#the rendering on the nose is great op

[milawritess]

what cannot be said will be wept – gojo satoru

pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader synopsis: following the events from wherever you go, that's where i'll follow, the reader becomes incredibly sick. Satoru drowns in his guilt and reader struggles to grapple with the loss of her cursed technique. tags/warnings: angst, fem!reader, swearing, depression, guilt, dark thoughts, loss of identity, loss of powers, descriptions of gore/horror, tragedy, mentions of blood, breakdowns, reader is sick, Satoru doing everything he can to keep you afloat word count: 3.3k next entry: ii series mlist

The first few nights were unbearable. You made it—you survived, but you weren’t the same. Not even close. You were a fragmented, splintered hallow. You were nothing but a ghost haunting your own body. The weight of your fragility sat heavily in the corners of your home, creeping into the space where laughter once lived.

At night, you’d become so still, so quiet of breath, that Satoru would have to put his finger under your nose to see if you were still with him. There were nights when your heart betrayed you, skipping several beats or stilling altogether, long enough to drive him to the edges of panic. 

Baby, baby, wake up, Satoru would whisper in dread. It was only when you groaned that he sucked in a breath, drawing in the air his lungs were burning for. 

What? You would murmur, confused and disoriented. He’d suddenly pull you close, resting his head between your breasts as he listened to the only rhythm that brought him solace. 

Satoru found himself waking you up often. Soft kisses graced your face—your eyes, cheeks, and brushes against your lips. Other nights, he’d shake you awake in fear and trepidation. Your heart was too weak. The second sleep found you, it began to give. 

He could hear it, see it. 

Sleep was lost on him. He couldn’t risk it—could grapple with the chances of waking to find you—his entire world gone. You had come back to him, yet, for weeks, you straddled the line between being alive and moving to a place he couldn’t reach or follow. 

He couldn’t grasp, couldn’t fathom that even now, he was on the verge of losing you. 

“There are just some things I can’t heal,” Shoko told him one night. She arrived at his estate after he called her in a panic. You were cold as ice, and you struggled to draw breath. “There’s scarring in her frontal lobe… and there’s other damage that looks like it’s been there for a while. Maybe if I had caught this sooner-“

The damage was too great. He knew that’s what Shoko really wanted to say. 

There was so much more he needed to say to you, so much more he needed to make up for. 

Some nights, he grew bitter. You couldn't leave him—you wouldn’t dare. Not after everything you’ve been through together, not after loving him and making him feel love's perfect ache; not after you stripped him bare as you deprived him of pride and all resolve, rendering him down to nothing but a man on his knees, worshiping at the gates of your light. 

You undo him so wholly and completely. 

This wasn’t fair. Even with the powers most gods craved, he couldn’t protect you from this. What good was all this power if he couldn’t keep you? The best parts of you, the dark and wretched—all of it, everything—belonged to him. He loved the darkest shades of you, the brightest, and every color in between. 

When you were consumed in an unholy flame, one only he could ever reach beyond, he was housed by your warmth—reborn into something more glorious than the last. 

When had you fallen so cold? 

You had ascended onto him like nightfall, only to ignite and burn his world to ash. Yet, you sparked something within him in the echo of oblivion—a fire born of devotion was marred to his heart. 

He wasn’t going to let you off that easy. Death wouldn’t be enough for you to escape him. 

”You don’t get to leave me,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “You’re not going anywhere. Not from me.” 

It was a rare moment of wakefulness. Your eyes flutter open, a dopey smile gracing your lips. You say his name. “Satoru,” you murmur. ”what are you talking about?”

He brushes the hair from your neck, kissing your cold skin. “I’m talking about you, sweets,” he moves up, kissing your cheek. “I need you to get better. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

You take in a long, shuddering breath. You couldn’t deny what you said now when you felt it in your bones. “I won’t leave,” you promise him gently, breathing slowly as sleep tugs at the corners of your consciousness. “Where else would I go?”

He takes time off from work shortly after. Well, he more or less just stopped going to work. He kept your condition close like a secret. Outside of the kids, Principal Yaga, and Nanami, no one knew what happened to you, and he would keep it that way. He didn’t need the higher-ups catching wind of this. 

It was just a precaution, his way of protecting you when you couldn’t protect yourself. You had enemies just as much as he did. He thinks he’d break the world in two if they ever touched you. 

However, Gojo couldn’t just wait and do nothing. He had to keep you comfortable, keep you warm. After cranking up the central heat and lighting a fire, he noticed you responded positively. It was far from comfortable for him, but it wasn’t about him, even if, most nights, sweat beaded on his chest and forehead. It was about your recovery and giving your body what it desperately needed. Heat. A heat, he fears, even as he eases you into a tub of the hottest water he could get from the faucet in his master bathroom, wasn’t enough. 

However, this was a start in the right direction. Your eyes fluttered open as your body sank into the steaming water. “This is nice,” you utter. “Really nice…”

“Hm, good,” Satoru says, grabbing the shampoo bottle. “Glad to be of service.”

You hum pleasantly as he starts massaging shampoo into your hair. “How many days has it been, Satoru?”

“Not sure what you mean, sweets.”

“Satoru,” you sigh softly. “How many days since the incident?” 

He pauses for a moment before his fingers continue rubbing the suds into your hair. “Fifteen days.”

“And yet, I don’t have a lick of cursed energy…”

“Hey, easy there,” he wipes the subs that threaten to fall into your eyes with his hands before grabbing your face and pinching your cheeks together. Just as you were about to swat him away, he kissed the pout off your face with one long smooch. “Take it easy, grumpypants. You’re still recovering.”

“Yeah, but for how long,” you mumble. “It’s never taken me this long to recover my cursed energy before. I just– I don’t feel the same.” Satoru takes a deep breath, watching as you stare down at the water, your fingers mindlessly fiddling with the necklace around your neck. “You shouldn’t have to be taking care of me like this or taking time off from work. They need you, the kids need you–”

“You need me,” he gently corrects. “The kids are fine, and Nanami has been covering for me.”

“Yeah, but–”

“You act like this isn’t something you’d do for me if I needed you.”

You look at him, eyes misting over. You reach for him, your arms wrapping around his neck. He didn’t care if he got wet as he held you, his hands rubbing softly at your damp back. “I really love you,” you tell him, burying your head into his neck. “I really do. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, silly girl. I’m here. I’m with you.”

-

Weeks pass, and things only seem to get worse. 

You could hear their whispers, see their pitiful glances, and see how they all tiptoed around you. It made you furious. It wasn’t a loud, fiery rage that once fueled you. It was quiet and insidious—burning cold and cutting deeper than any wound you’ve experienced. You hated their pity, their careful steps, and how they looked at you as if you were a ghost. 

You had once been a force that could not be ignored or buried away—a wild inferno in a world that always tried to snuff out the smallest of embers. Your power was born of defiance, a testimony of your will, even vengeance. 

You weren’t always good. At times, you think Satoru forgets that. 

Yet, against all odds, every attempt to diminish and erase you from the annals of time, you remained unbridled, unbroken. You bore no titles and came from no golden lineage; it was your strength alone that helped you carve your place in the world and carve your name into the sun. You were powerful. Unforgiving. You weren’t something to be protected and admired; you were destruction, born of dark weather and chaos.

And yet, you fell. 

A part of you wonders if this was the price to be paid for your transgressions—a quiet, unrelenting suffering that hollowed you out from the inside. It was almost poetic in it's cruelty, as if the weight of your sins could only be balanced by the weight in your chest.

Your flames, once roaring and defiant, sputtered and dwindled. For a while, you believed it was exhaustion, but you knew, deep in your bones, you weren’t the same. At first, you told yourself that you had endured far worse. You strappled the line of death more times than you could count. Sometimes, it was fury that had you crawling from your grave. Others, it was vengeance fueled by the fire meant to burn the pyre of your enemies and all those who wronged you.  

But, your fire hadn’t just dimmed and weakened. It was gone. The power, once flowing through your veins like lava and liquid gold, was replaced by a cold and suffocating emptiness. Even if the taste of ash lingered and the scent of black smoke permeated your nostrils, you weren’t the same. 

You were only six when your cursed technique appeared. You’re incapable of remembering what led to such depravity, such evil, or maybe you couldn’t bring yourself to remember why the people of your village tried killing you. You didn’t remember much of your childhood, but you remember those laughs that still haunted you in your dreams—the same laughs you heard as you were thrown into a ditch your small hands and feet couldn’t have hoped to crawl out of. 

They doused you in rum and lit a match. When the fire ignited, you were left to burn into nothingness. You remembered the feeling of each nerve ending igniting, the excruciating pain that consumed you. You remembered how your scream became a soundless cry as your vocal cords were scorched. You remembered the smell of your burning hair and flesh, the way flames licked at your eyeballs until you were blind. You remembered the end coming suddenly, but not quick enough. You remembered crying for a mother you couldn’t remember, a father that never protected you. 

Then, you remembered how suddenly the word came back. The flames became nothing but a gentle sting. Your flesh mended, and when you drew breath, a black smoke filtered into your lungs, giving you strength. You could taste the ash, and the blood in your veins began to boil. You were born again amongst the flames that once brought you so much agony. You ruled them—fire incarnate: destructive, yet devastatingly alive. 

You hadn’t just lost your technique. You were stripped away of everything you had ever been. Perhaps what stung the most was how the world kept spilling. You were a woman of no renown, no legacy to speak of. And now, you had no fire to prove you had ever been worth anything at all. 

You wonder—had you ever been as strong as you truly thought? Or were you a flame burning on borrowed time, destined to extinguish into nothing? 

You wanted to be forgotten. You wanted to disappear, to return to your flames. You had once despised them; you thought they cursed you with the wickedness they were born from. But, even so, it had been yours. Even if the world always thought you were more of a monster than a sorcerer, perhaps one more terrifying than the curses conjured from the worst parts of mankind, they were yours. And yet, you were lost without them.

You had survived because you had felt the touch of love, came to learn to accept it, and nurtured it with a darkened heart and two hands. Love yanked you back to the surface, yet a bitter and selfish part of you wondered at what cost? 

You wondered if he thought of you differently, if his love was slowly fading along with you, but you were too afraid to look. He had already told you once that you weren’t nearly as strong as you thought. He was right. You were a failure.

You still loved him. You don’t think you could ever stop loving him, but that love became so twisted—tangling with your hurt, your pride, and your inability to forgive everything but yourself.  His kindness became suffocating; his attempts at assurance only ever reminded you of what you lost. Every look of concern or sympathy—real or imagined—was a dagger to the chest. He would leave eventually. He’d grow tired of your ups and downs and how your sweetness could so quickly transform into bitterness.

Even as your strength slowly returned—enough to move without sleep constantly tugging at your consciousness or being teethed to IV drips—the hallowed absence of your cursed energy remained. It had become stagnant, hitting an invisible barrier you couldn’t push or break, no matter how hard you tried.

-

“Baby?” Satoru whispers out for you one night. You don’t respond, but he knows you can hear him. “Can I come in?” 

