarious balancing act, particularly after Killian had notched something like eighteen minutes on the ice.

Will moved – a hand hanging in the air behind Matt. “Slow down, Dr. J,” he said. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“It’s because you didn’t score the game-winner,” Robin yelled, both Henry and Roland cheering in surround-sound.

“That was subtle,” Killian muttered. He wrapped his arm around Matt’s waist, glancing up at a smiling Emma with slightly red cheeks and a baby in her arms and Peggy was absolutely sleeping through post. “Did she—“

“—Missed the whole third period, actually,” Emma said. “She’s got a habit of sleeping through your goals, you know.”

“I’m going to try not to take that personally.”

“I think she’s gunning for one-on-one film sessions, so maybe it’s actually a compliment.”

“Or an attempt to keep ruining our sleep schedule.”

“That’s definitely it.”

“You guys putting a lot of thought into the kid’s diabolical methods, huh?” Will asked, but Matt had spent a good amount of time with both him and the Mills-Lockley family in the last three months and sleep was still a bit of a foreign concept to Peggy.

Emma shrugged. “I’m sure she will eventually be very impressed by the goal. Was that a shot or a pass?”

“Little of column A, little of column B.”

She nodded knowingly, eyes flitting back towards Killian with a look that made several different muscles twist and contract and he winced when Matt stepped on what he was sure would eventually be a very impressive bruise.

“Dad,” Matt whined again, dragging the word out until it sounded like an entire lineup announcement. Or several online articles with decidedly clickbait headlines. Killian tightened his hold.

“Yeah, kid.”

“Can we do that shot too?”

He wasn’t entirely surprised – had watched his kid race Roland and Henry pre-game and spent most of his free-time practicing a shot that was getting pretty damn good for a three-year-old – but the question never failed to make his pulse stutter and his heart grow and the muscles in Killian’s face objected to the size of his smile.

The muscles in his thigh were probably never going to recover either.

“Yeah,” he said, tugging his kid closer to his chest. The kid did not appreciate that. “We can definitely do that.”

“Now?”

“Give him a second to recover from this one first, Mattie,” Emma said, and he was certain her eyes got brighter when he stared at her. Several journalists grumbled when Will’s cackle presumably messed up their quotes.

“Should I be offended by that too, Swan?” Killian asked. She shook her head.

“Not when you keep destroying opposing wingers like that.”

“Sounds kind of violent.”

“Eh or just hockey.”

“Little of column A, little of column B.”

She pressed her tongue to the inside of his cheek and he couldn’t really think when she did that normally, so it was impossible to consider anything except this and them and the rest of their lives in some enormous, wonderful way when she was wearing his number and holding their, somehow, still sleeping daughter and he’d almost regained feeling in most of his toes.

Will gagged. “That’s plagiarism, Cap. Stealing my clickbait quotes.”

“Are we suggesting that clickbait is a good thing now?” Emma asked, Peggy making noise in her arms and it was inevitable.

“When I am the bait.”

“Jeez, Scarlet, that doesn’t even make any sense,” Robin said, finally free of the post-game media horde. “And, you know, I can give you some more tips on scoring goals, Matt. Plus face-offs.”

“This is going to get very old very quickly,” Killian groaned.

“I’m also offering to watch your kid later this week, Cap. Because honestly if Peg’s coming up with ways to make sure you and Em don’t sleep, it seems like my duty to combat that somehow.”

“You’re a benevolent teammate.”

“Good word,” Will murmured.

Matt twisted, another body part slamming into something that was definitely bruised or hadn’t quite recovered from the cold yet and—“Can I, Dad?”

Killian glanced at Emma. She nodded again. “Sure,” he said, and it took just about every ounce of energy he had left to stand up with Matt clinging to his side. “And—“

Matt’s eyes widened when he saw what Killian was reaching for, a puck he probably wasn’t supposed to have, but made Kristof save and they were very good at stealing things anyway. Tradition, or whatever.

“Mine?” Matt whispered, a reverence to his voice that a three-year-old could not possibly understand.

“For good luck. And goals.”

Matt flung his arms around Killian’s neck. Someone definitely took a picture.

And it took just about every parenting trick both Killian and Emma were aware of to get him to let go of it later that night, moving it onto the shelf above his bed because that was, apparently, for good luck too.

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Killian said, flicking off the light and the game replay was already on the TV. Emma did that thing with her mouth again, Peggy squirming in her hold. It was distracting. Both things, really. “You know,” he continued, dropping next to her on the couch and she definitely moved closer. “I think you might be the one who wants to rewatch the goal, Swan.”

“Nah.”

“Nah?”

“What did I just say?” Killian hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair and they’d zoomed in on him during the face-off. “And what did you say? I couldn’t—it was difficult to see during the game.”

“This is not doing you any favors about making me believe you aren’t just constantly watching me play.”

“That was the world’s most convoluted sentence.”

“And that wasn’t a contradiction.”

Emma clicked her tongue, but there was a distinct lack of frustration there and it wasn’t really easy to kiss her, even when she twisted a bit more and tilted her head up towards him. They made it work. With a clearly unimpressed baby moving between them.

“If you’re waiting for that, you might be painfully disappointed,” Emma mumbled against his mouth.

“Flirt.”

“It was a ridiculous deflection. C’mon, I’ve been dying to know what you said to that guy all day.”

“You could have asked, love.”

“Is that not what I’m doing?”

Killian made another noise, something like an agreement and being ridiculously in love with his wife. “This is a very good point. He was talking and watching film apparently and—“

“—Wait, wait, watching film?”

“If you’re going to interrupt, I’m never going to get to the good part of the story.” Emma grumbled, another twist and turn and her legs draped over his. That made it easier to kiss her hair. “Anyway, he was talking about how predictable I was off set plays in the zone, and uh—well, he was very wrong.”

“But what did you say?”

He told her. And the answering sound she made was so full of joy and happiness and everything that Killian briefly wondered if it would be possible to bottle it up and hoard it simply so he could remember the moment for the rest of his life.

He probably wouldn’t have to.

Particularly when she stopped making that same sound so she could kiss him – hard. Peggy didn’t appreciate that either.

And they watched the goal more than once, Emma rewinding the replay and mumbling compliments under her breath and Killian called her a flirt more than once, but that only made her lick her lips and her eyes brighten and Peggy fell asleep eventually.

Emma’s phone dinged, hours later in the dark of their room with Killian’s arm wrapped around her waist, and he wasn’t particularly pleased when she moved.

“What’s the matter, Swan?” he asked, the words barely audible with her hair in his face.

She didn’t answer at first, laughing instead and if he wasn’t so exhausted he probably would have heard the slight sniffle.

“Swan.”

“Nothing,” Emma said, putting the phone back on the nightstand with a soft thump. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He made her send him the picture the next morning – and hung it in his locker.