You make no effort to move or stand. You were frozen, lost in a grief you don’t think you could ever escape. You were on your bathroom floor, heaving over a toilet with a hand pressed to your chest as if it were the only thing keeping it from caving in. He wonders if you still have the ability to sense his presence—if you could sense that he was there waiting for you. 

“Go away,” you told him. You didn’t want him to see you like this, not with blood poring from your nose and dripping from your lips. You were sick. You were scared, angry, and so fucking confused. You didn’t know what was happening to you or how to make it stop it. 

“You know I can’t do that…” 

He wouldn’t leave you—not when you needed him; not when the love remained, even if it was buried under mounds of hurt and pain. It would be the greatest betrayal, even if you begged for it.

However, he wouldn’t push you. So, he lies on the cold wooden floor, his back pressed against the door. Even with five feet between you two, he felt as if you were going somewhere far, somewhere he couldn’t reach. Again.

He goes silent for a moment, searching for the right words that seem so out of reach. He doesn’t think there is anything he could say to make this better, but he could try.

“I used to think for a while that my life had no happy ending,” he says, voice low and steady. “But, then, I met you. Your power drew me in, yeah. But do you know what else did? Those rare smiles. I wanted to be responsible for them—all of them.” Even as you remained silent, there’s no shying away from the emotions his words sturs. There's no escaping him. 

“It was how you demanded a whole room with just your presence. I admired how you loved and hated in equal measure. I loved your wickedness and cunning wit. You dared to challenge the world, and I–” His voice dips lower. It's only to you that he reveals these fragile, intimate parts of himself. “... You made me believe in something more than myself.”

“I’m not the same,” you swallow hard, throat tightening as tears threaten to spill once again. “I’m not… I’m nothing like the woman you met.” 

“Good,” he says simply, voice firm. “Because I don’t need her. I need you. Even when you’re angry and hurting or think you’ve lost everything, I’ll still need you.” 

You turn your head to the door, his words settling over you like a blanket, heavy and warm. Your gaze falls to the floor, finding the faint shadow of him waiting for you. 

“I’ve hated myself for so long for not being able to stop what happened to you. I feel like I failed you—failed you in every way that mattered.” His head falls back, thumping against the door. He loved you. He knew he did because he could feel it in the way his heart ached for you—in the way your pain became his pain. You’re still the woman he admired; you were still the woman he longed for. You’ve never needed power to rule over him, yet he doesn’t know how to make you believe that. All he has is his heart, which he bears to you with two trembling hands. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” 

And finally, as tears gather in your eyes, you realize he wasn’t here because he pitied you. Satoru wasn’t conditional—he didn’t know how to love in halves. You had always felt it, the lingering truths caught between two hearts. But now, he was here, baring it all—leaving no room for doubt or space for denial.

He loves you.

“Your fire isn’t just in your technique—it's in everything you do, angel. It's in the way you look at the world, how you fight for what you believe in, and even the way you love… it used to scare me,” he chuckles gravely. There wasn’t ever a moment, he thinks, that he wasn’t enraptured with you. He can’t recall a time when he hadn't been caught in your obit and seized in the invisible weight of your gravity. 

Your eyes fluttered close, your breath catching as his words settled over you. For the first time in a long while, you feel something other than the crushing burden of loss. You feel him, steady and unwavering. You don’t know if you should cry or let yourself fall into him entirely. 

“Satoru,” you trembled. “What’s happening to me?”

One thing Satoru could never do was lie to you. Not even about this, as his heart nearly fails him. “You're displacing more cursed energy than you’re retaining. It’s making you sick.” 

A shuddering cry slips past your lips. “... Am I dying?”

You hear him move behind the door. His voice, steady but tense, cuts through your panic. “I’m coming in.” 

“No, don’t–”

But it was too late. A locked door wasn’t enough to stop him. The knob crumbles under the force of his grip, a deafening crunch filling the room. Yet, despite the raw display of his strength, he pushes the door open with a gentleness that makes your chest ache. 

You were terrified, your hand pinching harder against your nose that refused to stop dripping blood. It was everywhere—soaking your shirt, trickling down your arm, dripping to the floor, and piling between the cracks of the tiles. You tried to clean it up, but it just wouldn't stop.

His eyes are a bit wide as he takes you in, but he doesn’t reveal much. His expression is unreadable as he drops to his knees. You crawl backward until your back meets the tub. “No, no, no, stop–” but it was futile. 

Blood stains his shirt, his hands, and smears across his cheek as he drags you into his arms. He doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he doesn’t care. 

“Satoru–”

“I don’t care,” he says sharply. His hands cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he presses you to his body. “I don’t care about that. Just… stay still. Breath,” he murmurs. “In and out. That’s all you have to do right now.”

You cry with such an unalloyed and raw pain that robs you of breath. It starts low, guttural, crawling from the deepest parts of you. It carries jagged edges, and swells into a sound so consuming, it drowns out everything else. Shaking, shuddering, choking—you fall apart, gasping for air between waves of anguish.

Satoru loses track of time suspended in the purgatory of your suffering.

“I’m not leaving,” he promises, trembling against you slightly. “And neither are you. I already told you before that you’re stuck with me.”

-

a/n: since my first fic did so well, i decided to make a mini-series depicting readers recovery :) feel free to send requests if you have any. i can either make a small blurb, a headcannon, or even make an entire chapter out of it. also, sorry if there are any typos its getting late lol

on a different note, i sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter. my goal was to capture the readers suffering and Gojo's guilt, and i truly hope i did it justice. i also added a little bit backstory for the reader! i wanted to add layers and reveal that she's an imperfect character. regardless, i sincerely hope you enjoyed. please let me know your thoughts!! I would love to hear them :)

also, i know the kids weren't in this chapter but don't worry! they'll be around very soon!

lastly, thank you all so much for the overwhelming love and support on my first fic. i'm beyond grateful that so many of you enjoyed my writing. it genuinely means the world to me! your encouragement and kind words warmed my little heart.

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[theflopwonder]

I THINK ABOUT THIS ALLL OF THE TIMEEEEEEEE.

(also teehee i will be using this as an excuse to discuss what realistic racial dynamics in Gotham would look like bc I am a black new jersyian, which isn’t the point of this post but it activated my ranting chip, and is going to mirror a lot of what op says)

The thing that a lot of comic writers like to skimp over, unless it's to perpetuate harmful stereotypes, is that disenfranchised neighborhoods, particularly in the inner city, where Batman's work is initially concentrated, especially in the early years, are usually overwhelmingly populated by black and brown people. Historically, for black people specifically, this is because of a Great Migration period during Jim Crow where black folks would come up to the more industrialized north for increased job opportunities and less racism. This is why Newark, NJ has such a high African-American population to this day, it was one of the hotspots.

As a black person who has lived in both NJ suburbs and its inner cities, inner city gothamites would not like Batman for a long ass time, if at all. Why? A lot of comics will focus on Batman stopping a drug deal or a gang member, but do nothing to address the socioeconomic conditions, or demonstrate cultural competency in portraying these neighborhoods' relationship to drug dealing, drug addicts, gang affiliation, and organization, which is often very morally complex, and SURE AS HELL doesn't consider their relationships to police forces or assumes that the power dynamic is shifted in favor of the black and brown inner-city neighborhoods, rendering the cops useless and letting crime prevail which is even WORSE and just blatantly untrue.

OR They just take on a paternalistic view of "these neighborhoods and the people in them need to be saved from themselves". So they have this white man swoop in and save the day and everybody in the neighborhood is just supposed to love him, while the uptight politicians are the ones who have the criticism so you, as the viewer, will already have the seeds of hate planted so you feel vindicated when they are revealed as corrupt and THAT'S the real reason they hate Batman.

In the beginning, Batman will be seen as someone who contributes to the prison industrial complex. He is not helping the citizens of Gotham, he is just a cop. He is a symbol of another white man wreaking havoc on a predominately black neighborhood, and the police won't do anything to stop him. This will even be exacerbated by him beginning to work with the police. If Batman wants to be looked upon fondly by the people he is supposedly helping, he's going to have to acknowledge the racial divide between uptown and downtown Gothamites. He is going to have to WORK for his respect and understand the reasons why he, as Batman, may never get it

(my headcannon is that No Man's Land is when the perspectives of BOTH Bruce Wayne and Batman's reputations turned into net positives. For Bruce it was going to Congress and being the only one to fight directly for them, [as one of the major points of NML was how unfair it was to poor people]. For Batman, it's that when he couldn't get the kids left in NML out of the city, he stayed and protected them anyway. He didn't just go running off like everybody else [even tho he technically did, but y'know, they don't know that), and leave them stranded and alone? That's worthy of respect to them.)

Now if I was too apply ALL OF THIS to Red Hood ... the one shred of hope of black and brown citizens of Gotham would have is that Batman does not use lethal force. He will ruff up our people, break an arm or a leg or a nose, but he will not gun them down. He will not use lethal force. They will not lose their lives. He will let them see another day. And if they see another day, then they have the possibility to do better, and THAT is where Batman and the people of Gotham's hood will be able to find common ground and coexist with each other.

That is completely gone when Red Hood enters the scene.

No, people in the Gotham's hood would not like Red Hood, he would just make things worse. Way worse. He would be the actuality of what everyone feared about Batman. He would ruin a decade's worth of work that Batman put in trying to fix his reputation within these neighborhoods.

You only understand that when you understand black and brown people's relationship with law enforcement.

They will mistake black and brown mothers telling their children to be inside before the streetlights come on as "lower crime rates" and would they be correct? On the surface, sure. But it wouldn't be because of anything productive, it would be because you have successfully scared an entire neighborhood into complacency. You've essentially put them under unofficial marital law dictated by a myth and justified it by saying "Well Batman only scares people who need to be scared,"

(They do this in Batman v Superman, very blatantly, and with a Black woman saying it verbatim, and it's ... it's an interesting choice, I go back and forth on how I feel about it considering the timeline conditions but for now I digress).

I'd even go as far as to argue that the ONLY people who would like Batman as a concept from jump are non-black people in the suburbs. Batman is the type of idea that allows white people to have a conscious spa day, to offer up a simple solution to a complex problem so they don't have to do any deeper thinking about it. He is the whitest of the white savior concepts. Oh he's getting those drug dealers off the street? Thank god, they'll keep that fentanyl away from our promising young and precious suburban kids.

However, once Bruce Wayne began announcing all of these initiatives to help poor people, despite this being the thing that would be what make the crime rates go down and stay down, it also resulted in black and brown people ascending in socioeconomic status oh..... now those kids from the hood are going to be moving into our good schools.... they're going to corrupt our children and expose them to guns and drugs and gangs OH NO! NOT MY GOTHAM!

Semi-Anecdotally and Semi-Historically: This happens a lot in NJ & NY. Speaking for NJ, this happens a lot with kids in inner cities like Newark, who will move downwards to places like Plainfield, and then Plainfield becomes essentially segregated in everything but schools, and people will worry that those "Newark Gangsters" will corrupt their kids, so they move them down further into suburbia to like ... Edison, or Piscataway, where high housing is enough to keep people out. Then they begin defunding Plainfield schools, and stationing Plainfield cops in black parts of town until they decide to gentrify the neighborhood again.

(This is also why you shouldn't listen to people who question why people still live in Gotham. At one point, Camden was one of the most dangerous cities in the world. It is also a college town. Newark is still not a very safe place to live. It is ALSO technically a college town)

Canon-Wise, let's look at Robin issues 25 & 26 (my detested) where a storyline about bringing guns to school has one of Tim's classmates say this verbatim.

He ends up losing his life to a black student via gunshot. It’s framed as ambiguous but to me there’s an obvious reason why this escalated LMFAO don't put your hands on people in a school hallway.

Despite the fact that both kids pull out a gun at the exact same time, and shoot the exact same amount of bullets, who do you think gets more sympathy from both Tim and from the narrative altogether?

Whose motives are positioned as higher in moral value?

Who’s motives are ever even considered?

Who is Tim allowed to lecture gently, vs who is he and Bruce allowed to hunt down, scare, and capture?

This story is allowed to have emotional weight for Tim because he knows Karl. It deliberately attempts to make the reader lose sympathy for Young El because they attach him to a gang.

Batman does make a point to mention that it just easily could’ve been Young-El that died, but it only positions Karl as the only who “doesn’t understand his choice”. They’re the same age. Both high school students. Could it not also be argued that Young El’s situation is worse because he is being exploited by a gang, that is also taking advantage of the fact that he does not fully comprehend the choices that he makes? Or does that only apply to poor former bully jock Karl Ranck.

Let’s also unpack that subtle but glaring racism.

1. The immediate assumption that Young-El will re-offend is racist. Although Tim says it directly, Bruce also indirectly agrees, (conditionally to prop up the "usefulness" of Batman). Was Young El the first person to say it? Sure, but that's just more racism being perpetuated by the narrative because it's not being done to try to make the reader understand black and brown people's relationship to the incarceration system and why recidivism commonly happens, it's meant to portray Young El as a mouthy kid resisting arrest for a crime he committed.

It offers no sympathy towards him even though he is just as much a pawn in the city’s corruption as any other child that falls into a gang. If anything this should be more incentive to y’know … make sure he has help upon release but hey what do I know?

2. This moment, specifically:

If we are analyzing this keeping in mind that Young El does not know who Robin is, but can fully hear this statement being made towards him, ABOUT HIM, in this context that means this can now be considered a VERY racist micro-aggression being aimed towards him. To even hit on the point of each citizen preferring a different vigilante, this is now a reason that Robin's reputation is in the negatives. If I can't count on you to arrest me without being subjected to what can easily be taken as a racial microaggression (because again, he doesn't know who Tim is, or his relationship to this crime and it is unrealistic to expect him to, all he knows is that this white kid is arresting him and telling him that he's essentially too stupid to understand him, which is reinforcing a racial power dynamic) there is now nothing separating you from a regular degular cop.

3. The idea that the fear of seeing Batman will be enough for Young El to not re-offend is racism. That’s not hope for someone's future, that's a form of oppression and is AGAIN fueled by the narrative’s refusal to extend any sympathy to Young El. Telling black and brown citizens that "beyond the law and the courts" (that have historically tried to eradicate us btw) there is …. More fear? More reason to be afraid of the world? And then you wanna end the comic talking about some damn PEACE?????? PEACE FOR WHO???????

Also Bruce’s smile in that panel about scaring Young El … that’s amusing to you? Scaring high school kids that you’re supposed to help? That’s how you want Batman to be “useful”? High school children being exploited by gangs are the people that are supposed to be afraid of the Batman? Oh that’s not… anyway.

In the panel before that one, THEY'RE STILL pointing guns at Young El and the gang, despite the fact that if they are being detained they have already been frisked and had their weapons taken away already.

Sure you can argue that this is less a Batman problem and more reflection of how this actually happens in real life, but idk if I’m writing a story where a deliberate point is made that my protagonists don’t use lethal force … but then they disappear on top of a building and watch as these children and adult gang members are submitting under the threat of lethal force, despite having no weapons no drugs and no way of escape …. you see the problem here?

Hate this mini-arc sooooooo bad. even tho I do think about it a lot when thinking about Tim's relationship with school violence. it's a watershed moment for him and so important to his development, but it's also racist as fuck.

I SAY ALL OF THIS TO SAY. There's a lot of this bullshit that basked into comics, hell, into Batman's very conception that makes it easy to fly over people's heads. I'm sympathetic to it, I first read Robin when I was 15. A LOT of shit was flying over my head. But I do encourage you all to approach these stories with a more critical eye, as they can and do help deepen your understanding of these characters.

And let’s be honest— modern ideas of crime are intrinsically tied to American racial ideologies (the modern American inception of cops is deliberately based on slave catchers). Without considering that nuance, Batman (and definitely Red Hood) can very quickly become another layer of fear and control rather than people who are truly trying to help these neighborhoods thrive.

I know we tend to roll our eyes at "Batman beats up poor people and mentally ill!!!" takes cuz most of the time they're ridiculous and said by people who do not interact with canon but like ... the idea that one person's savior is another person's boogieman is very true, and NOT ALWAYS GOOD, especially if we are considering the usefulness of an american Batman, who is not exempt from american racial dynamics, which very obviously exist in his fictional Gotham, even if subtextually through speech, through drawing, through panel sequencing, etc. Batman is a fantasy, but his lasting power as a character is fundamentally dependent on how well of a reflection he is of real life, and THIS would be the real-life makeup of a real-life Gotham City. I spend a lot of this post critiquing, but I still love these characters, and it's because I love them, that these dynamics are so interesting to explore.

Anyway rant over, I probably did a shit job at convincing y'all but if you made it to the end of this long-ass post, YES PLEASE. EVERYBODY, PLEASE READ CANON.

You know what I've realized these past several months on Tumblr and just...years of consuming content?

It's pretty rare for the fandom to acknowledge Gotham as a city. A real, living city with people in it. Like, sure we always get cutesy posts about Batman or the others from outside perspectives or fics that include interesting ocs (I love u if you do that btw).

But what I mean isn't that. What I mean is: does anyone think of Gotham and its citizens as actual people? Because I've sure seen kind of the opposite.

I see constant arguments or heavily biased (mostly misinformed) posts regarding what Bruce does and how the Batman helps the city. That his riches would get lost in corruption and no one can save the city unless there's violence. You could try and make the argument, sure. But we've seen time and time again in comics that Bruce uses his money to the benefit of the city. We've seen in comics that he employs people who are disadvantaged and gives them opportunities. People know Bruce Wayne gives jobs and treats his employees well. He donates heavily to charities, creates his own organizations, funds Leslie Thompkin's clinic, and consistently updates the safety of his own buildings. People (at least post-Crisis) would know that Bruce Wayne did everything he could to save Gotham after the Cataclysm earthquake/No Man's Land - that he went up against Congress. Of course, not everyone would like Batman. Not everyone would trust the Wayne name. They'd see a stranger who prowls nightly and may or may not rescue you. They'd see the privilege of an old rich name who gets to exert his influence over the city. If you go to him for help, you go to him with the fear, and anticipation of rejection or with the knowledge that he will be safe.

I've also seen the (imo) ridiculous notion that Crime Alley citizens would trust the Red Hood. Maybe some would now, after the reboots and actual comic book evidence that he's doing something. But I cannot fathom living in a city with such heavy crimes occurring and then trusting what is essentially a cop. People don't know the Red Hood. They don't know Jason Todd. They would only know: 1. he has tried and succeeded various times to take over organized crime and drug routes 2. he can and will kill if he sees it fit. In some people's eyes, he would be a cop with even less judicial oversight. In some families, he would be the killer of their breadwinner, of their fathers or family members or lovers. A man with a gun. Eyes without a face. If you go to him for help, you go to him for blood.

This doesn't even begin to lay out the insane amount of vigilantes who live/operate in Gotham. The Batman is not the only figure. The Red Hood is not the only figure. If you boil down Gotham to only the conflict between these two characters, you miss the nuances and varied opinions of the city by miles. If you boil down Gotham to just Batman-affiliates, you miss even more.

For every person who doesn't trust Batman, there's someone who'd prefer Huntress. For every child who lives in fear but can't trust an adult, there's Robin or Batgirl. For an abused woman, there's other women out there who help: Catwoman or Black Canary or Holly Robinson. There's people who'd never trust a vigilante but want safety, they'd have Leslie Thompkins (who operates in Crime Alley) or Lucius Fox who could give them a job.

Not to mention, Batman is very obviously white. There would be some people who would rightfully mistrust white men, and would prefer figures like Orpheus or Onyx or Batwing or the Signal or Huntress (post-N52). There's the Creeper, who would be terrifying but some might prefer the monster over the man. There's Ragman, an explicitly Jewish vigilante who was literally called the Tatterdemalion of the Oppressed and trusted by the poor and homeless. There's Batwoman, Mother Panic, Spoiler, Nightwing, Red Robin, Azrael, Bluebird, the enigmatic idea of the Oracle, Anarky, Ghostmaker, Gotham Girl/Boy, Catman, Alan Scott-Green Lantern, Wildcat.

Hell, maybe someone who lives in Gotham would just straight up trust Superman or the Flash or Wonder Woman more than anyone else. Maybe they'd never once trust someone acting for a perceived view of justice and would just trust an employer like Two-Face or the Riddler or any mobster.

I'm stressing my point here: when you write anyone who lives in Gotham City, keep in mind that they don't know they live in a comic book world. Secret identities are foreign to them, they only know the base actions of each vigilante. Each person's opinion will heavily vary. Every experience colors their view of the city and vigilantes as a whole. Just, idk, widen your horizons and consider about what someone living in a place like Gotham would really think.

To that end, read the comics!!! Research actual cities!!! Take in experiences and history!!! It's all interesting and just adds so much more.

You want one comic that shows Bruce helping Gotham and the various views of Gothamites, read Gotham Knights #32, published in 2002 and titled "24/7." Read it online illegally if you have to!!

[evilwolf2000]

yesterday was WEEZER DAY!! WOOO!!!!!

we drove up to philadelphia and met my cousin who we grabbed some food with and with their partner. it was really good. but while we were gone my car was about to be towed! i was parked in my cousins apartment buildings lot and they had a parking pass for me but said they'd put it in my car later because they never tow people and i do believe them, but it was a FRIDAY THE 13th! we luckily got back before my car was actually being towed, but i had to pay $200 for the car to not be towed it sucked. i felt better after we started heading to the concert and lucy got me the best vegan icecream ive ever had to cheer me up

the show was amazing!!!! ill try and post a video compilation later. it was all about their blue album but the narrative was that we were traveling to blue planet and they played from other albums along the way. first a jumble of their later eras in no particular order. burnt jam, hash pipe, zero to hero, beverly hills, dope nose, pork and beans, and a few im probably forgetting. there was an evil alien we had to defeat, and there was an awesome graphic of a bunch of small poorly 3d rendered river cuomos taking their glasses off and sending laser beams at him. then we "crash landed" on the Pinkerton Asteroid belt and they played a few from pinkerton. Getchoo, Why Bother, Pink triangle, Across the sea, and even You gave your love to me softly which is a bit of a deep cut and was made for the rock opera that pinkerton was supposed to be before that was scrapped. after that we finally got to the blue planet where they played the blue album in full. it was a great show and i sang every word and again felt proud singing along to the one deep cut and the other lesser known songs that the people around us didn't seem to know. they kept calling us WEEZERITES!

me and Lucy had our picture taken in front of the photo op after the show. in line in front of us was a father and his son probably around 9. the boy said Weezer is his second favorite band, we asked what his favorite band is and he paused and smirked and real slowly said nirvana and we thought that was awesome. we took their picture and they took ours. we took the subway back to my cousins, it was a good good night

[spvce-cowboy]

hi so do you know that pedro tweet where he talks about being high on edibles and watching Incredibles 2. I was wondering if you could maybe write something like that with Frankie?

not to be overly self-indulgent rn but the amount i need this is actually insane

if you are interested, @frannyzooey has a great series, Box Set, that has a similar set-up ! <3 it's really fun would highly recommend

warnings below the cut: edible use (duh), tickling

it’s one of those days where you just about collapse into frankie’s arms as soon as you push the front door open.

he’s on the couch, eyes half-lidded, lazy smile on his unshaven face as your slam the door shut behind you, throwing your keys on the entranceway table before making a bee-line towards the living room. he’s in the middle of reading over a set of documents splayed over the coffee-table. the tv is on but muted. you fall against the couch beside him, burying your face against his shoulder with a hmph.

“hi,” you mumble into the soft material of his shirt. “do we still have some of that brownie left?”

“day that bad?”

“my advisor is exhausting,” you say with a sigh rolling your cheek against his shoulder. your eyes flutter shut. “ ‘m so tired.”

you hear him hum low in his throat, his hand rubbing over the small of your back. you smile against his shoulder as he shifts in order to press a kiss to your forehead. honestly, you could fall asleep right here if you really wanted.

“here,” he says after a second, patting your back as a small warning before he stands. you dramatically flop back down on the couch as he crosses the room and disappears into the kitchen. he returns with the edible, breaking it in half before handing it to you. you accept it readily, tapping it against his half in a mock little “cheers” before downing it. you try not to screw up your face with the taste, but you gulp down your water a little too eagerly after have properly hid your reaction.

frankie lays back on the couch and you eagerly nuzzle into his side. he kisses you, it’s something slow and sweet. it’s a greeting, a welcome home. he pulls away before you can deepen the kiss, pecking the tip of your nose and then your forehead before he tucks you back into his side.

“wanna watch something?” he asks, resuming his gentle rhythm against your back. you hike your leg over his hips, sealing yourself firmly against him, and nod.

“please.”

he puts on one of those quirky romcoms as the both of you wait for that warm feeling to start buzzing through the pit of your stomach and the back of your molars, the heaviness to settle in the lids of your eyes. frankie pushes the edge of your shirt up to the band of your bra in order to feel your skin against his rough palm as he rubs your lower back.

there’s a brief moment where his blunt fingernails flick against your hip that tickles and you don’t realize your mistake in flinching with a soft giggle.

“ticklish?” he chides, you can hear the smile in his voice. you nod without thinking, eyelids already drooping. his hand pauses and your eyes widen, you sit up abruptly, pointing your index finger in his face, realizing your mistake.

“don’t you dare—“ the words barely make it out of your mouth but it’s already too late. frankie has your flipped on your back in the blink of an eye—fucking special ops—and he’s tickling your sides like it’s a personal mission of his to render you into a hot-faced mess.

howling with laughter, you try to weakly bat him away. more for show than anything else, and for the fact that you know he’s going to do exactly what he does: frankie easily gathers your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head as he continues to scrape his other hand against your sides.

you stretch up to kiss him, suppressing your giggles against his mouth. it doesn’t take more than a second before you’re deepening the kiss, frankie’s hand stilling as you distract him. he lets go of your wrists, his tongue darting into your mouth as you curl your fingers into his hair. you wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer.

you let out a content hum of a sigh as he begins to kiss his way down the length of your body, his hands quickly removing each article of clothing they encounter.

it’s the perfect end to the day. you’ll say that much.

[piratefalls]

A McDanno rec list for a new friend. (These are also authors I enjoy, so consider this a blanket rec list.)

The Bareknuckle Poet by pleasebekidding

After a serious accident left Steve temporarily wheelchair-bound, working towards his recovery, he enrolled at Rutgers for a year. He met Danny Williams in his criminology course, wearing pride pins and chipped black nail polish, so sure of himself that Steve found it breathtaking. What happened next redefined Steve's sense of self, his ambitions, and many of his priorities.

Tax Benefits by renecdote

“Everyone already assumes we’re married so maybe we should just...” Danny gestures broadly with his beer. He’s maybe a little bit… Not drunk, but definitely tipsy.

“For the tax benefits.”

Danny gives him an aggravated look. “Yes, Steven, for the tax benefits.”

Danny (jokingly) suggests they should get married. Steve takes him seriously.

ua kaha aku la ka nalu o kuu aina (the surf has pressed upon my land) by icoulddothisallday, TetrodotoxinB

Steve knows, he learned, how a man behaves. He can play his part. Danny, who is a good man and great father, looks nothing like what Steve was taught. Reconciling the two means giving up everything he's clung too for the last two decades, and there's nothing about it that's easy.

*potentially triggery AF (deals with effects of conversion therapy) but beautifully rendered

the art of leaving and saying goodbye by Verasteine

2007 is the year Danny learns that choice can be the worst kind of heartbreak. AU.

*warning for infidelity (not mcdanno)

in jest by apathyinreverie

“No, babe,” Danny shakes his head with a grin. “If the apocalypse were to go down while I’m elsewhere for some godforsaken reason, then you stay put and I’m coming to wherever you are.” His grin widens. “And I expect you to have cleared any aliens or zombies or whatever else might be messing with us off the island and to have set up a nice, comfortable military dictatorship for us to rule over by the time I get back.”

It’s a joke.

Of course it’s a joke.

Until it isn’t.

(A the-day-after-tomorrow-style apocalypse AU, where the world decides to end right when Danny is visiting one of the other islands with Grace. Because, of course, it does.)

not just friendship (romance too) by earthquakedream

Steve's gone and gotten himself a boyfriend. Danny's not sure what worse: the fact that he's stupidly jealous or that he actually likes the guy.

All I Ever Wanted (It Comes with a Price) by leviarty

Steve gets shot. Again. Danny is not okay.

* warning: a young grace shoots someone to protect both herself and a gravely injured steve

After All Our Troubles, We Have This by Banshi13

"I'm ending this," McGarrett muttered after a few moments of silence. "I'm not coming back until Wo Fat is in the ground. I'll dig his own grave and bury him myself if I have to, but my father is dead, my mother is running all over the world in hiding, my sister and I were uprooted from our lives, and now he's got Danny locked somewhere in a basement in the middle of Japan." He looked both Chin and Kono in the eye, deadly resolve in his eyes. "This ends. Now. This is the absolute last time that man interferes with my life and my family."

The Other Guy by haldoor

Danny tells Steve what he thinks is a funny story from when he attended Grace's school play. Steve doesn't think it's so funny; in fact, it makes him jealous.

Strapped by stellarmeadow

Steve's determined Danny's going to be prepared next time.

Warm to the Touch by veronicaluv

Danny didn't think twice about going to North Korea to find Steve. He just didn't know everything would go to hell when they got back.

Me and my heart (We got issues) by SquaresAreNotCircles

“I’m in love with you, Steve,” Danny says. He does it softly, quietly, laying the words into the darkness of Steve’s backyard like they’re something breakable, something to be tiptoed around. “I thought you should know.”

Steve’s heart jumps. It rams against his ribcage so hard it’s going to leave bruises. So hard he startles awake, and he almost yells before he realizes he’s outside because he fell asleep in one of the garden chairs in his backyard again.

how to be gay for your best friend in ten easy steps by commatme

See, the thing is that Danny doesn’t really do gay sex, what with being straight and all, but when Steve says I love you he sounds so earnest he makes Danny want to consider it. Which is crazy, right? He’s pretty sure that’s crazy, or at least a little unhinged.

It’s Not So Easy Caving In by paradis

The one where Danny used to be a heroin addict.

blame it on the ocean view by carryokee

Danny gives in, freaks out, and comes to his senses.

So Have I Loved You by Brumeier

In which Grace has a surprise for Steve's birthday and there's not a dry eye in the house.

take it back to a couple years yesterday by itsrosencrantz

Danny really, really doesn't want to go to his twenty year high school reunion.

Steve decides they're going anyway, and Danny takes it about as well as you'd expect.

View From The Shipwreck by flowerfan

Danny Williams isn’t in a great place – he’s a reluctant transplant to Oahu and an outsider at HPD. Former Navy SEAL Steve McGarrett isn’t doing much better, having suffered a career ending injury. When Danny’s young daughter Grace wanders into Steve’s bar after getting lost on a school field trip, Danny is drawn to Steve, somewhat against his better judgement – he’s got enough on his plate. He’s not exactly sure what Steve sees in him. As they spend more time together, Danny learns how Steve’s injury has changed his life in many ways, but not the most important ones. As one thing leads to another, Danny realizes that things might be looking up after all.

True North by lavvyan

“Tell you what, my dad’s throwing his annual Christmas Ball on Saturday. It’s not a trip to Aspen or anything, but it is nice. Fancy food and everything. You guys should come!”

On the trail of a suspected war criminal, Steve and Danny have to go undercover at a fancy ball. The sacrifices they make for the job.

Oh, and Steve's pining like the taiga. Nothing new there.

outside the lines by withoutwords

“I’m Detective Williams.” Danny says, not trying too hard to keep it smug free. “This is my partner, Detective Mackenzie.”

Ken Doll keeps his arms up, his eyes flickering between them all as if he's only seeing police for the first time. “Good cover,” he tells Danny, and it sets Danny’s teeth on edge.

“This is the part where you say sorry for assaulting a police detective, for compromising an investigation, and for acting like a complete asshole while doing it,” Danny growls, about to change his mind and cuff the guy himself.

“Sorry, Officer.”

The bastard is still grinning.

Boys Like Me, We Try Too Hard by romanticallyinept

Steve's always wound so fucking tight.

And Danny's worried about him. Legitimately worried about him. Because maybe Steve always lays into the perps a little hard, and maybe he follows his own rules and his own morals and doesn't stop to sleep unless his body's actually shutting down around him, but usually, Steve's okay at the end of the day. Usually, Steve's not leaning against the wall of the alley they're in, eyes closed and shaking, with the perp he'd cuffed a minute earlier lying on the ground and crying about his broken nose.

Steve keeps a secret, and Danny does his best to patch him back up when it comes to light.

Transformative by boxparade

“You know, I’d heard you’d changed a lot after high school, but I’ve gotta admit, this is a little weird.”

* trans (FTM) Danny

All the Way by VictoriaAGrey

Danny has lost count of how many times he and Steve have used the sexual tension between them for undercover work, only for it to be bottled away after the op is over. With Saint Michael as his witness, that ends tonight.

Nocturne in C# Minor (featuring Stevie Ray Vaughn) by minor_demimonde

So, to recap, Danny has beautiful eyes, great shoulders, a pleasantly-shaped butt, a delectable mouth, expressive hands, and he smells good.

You know, Steve has gone to bed with women who didn’t have that much going for them.

seen it in the flight of birds by Siria

AU from the beginning of Season 2. The Five-0 task force has been reinstated, but the new governor's determined to shake things up. Facing changes and unexpected betrayals, the team has to work together to face new challenges.

It Ain’t Me Babe (Nah), It Ain’t Me You’re Looking For (Babe) by tourdefierce

A story in which Danny makes lists and can't find his heterosexuality underneath all his homogay, Steve has a lot of faces, Kono is perfect in every way and Chin continues to keep Hawaii safe from the Five-O's general disfunction—Or, a story about Kono being awesome and how she likes her men with hearts in their eyes for each other.

Ratios, Decimals, and Percentages by fuchs

In which Steve takes an internet quiz and slowly loses his mind. Danny's okay with it.

Let’s Dance Like We Used To by AndreaLyn

There isn't a world in which Danny wouldn't go after Grace. So when Rachel moves the family to California, Danny goes with. Steve gets left to process life without Danny.

Gunfire, Rainfall, and Beach Erosion by thegrrrl2002

Steve and Danny are kidnapped. After which there is too much swimming and too much rain and it's all very romantic. If you are Steve, that is.

Moving In (To Every Single Aspect of Danny’s Life, Including the Boring Bits like Dry-Cleaning by westgirl

It felt wrong for Steve to sound unsure of his place in Danny’s life. His place in Danny’s life was at Danny’s side, driving him slowly insane. Steve should feel secure about that.

Always Known What I Wanted To Be by mickeysixx

Grace Williams has always wanted to be a cop.

The Taper Phase by popfly

It’s like being run over by an armored car, like the impact of gunshot to tac vest. The pride Danny feels for his daughter and something else, something about Steve’s tank top sticking to his stomach, the way his shorts stretch across his thighs. The goofy grin that lights up Steve’s face when he sees Danny and Charlie, waving one hand while he nudges Grace with the other.

Pitching Woo by SBG

In which Danny pitches (and then accidentally catches) woo.

clue: four letters, ‘is a many splendored thing’ by armillarysphere

“Crosswords? What are you, sixty?”

“They stimulate brain activity, Danno. You ought to try it sometime.”

Steve doesn’t even look up from his newspaper, half-chewed pen resting at the corner of his mouth in an entirely too distracting way.

That’s Not Just Friendship, That’s Romance by thismuchmore

Danny and Steve start out accidentally dating each other, and it turns into something more.

it’s not what you’re sure of (it’s what you don’t know) by somehowunbroken

Art thief Steve McGarrett and his team come up against FBI Special Agent Danny Williams, and things spin wildly out of control from there.

Same Deep Water by JiM, kalena

This isn't the first lifetime Danny's been in Hawaii. When the stress ratchets up, the dreams get more and more real. Turns out Danny has some unfinished business . . . with Steve.

Warning: Ambien use may lower inhibitions in a wakeful state.

Curiosity Didn’t Kill This Cat by unadrift

"I'm confused," Rachel says. "Are you two dating or not?"

Danny sighs. "You remember that thing with the cat in the box? The one that's both dead and alive?"

"Schroedinger's cat?"  

"It's kind of like that."

"Okay," Rachel says. She clearly has no idea what he's talking about.

2727 Piikoi Street by imaginary_iby

The ways in which Danny makes himself at home by Steve's side, and the family he gains as the years go by. (Featuring Steve in Timberland boots and little else, and happy goofs who like to make out against the front door).

All The Earth Awaits Thee by Portrait_of_a_Fool

Steve knows all about war and willpower, but this is still the hardest battle he’s ever had to fight.

* warning: life threatening illness, no MCD

The Vertical Challenge by AlamoGirl80

Five times Danny thinks about his height, and then realizes that being "not-tall" doesn't really suck at all.

Some Things to Think About When You Decide to Be an Asshole by sutlers

Steve gets high and tries to fuck Danny; things devolve from there.

Inked by thehoyden

Of course Steve is enjoying himself. They're bait for a serial killer who has some sort of serious hangup about tattooing loved ones' names on their skin -- of course Steve thinks this is practically like a vacation, but better, because the chances of collateral damage are higher.

This Thing Of Ours (It Needs a Better Name) by leupagus

Cosa Nostra: (kō'sə nō'strə) etym: Italian n. The branch of the Mafia operating in the United States. Literally, "our thing" or "this thing of ours."

Ho’oponopono by ember_firedrake

Groundhog Day AU. Danny finds himself trapped in the same day over and over again.

Swim for Brighter Days by zarah5

Danny kisses Steve late on a Tuesday, early on a Wednesday. Steve punches him. (Set vaguely post-finale, so spoilers for that.)

All My Guards Away by sheafrotherdon

Tag to episode 1x18, with all the heartache that implies. Now with bonus fixes. With thanks to dogeared for all her suggestions and edits.

Let’s Take it from the Top by pterawaters

Steve goes along with the bachelor-party-in-Vegas, because he chose Danny to be his best man, and that's what Danny wants to do. Unfortunately, the things that happen in Vegas don't necessarily stay there.

How to Keep Your Mouth Shut by primetime

Danny’s sometimes gay. Gay, sometimes. Does dudes. He doesn’t know how to say it right. He doesn’t know how to say it at all.

Don’t Turn Me Home Again by gyzym

After a rough day of island living, Danny wakes up in New Jersey and learns the hard way to be careful what he wishes for.

End-Around by t_fic

Steve hesitates with his hand on the doorknob, looking back over his shoulder at Danny and nodding once before disappearing inside, and yeah, Danny is going to be so fucking lucky to get through this night without a coronary event.

Lonely People Do Stupid Things by waketosleep

Danny decides to show Steve the true meaning of Christmas, and does it by dragging him to New Jersey.

Down Beneath the Waves by samjohnsson

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but sometimes it takes another thousand to explain it.

Love’s a Battlefield (and the Navy Did Not Train Steve for This Shit) by cyerus

The Kalakaua-Kelly clan are determined to matchmake Steve. Out of desperation, Steve makes up a boyfriend named Danny.

It doesn't quite go according to plan.

put your mind at ease by eleanor_lavish

Somewhere in the last year, while Steve was busy killing bad guys, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has been erased from the books and guys like Jeff can marry whoever they damn well please.

You’ve Got Hawaii (and all I’ve got is you) by queenklu

In which Danny has issues, presents, and Steve fleas, not necessarily in that order.

Jaws by JoeLawson

Danny has a secret.

[roguegrove]

okay, i need to talk about this straight up right now. it's gonna be long, it's gonna be honest, and probably pointless, but i wanna talk about it.

this? it sucks. it sucks so bad and many of us were fooled. including me.

the thing is, it should have been obvious. but social media moves fast, fandom culture is thirsty for more always, and people have their own art styles and journeys. hell, i'm on an art journey spurred by this community, myself.

and yknow what? art is HARD. bottom line, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. it comes naturally to some, but i promise you that the only reason someone might be "better" than someone else is practice. well-meaning people often talk about "talent" in art, but i don't believe in it. ANYONE could have my skill level or better if they had devoted the same kind of time i did to learning, and i think most artists would agree.

you see inconsistencies in art a lot, especially when someone is learning something new. heads and body parts weird sizes, a particular area that doesn't get as much attention as others, sometimes even whole bits are missing. and all of that is replicated in AI generations and easily overlooked as well as easily masked.

but the thing you will not find with a fan artist who LOVES a character enough to post so many pieces of them? big character details being wrong or changing every time they post something. and i'm not talking style things. i'm not talking about deliberate choices.

my alarm bells went off for fridaypls's work pretty early on, but i ignored it. i really loved a lot of the choices they made in posing, in ideas, and even though there were a bunch of details that just felt wrong, i ignored it. i thought maybe there was a reason, that maybe i was being critical or mean by being a little off-put about some of it.

but if you love sam winchester enough to pump out a shit-ton of drawings of him, you're gonna know what side of his nose that little mole goes. if you love halsin as much as it seemed like friday loved halsin, you're gonna know where his scars and tattoos are. and you might not draw them the same way every time, you may drop one or more for a particular piece if it's not meant to be canon. but you don't put out multiple pieces where the details move so much that they're on the wrong side and swap back and forth between pieces. you just can't care enough to spend that much time on something and not notice that consistently.

if you scroll back through friday's blog (if it stays up and you still can), you can SEE that they cared about these characters. before the art is a lot of meta, a lot of commentary. it's clear there was a love there.

so explain to me how this happens:

the bottom is an official rendering of halsin, just for reference.

art is about observing and then translating, right? so what do we see? the tattoo missing details we can let slide because the thing is damn complicated and getting the general idea is enough. but the placement? get the fuck out of here. it flip flops back and forth between each image. the scars? some are missing entirely, some are, again, on the wrong damn side.

i thought this must surely be a choice, and it is. but not the choice i was thinking. this isn't about style, this isn't about playing with a character: this is about pumping out art quickly that will catch people's eye.

if you really want me to nit-pick, i can. if you want me to talk about the broader inconsistencies or the way things are hidden, i can do that too. but the op and the people who have been looking into this did a great job on that already. i could talk about it all, but i'm trying to make a much simpler point.

my point is that people who love characters will not be so flippant about their defining characteristics. we're the ones who OBSESS over them, scour the internet for every detail. we eat that shit up.

you know what doesn't give a shit? AI generation. AI isn't even generative, it's basically just editing. it's editing a bunch of information together to try and make something "new". and when you edit, what happens? pruning details. you take out what you don't think is important. but you know what else AI can't do? fucking THINK. it doesn't KNOW anything. it doesn't KNOW about halsin's she-bear scars and why that's important to him, so it doesn't CARE where they go.

god, now i'm actually pissed. i'm pissed someone who seemed to love these characters as much as we do would let that happen just for clout and money. it sickens me. like damn, bro. you could have at least taken the time to fix that stuff while you were slapping on filters. if you traced over AI, at least fix the GLARINGLY OBVIOUS bits. couldn't even be bothered, huh?

man, i just want AI to do my laundry, not try and replicate passion. why are we even here with this crap in general?

eta: do not even get me started on astarion renders. do not.

Normally I wouldn't bother making a post like this but it came to my attention yesterday via a twitter thread that tumblr user fridaypls is using AI elements in their fanart. Now, if they were doing this because they didn't feel entirely confident in their artistic ability, and they were just doing this for fanart they posted online, then I'd shrug my shoulders and go "eh, whatever"

However, I then found out that fridaypls is selling this fanart and even making posts like "buy my Gale print and get Tim Downie to sign it" and I just can't sit idly by whilst someone makes profit off AI 'art' and there are so many other artists (myself included) trying to make a living off our own art.

The tweet thread about the use of AI by fridaypls can be viewed here and here but I'll also copy and paste some of the examples under a cut line in this post.

So far on twitter, fridaypls got wind of the thread going around about them and they deactivated their account rather than take accountability. I'm probably going to be blocked by them for making this post, but I encourage you to reblog this and spread the word and please, PLEASE don't buy artwork from someone using AI generated images. There are so many other hardworking artists out there making amazing fanart and merch that you can give your money to instead.

Examples from twitter:

[aion-rsa]

Line of Duty Series 6 Episode 1 Review: Who Killed Gail Vella?

https://ift.tt/3s4cUyW

This Line of Duty review contains spoilers.

Is this allowed? Somebody please check. Can Kate just leave AC-12? She’s a third of the operation. One of the three pyramids at Giza may as well stand up and walk away. The strawberry from Neapolitan ice cream, silver Olympic medals, degrees 240 – 360 of all circles… could they also just call it a day? Unacceptable. This is AC-12 we’re talking about. 12 as in four times three: the gaffer, Steve and Kate – the corners of the straight-backed, clean-nosed triangle of truth. 

No wonder Ted is feeling sore about it. The Super could barely bring himself to look at Fleming’s picture in this series six opener, the sight of those blue, blue eyes prompting him to mutter about loyalty and then change the subject to great wee girl Chloe, AC-12’s newest recruit. Last series’ investigation into ‘H’ clearly left a grubby stain on the unit’s reputation. How will Hastings react when he finds out that Steve also has one foot out the door?  

We can’t blame Steve for requesting a transfer to Jolly Rogerson’s Major Violent Crime unit. He’s currently living a life as grey as his waistcoat. He spends his days chasing up expenses receipts and his nights washing down blister packs of over-the-counter painkillers with premium lager. Meanwhile, Kate’s out there wearing the waistcoat of danger, complete with bullet proofing, reflective stripes and a radio. Who wouldn’t want to swap?

I’ll tell you who I wouldn’t swap places with right now: anybody. This is a new series of Line of Duty and we’re at the top of the toboggan run. Episode one is the push start, building up speed for the tortuous descent, sharp turns and bit at the end that goes so fast your ears fold back and you can taste blood. We’re going places, is the point, and after a year of hardly straying further than our front doors, I can’t be the only one willing to kiss the ground beneath AC-12’s feet. 

Now, what do they have for us this time? Operation Lighthouse: the unsolved murder of Gail Vella, a crusading journalist shot dead outside her home in the Kingsgate area a year ago. (Prematurely killing off guest stars is one of Line of Duty’s favourite tricks, but a series is usually polite enough to wait at least until it starts before doing so. Not in the case of Andi Osho’s Vella.)

After the first whiff of a clue in months, senior investigating officer DCI Joanne Davidson (new guest lead Kelly Macdonald) diverts the team on its way to collar the suspect to a suspicious-seeming side mission that loses precious time and potentially, their man. Did her spidey sense really start tingling at the split-second glimpse of a parked van, or was the armed robbery a planned distraction?

In addition, Davidson’s boss DSU Buckells (we’ve met him before) screws up the op paperwork, leaving a gap in surveillance coverage long enough to allow a Russian circus, let alone a single suspect, escape from the flat in question. Next, the Covert Human Intelligence Source (or CHIS. Keep up, this was all covered last term) able to ID the suspect is found very much pushed off a tall building.

What we need to know: Is Davidson deliberately obstructing the hunt for Vella’s killer, and is she working with Buckells to do it? 

Read more

TV

Line of Duty Series 5 Recap: Framing Ted Hastings

By Louisa Mellor

TV

Line of Duty: Ranking Every Bent Copper By Level of Corruption, Mother of God!

By Louisa Mellor

In the ‘yes’ corner is PS Farida Jatri, a member of Davidson’s team who tips Steve off about her boss’ suspicious behaviour. We don’t know what Davidson is capable of, warns Jatri. But not so fast! Farida also turns out to be Davidson’s spurned, secret lover. Does that make her testimony likely to be more reliable, or less? Valuable insight, or axe to grind? 

In the ‘no’ corner is the fact that, after nicking Terry Boyle – a recurring Line of Duty character with Down’s Syndrome and a long-time associate of the OCG – and spending the episode pushing the theory that he was Vella’s obsessed stalker, Davidson let him walk. Until that moment, she’d looked guiltier than a dog with a cat’s tail hanging out of its mouth. Everything she’d done and said suggested that she was part of a plan to frame Terry while the real killer – likely one Michael Banks (a relative of series five OCG member Lee Banks?) – got away. In this theory, Banks shot Vella to stop her from exposing links between police officers and organised crime, and Terry was meant to be the OCG’s fall guy.

At this stage in proceedings though, any theory is a just house of sticks waiting to be blown away by big bad wolf Jed Mercurio. Maybe Farida will be revealed as the killer. Maybe Terry really did do it. Maybe new DC Chloe Bishop is Tommy Hunter’s long-lost granddaughter here to bring down AC-12 from the inside. Maybe they need to focus on hunting down this Mike Indigo fellow everybody keeps talking about on their police radio. Right now, we simply can’t know. It’s just a case of keeping our eyes open and taking everything down in a little notebook.

A few things to note down: 1) Steve’s painkiller addiction – a hangover from the serious injuries he sustained in series four and a potential weak spot for the DS. 2) The missing freezer from Terry’s flat, which we know used to contain the corpse of series one’s Jackie Laverty. 3) Jo Davidson’s Fort Knox-levels of door security and complicated feelings about that family photo. 4) Kate’s separation from Mark, and that little hand stroke from Davidson at the end. 5) Terry being told he’ll be safe in secure accommodation (will he?).

The ‘Kate’s in another unit but not undercover’ twist aside, this hour bore similarities to some previous series openers. Both two and five started with disaster-struck police convoys deliberately diverted by female officers in the pay of the OCG. The character of Michael Farmer in series four also gave us the interrogation of a young murder suspect with a learning disability. Would a drama this well-tuned into its own detail and history not care about repeating itself? Doubtful. Line of Duty knows that its audience pays it the same level of attention that a Labrador pays to somebody eating a Jaffa Cake; if we’re being led to draw comparisons, there’ll likely be a reason, and it’ll likely be to pull the rug out from under us.

Does Davidson bear similarities to past leads? She’s less of a cold fish than Lindsay Denton – see that banter with Kate in the opening scene – but like her, lives alone with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc for company. She’s as commanding as Roz Huntley – whom you could also imagine asking a churlish underling if the word “ma’am” was in their vocabulary – but more emotive and less inscrutable. (Huntley would never have lost control enough to respond “shit, shit, shit” to the armed robber being shot, or exploded like that in Buckells’ office.) Innocent, or up to her neck in it? That’s what we’re here to find out.

The game with Line of Duty at this stage is to keep the important things the same (long, tense interrogation scenes; naturalistic jargon; exhilarating doc-style action; Ted taking any opportunity to mention pipe bands, Tayto Crisps or Gloria Hunniford…), while getting us hooked on a new lead and a new mystery. Episode one? Job done. In the words of the Super: I’m gonna need more, son.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Still have questions? Read our weekly episode theories explainer here. Line of Duty continues on Sunday the 28th of March at 9pm on BBC One.

The post Line of Duty Series 6 Episode 1 Review: Who Killed Gail Vella? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[vegetacide]

Whump●tober - Ransom

Veg-notables:  Second last Whumptober post ::wailssssss:::

TY to @gumnut-logic cause she continues to feed my muse and deal with me :)

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning:  bit of swearing… actually a bit of swearing has been in all of my posts but I keep forgetting to warm ppl… oops.  I work in the construction industry so a bit of swearing is my S.O.P

Characters:  Almost the whole gang and an honorable mention

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous post can be found HERE

27 Ransom

Enjoy…

oOo

"Thank fuck" Virgil whispered to himself as he stepped onto the gangway and carefully took the stairs from Tracy Two down to the hanger floor.  

"Home sweet home huh, Virg?" Gordon grinned tossing arm around his shoulder and unobtrusively leading him toward the lift up to the villa.

"You have no idea."

"Oh I have a few ideas." He chuckled companionably as they made their way across the vast space. "Though you may want to re-admit yourself once you remember that hospital food is so much better than Grandma's cooking… less gut rotting too."

"And here I was just getting used to having a stomach lining again.."

There was a bark of laughter and Gordon and thumping him once on the back. "Holy shit. Scott you hear that? Virg told a joke."

"Will wonders never cease." Came the reply from some behind them as Scott exited the family plan with John hot on his heels.

Kayo appeared as if out of nowhere the other side of Virgil.  Silent as ever and Gordon sucked in a breath.

“Damn, Kayo. A little warning would be nice. Friggen quiet as a cat maybe we should put some bells on you.”

She just rolled her eyes and slipped a guiding hand into the crook of Virgil’s arm.  “I got this, go give Alan a hand with the bags.”

“Sure thing, Spookio.”  He turned back,  “Oh, and we could but the bells on a bright pink little choker.  You would look great in pink..”

“Not likely” She muttered and shooed Gordon away. “Such a brat.”

“He’s just blowing off steam in the only other way he knows how besides the pool.”  Virgil shrugged.  He really couldn’t blame him for the need with TI security and the GDF on high alert due to what happened to Scott.  

Virgil also suspected that his younger brother was feeling a bit responsible for whatever small part he seemed to have played in things, though he wouldn’t confirm or deny anything. Virgil didn’t bother voicing this as he suspected he was purposefully being left in the dark for one reason or another.

Another thing for Virgil to ponder.  It’s not like he had anything else to do besides physio and the painful neuro-therapy he was being subjected to daily. It was also really starting to make him wonder if the Doctor that had been assigned to him was a secret sadist. Pushing him the way she was with a smile on her face despite his grunts of obvious discomfort.

Kayo seemed to like her though so there was that one positive working for her. That and the fact that there had been some improvement the last few days in his recovery. If it had been otherwise Virgil would have protested the torture rather loudly.

Turning his head to brushed a kiss over the crown of her head in appreciation for everything and continued the long walk across the hanger.      

Kayo shifted at his side and he got the impression that she was looking at him “How you doing, Big Guy?”

“Happy to be home..looking forward to being anywhere but that blasted hospital.”

She bumped shoulders with him playfully, “Me too”  and lifted his hand to brush her lips over his knuckles.

There was still a lot to contend with still but things seemed to be finally heading in the right direction and Virgil took solace in that.  

Canting his head he listened to the echoes of sound off the high stone ceiling, the hum of the machinery that sat idle and waiting for action,  the shuffle of Scott and John as they brought up the rear.  And the distinctive cadence and timbre of the Terrible Two as they starting pitching insults at one another.  

God, he’d missed home. The sounds, the smells, the familiar settings and hopefully one day soon, the sights.

Reaching up, he pushed the nearly total blackout sunshades back up his nose as a twinge of pain flared through his skull.  The overhead lighting was bright and it was like bolts of agonizing electricity to his overly sensitive, visual hindered ocular senses, a wonderful side effect of his condition and the neuro-therapy that was rewiring his brain and optic nerves.   Yippee skippee.

“Headache again?”  Kayo’s voice was soft as they rounded the corner to the elevator bay.  Pitched for his ears and his ears only, she knew he wouldn’t want to alert the others to his discomfort.  

He couldn’t hide it from her. She knew him too well, was too finely tuned to the subtle nuances of his facial expression to be able to disguise with anything but the truth so he nodded slightly and her hand rubbed up his back.  “Let’s get you up to bed. You can take a couple of the tablets the Doc proscribed and zone out for a bit.”

She wasn’t going to get a protest from him and when he said nothing he could feel her attention zero in on him. Singularly focused. The worry palpable in the tightness of her grip on his arm.

“Bad one?”

He gave a shrug. “I’ve had worse but..this one has potential.”  

He heard the ding of the elevator, caught the blurry glare of twin metal panels opening, the flash of the interior lighting that had him grunting..

She led him in and he settled back against the wall as they waited for John and Scott to catch up.  

The huff of discomforted had his head turning, ever the worrier himself when a brother was down and out  “You doing okay there Scott?”  

His brother was a mass of bruises or so he had been told though contrary to his physical state he attitude was surprising light as of late,  floating up above Five for some reason  It had been an up-lifting change from the sense of distress that had been hanging over them and the contrast seemed to make things a bit more bearable.

It wasn’t until the mood had shifted to the more positive that Virgil realized just how much it had been weighing on him, pulling him down and making it hard for him to breathe.  With that thought in mind,  he pulled in a greedy lung full and savoured the salt tang.

“I’m doing.”  Came the laboured reply but there was an air of the jovial to it “Bloody ribs. Remind me next time I get the brilliant idea to take on a group of thugs to use something other than my torso for a punching bag.  A concussion is more then another to deal with, the rest of this is just bullshit.”

Virgil smiled and couldn’t resist. “Well with how hard your head is it’s really no surprise they went for your soft underbelly.”

“Ouch, is that a jab at my fitness level dear brother?”

“No, just an observation.”

“If you had used what was in your head your torso wouldn’t have been a ‘punching bag’ in the first place.” Came the very logical assessment from John. The first thing he had said since they’d set out for home from the mainland.

“Ya but what would be the fun of that?”  

Fighting words if ever Virgil had heard them and he cleared his throat to dispel the growing tension.  

It had been a topic of argument destined to be stuck on repeat since Gordon and John had located Scott in a dead end alley surrounded by three very unconscious masked goons. An argument they’d all had a part in, one that had finally had Grandma seeing red and losing her ever loving marbles all over the lot of them.

Reprimanded within an inch of their lives, they’d all gone off to lick their wounds but the issue remained.  One of their own,  their commander and chief had taken off to parts unknown. His subcutaneous tracker rendered useless by a very sophisticated jammer so they had no way of finding out where he had ventured off to.  

His assailant had been well prepared,  well trained but the one thing they hadn’t taken into consideration was how wily Scott could be when enticed.  They hadn’t counted on him being able to defend himself with as much gusto as he had even with alcohol and drugs in his system.  

Or that he’d beefed up his training since his stint in the military. He was a veteran that had seen active combat on multiple fronts, both in the air and out.  Kept up his training physically and mentally and had the added benefit of a trained MI6 agent and Covert Ops specialist re-upping his skill set.  So of course the guy could defend himself against three very determined individuals who had wanted to take him alive for whatever reason.

The GDF had been livid, the local law enforcement baffled and Grandma had gone on the warpath.  So here they all were, back on the island where security could be assured.  

Might have been A.M.A but when Sally Tracy put her foot down,  there was nothing that could move it...even stubborn brothers that should know better.

Sighing as Scott and John started snipping at each other like teenagers Virgil braced for another onslaught of ‘what ifs’ and ‘should haves’ warfare.  

Luckily for them,  the elevator doors opened up.  Unfortunately it was on the lounge level and Grandma was standing front and center, her foot tapping in annoyance.

She’d returned to the island earlier with Allan and Brains to sort the medbay out and resupply the kitchen.  It had been a while since they had all been home together and the food pantry had needed to restock badly.  With two iR operatives down for the count eating while off island was going to be limited to supply runs as operations were temporarily suspended.

The GDF was just going to have to put on their big person pants and handle things on their own for a bit.

There had been one concession to their early release from Auckland Memorial  and that the addition of a new member their island home for the interim of Virgil’s convalescences. One Doctor Emaline Harris was expected on their island paradise in the next few days to continue his treatments so prepping in advance for her arrival was of the utmost importance.

“Boys, please don’t tell me there is a need for a repeat of earlier because I am not in the mood and I am liable to ground you all like the children you seem to be impersonating.”  The all seeing eye of Grandma knew all.  

Virgil resisted the urge to chuckle and bit down on his lower lip to hold it in. Last thing he wanted to do was have Grandma focusing in on him. He would rather slink off to his rooms with Kayo under his arm and hide until the Dread Doctor arrived with her torture device of pain.

Luck as usual, was not on his side. “Virgil, honey. How you holding up?”  

Crap.

“Fine, Grandma.”

“You look tired.”  And this is where the great Smother Hen characteristic originated…

“Been a long day.”  

“I am sure it has dear.  I heard from that lovely Doc Harris that this morning’s therapy was quite the grueling ordeal.”

Kayo gave his hand a squeeze in supported as their Grandmother stepped into the elevator to ride it up to the living quarters.  

“I’ve made some soup.  I’ll bring you up some once you and Scott have settled.”

The thanks was said in stereo as Scott and himself replied in unison. The excitement behind their words was ‘epic; and Kayo tittered at his side.  

A hand brushed his cheek and he caught the lavender fresh scent of his Grandmother’s lotion.  “You’re hurting.”  She stated.  

If it wasn’t for the fact that his eyes felt like there were about to fall out of his head, Virgil would have rolled them.  Scott was over and on him before his Grandmother had even finished pronouncing the “T.”

8-8-8

Even injured as he was, Scott could be a right pain in the ass.  

It took some doing but Virgil finally made it to his room,  he’d only had to submit to a quick med scan from a portable scanner for it to happen and Scott standing over him as he dutifully popped back a couple of the hospital’s prescribed pain pills to do it.

Feeling loogy as the drug started to kick in, he leaned back against the door as Kayo order the automated blackout blinds down and the in suite lighting to low before taking his hand and tugging him towards the bed.

He shucked his sun shades and tossed them in the general direction of the night stand not really caring if they reached their intended destination or not.

It had been a long, long day of medical appointments,  treatments,  travel and family bickering and his bed was calling his exhausted and still recovering body home.  

“Whoa.  Not yet, Big Guy.”  Kayo said as she placed a hand on his shoulder effectively stopping his desired belly flop into his mound of pillows and the oh so soft duvet that was beckoning him.  

“Sleep..” He mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I know but first the bathroom and then some fresh, comfortable clothing.  After that you can crawl in and hibernate for the next few days. No poking, no podding,  just sleep” She commanded and turned him towards the loo.  

“You promise?”  He felt like a child as she turned him to the bathroom and pushed him through the door.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulled it up and over his head before sneaking in to sweep a kiss over his lips.  “I promise, even if I have to guard the door to do it.”  

“God, I love you.”  

Her movements stilled, her hands stopping on the draw string of his jogging pants.  

It took him a moment to realize what he’d just let slip.   He’d never said those words to her before.  True they had been dancing around it for months but with their busy lives and the limited time they actually got to themselves they just hadn’t gotten around to saying it.  

“What did you say?”  Her voice was quiet in the stillness of the bathroom and he could make out the fast pace of her  breath as she stood in front of him.  The quick hitching it as it fanned over the taut muscles of his chest.

He opened his mouth a few times,  closed it while he gather his wits enough to respond.

The words had tipped so easily off his tongue and it shocked him that he hadn’t made the time or found a way to say them earlier.  

Taking both of her soft, capable hands in his,  he brushed his thumb over the knuckles and he strained to make out the beautiful, fine boned features of her face.

Seeing no defined edges, just a blurred outline, he dropped his head and let go of her hands. “Nothing, never mind...”  He turned towards the direction of the shower, fumbled as he tried to find the handle for the glass enclosure, stubbed his toe the edge of the vanity.  Cursing a blue streak he parked his ass on the toilet and the next thing he knew she was in his arms.

Hands on his face she forced him to look at her.  Impaired vision or not, didn't seem to matter to her at the moment.

“Don’t you dare.”  She spat, anger and frustration bearing down on him. “Don’t you dare brush that off like its nothing".

Her grip eased off.   "Say it to me again." She demanded.  

"I…"  

"No hesitation, just say it". It was implored, the lilt of her voice filled with emotion he couldn't see in her eyes.  "I don't care if you can't see me.  I don't care if you can never see me again.. no matter what happens after today.. I love you, you big idiot.  Now say it before I break your jaw and you have to eat through a straw."

He couldn't help the chuckle at her threat, knowing she was fully capable of following through with it if she so wished.

"Well now, threats of bodily harm aren't going to get you far.".

"You wanna bet." She grinned, looping her arms around his neck and settling in closer to him, her body pressed in tight where she knelt between his knees.

Her tone grew serious again. "No matter what," she repeated again, dropping a tender kiss on his lips.  "I want you to know that.  Nothing could change the way I feel, nothing  So don't hide from me. There's no need to be the altruistic hero here, it's not what either of us want."

He leaned in chasing her lips, finding them without sight and sighing when he struck gold.  The kiss was slow and gentle. A lazy sensual meeting that left them both panting.  "No, it's definitely not what we want."

"Good." She booped him in the nose and pushed up to her feet.  "Now that we have that settled, shower and bed for you because there is no way I will be able to pick your muscle-bound ass off the floor if you decide to flake out right here."

Deciding the likelihood of that was fairly high, he grunted up to his feet and finished divesting himself of clothing.  

8-8-8

Showered, changed, snuggled into bed and blissfully numbed out for the time being Virgil sleepily smiled as Kayo crawled in after him.

"Kay?".

"Mmhmm"

"I love you."

Sight or no sight, she would stay by his side and if that was a sacrifice she could contend with, a price she was more than willing to pay, who was he to argue?

Pulling her in close, he whispered the words she wanted to hear in her ear again and drifted off to sleep.

oOo

Epilogue - A week later

Rolling over in bed, Kayo stretched out pleasantly achy muscles and blinked up at the sun lit ceiling.  The dabbled early morning light shifting across it as the ocean breeze blowing in from the window made the thin gossamer under curtains dance.

A curious look settled over her features as she pondered what was different.  It took her a second to compute with her sleep addled mind but when it registered she pulled herself from the tangle of sheets, slipped into one of Virgil’s t-shirts and wandered over to the open doors.  

There was sunlight in their room.   A room that for the last few weeks since they had returned, had been shielded against the intrusion for fear of causing a spike of pain to drill through Virgil’s head..  Black-out curtains fully open with the acception of the light, whipsy sheers that sat underneath.

Stepping up the the open glass sliding partitions, she leaned a shoulder against the frame and gave her head a shake of amazement at what she was greeted by.

Virgil was leaning perched at the railing, a cup of coffee at his resting elbows and face turned towards the awe inspiring site of the rising morning sun. Its light playing of the waves far below and flickering through the overhang of nearby palms to flicker playfully across his skin.  

Skin that glowed healthily, and warmly with colour and vibrancy. All  of the six foot tall, buck ass nude, a hundred and eighty odd pound of it.

Saddling over to him, she picked pinched his mug of the railing and took a sip, her eyes raking over every inch of him.

He turned,  brows arched as she stole his morning fuel and she returned the look though her gaze had a hard time staying put on his face with everything all out and the wind and such.

“Hey,  are we turning the island into a nudist colony or is this just for my benefit?”  She wiggled her brows suggestively and he smiled, skimming a finger across her cheek.  

“God, your beautiful.”  He whispered, her loose hair brushing over his knuckles as it was caught up in the gentle, salty breeze.

Her smile blossomed across at the unexpected compliment and she was about to reciprocate when her mouth dropped open in shock.

His expression alight with excitement she stepped up to him and  pushed up on her toes and stared into his warm brown eyes. The answering happiness she say in their depth had her gasping in elation and she jumped up into his arms crushing his lips to hers. The actions saying so much more than words ever could

His arms pulling her in close, the last few remaining tendrils of tension brought on by weeks of worry finally leaving with the morning fog.  

Kissing the tip of her nose, he turned back to watch the spectacular display of light and colour as the sun reached ever higher into the sky.   Pushing back the darkness and revealing a world that wasn’t so scary after all, especially with her and his brothers at his side.  

It seemed that he’d paid the ransom on his sight in full and the world had once more been returned to him in all its splendor.  

oOo

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

[xavierck]

Hey hi hello!

I’m a character artist in the game industry working on a Dungeons & Dragons game at Hidden Path Entertainment, and my job title is literally Character Customization Lead. I’ve been working in games for over a decade, and a ton of that time has been spent working on character customization and leading teams of artists, designers, and engineers who are trying to make character creation work.

I too am extremely frustrated with these aspects of character customization in games, and I can shed a little more light on why this type of thing happens.

Ironically, character customization has gotten exponentially harder over the past couple decades, and we unfortunately can’t lean on a lot of the same techniques and tricks that were used in games like DA:I, Mass Effect, or even more recent stuff like Elden Ring most of the time. The technology to make BEAUTIFUL and WELL-CONSTRUCTED characters and the technology to make CUSTOMIZABLE characters are at odds with one another, and the gulf between expansive customization and good presentation gets wider every year.

There are basically two major techniques that go into customizing a character:

Swap parts

Customize parts in realtime

Swapping parts is relatively straightforward because you basically make sure that everything fits in the same spot, and you’re good to go. However, you also need to make sure that every single piece works with every other piece.

Making every piece with every other piece is already hard enough when you just have something like 10 torso armors and 10 gloves (100 permutations JUST for gloves and torso armor), but then you also have to make sure those also work with pants, boots, helmets, etc. This is definitely a solvable problem, but it becomes literally twice the work once you add in a second body shape. And if you add in another body shape, it keeps scaling linearly.

I had to construct Excel sheets with literally tens of thousands of entries to keep track of armor sets when I was working on the Neverwinter F2P MMO many years ago, and that type of work has never gone away. It’s unlikely to ever go away at any point.

Customizing parts in realtime is definitely possible, but look at how they accomplish this in things like the From Software games: altering the position of bones in the character rig is great for kinda general shapes like the length of limbs, but it will never offer the fine-grained control to allow for believable body shapes. You get body shape not just from the position of your joints, but also from muscle and fat deposits, changes to skeletal structure (thick or thin fingers or wrists, anyone?), and even posture or attitude. Accounting for a stereotypically masculine and stereotypically feminine body shape is already extremely hard using the same model, so adding in even more things like body weight makes it incredibly hard to find solutions that look even OKAY rather than GOOD.

Add to this the fact that the money guys are constantly demanding higher fidelity rendering, and every single little tweak and adjustment becomes an exercise in hiding your sins. With a preset face, for example, you’re going to get the best an artist can give you because it’s essentially locked down and can’t be squashed into a shape it wasn’t designed for. Add in the ability to move a nose around, and suddenly the publisher is asking why there are stretched textures on a character’s face. Add the ability to stretch an arm or something and the money guys are asking why the flowing, beautiful pattern on that armor looks squashed on a body it wasn’t designed to fit.

I, personally, would prefer that last bit wasn’t an issue. It’s solvable through good art direction and tight stylization, but some things are outside the control of the little people.

So yes, OP, you are correct in pointing out these flaws and omissions. I hope it helps a little to understand some of the context and difficulty, though.

This is something I’m actively working on every single day, and I’m staring down the barrel of multiple years of work for myself and literally a dozen other people just on my team. Many other folks in the industry are doing similar, and none of us are having a particularly good time with it because it’s such a huge collection of hard problems.

im a little bit mad at BG3's character creator, yes its really unique and detailed in ways that most games have never offered before but youre basically stuck with a preset face to colour in. games have let you fully customise faces since fucking 2005. why cant i choose my nose or eyebrows.

[annashipper]

I-Luv-Benny-C - Shared Bank Accounts in a Showmance???

If we are to believe Enty’s new blind, we must assume that Ben has been allowing Weirdo access to his bank account the way normal married people share their assets.  

However, if this is a PR-arranged showmance where the couple lives in separate postal codes and only meets for scheduled pap ops and RCs, Enty’s blind doesn’t make any sense.  Ben would be crazy to share his assets with Weirdo (a paid employee) beyond the contractual agreements made for her designer clothes, feeble attempts at fetch and conspicuous silence in public.

Enty suggested in a previous blind that Weirdo complains about the salary she gets (to play his wife).  Now  with this blind, he suggests that Weirdo is somehow able to drain Ben’s bank account because they’re a real married couple.  Which is true?

My only guess is that Ben’s PR is now working with Enty to push the narrative that Weirdo is a money-sucking parasite so Ben can save face with the public when the split takes place.  This narrative is designed for public consumption, not for skeptics who know Ben & Weirdo aren’t a real married couple who share assets.  Enty’s older blind about Weirdo’s salary was definitely crafted as a ‘wink’ to skeptics.  This new blind gives me hope that Ben will finally end this disaster.

As far as the money being funneled to a boyfriend, I don’t think a 'not his’ is wise.  Publicly denying parenthood is a risky game of 'he said, she said’.  It’s a minefield that could ultimately make him look like an douche.   

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

@i-luv-benny-c, the money sucking wife who has a boyfriend she gives money she’s taking from her husband to  narrative is nothing new as far as Enty goes.  Yesterday I put up 8 old blinds (5 of which have already been revealed) that all point in the same direction.  Reposting them herein for easy reference:

What is very interesting to me with this latest blind is that it revisits a narrative that’s been pushed to the side since 2016.  Painting a woman that’s been kept mute during the past 3 and a half years as a cheater and a thief would do wonders to soil her reputation and render whatever she has to say to any tabloids that would listen useless.

If they’re smart enough to go with this narrative, it would also wrap this whole showmance up in a big red bow and send her on her merry way without causing any dent to his good name (save for making him look like a sainted fool who was blinded by love and his trusting nature).

I love that people on the CDAN site have a perfect recollection of the one “Ben is a cheater” blind but conveniently forget all of the above blinds by the way.  What is great about that is that Enty always reposts old blinds when a split he’s predicted is announced to remind his readers that he’s been in the know for ages.  The fact that he’s had soooooo many blinds on the Dismals over the past 3 and a half years is going to make those reposts that much more entertaining  :D

As far as the shared accounts go, I’m about to post a submission from @captainjcat that I think is right on the nose with that.

[fishdavidson]

Dream Journal 2018-01-08: Sky Piracy Is A Fine Way To Redistribute Wealth

Buckle up, my friends, because I suspect this may be a long post! This most recent dream takes place in a future version of our world where income inequality has continued to grow unchecked but the one bright spot to this future is that everyone has access to flying cars and jetpacks. People at the top of the hierarchy had wealth, power, and influence almost beyond comprehension, and there were maybe a few dozen people like this in the world. Everyone else led lives that today would be considered “lower-middle class.”

The wealth disparity between these ultra-wealthy people and literally everyone else was so great that stealing from these rich people was a relatively common way for regular people to make ends meet. Poor people would stage (mostly) nonviolent raids against the flying luxury ships that transported the wealthy people and shake them down for money. And it was more cost effective for these ultra-rich people to just give the poor folks whatever money they asked for instead of hiring armies of bodyguards every minute of the day.

Holding people for ransom was still a crime, but even demanding $1,000,000 from these people had such little impact on their net worth that it was effectively imperceptible. The courts of this reality agreed, and people who were convicted of piracy faced a maximum of three years in prison. But the upside was that you still got to keep the money you stole, even if you were convicted. This was mainly because the time of these wealthy people was worth more than attempting to recover the money and the rich people got to write off the ransom payments as “charitable giving” or something similar.

I was one of those people who just barely managed to scrape by each month, so I decided to strap on my jetpack and try my hand at robbing the next luxury liner that I saw. I didn’t really need the money, but it would be really nice to have some sort of financial safety net. That’s how I ended up soaring over the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of New York, waiting for the next airship to come back from London. I tried to time everything correctly so that I would be the first person to target the ship once it made it into US airspace.

Unfortunately another individual had similar thoughts, and she (like me) was going to try to shoot a grappling hook onto the cruiser and board it while the vehicle was still flying. But our grappling hooks got tangled up together and ruined the element of surprise. We tried to demand ransom once we got inside the cabin, but our demand did not go over as we had hoped. In most cases, the pirate gets sack of cash and tossed out of the plane immediately, but we were asked to make a choice. We could either continue our attempt at piracy, after which we would be reported to the police and convicted for the 3-year maximum sentence; or we could wait until the vehicle landed, do a favor for this wealthy dude, and walk away with much more money and be in the good graces of a very powerful individual.

Despite having zero reason to trust this guy, I, along with the other bumbling pirate, opted to see what favor this guy was going to ask us to do. The lady who unknowingly attempted to pillage the ship alongside me was a professor of literature who hoped to score some money to pay for her wife’s cancer treatments (because health care is still apparently a problem in the future US), which was why she wanted to stick around to hear about other potentially legal methods of obtaining more money. I had no such lofty goals, but my opinion is easily swayed by additional large bags of cash and I opt to stay out of laziness so I don’t have to try robbing another dude in the future.

Once on solid ground, we are escorted to a Chinese restaurant near the top of skyscraper. A man in a purple suit who looks a lot like Will Ferrell in Night At The Roxbury is talking to a man named Tony Chen who owns the restaurant. The man we had attempted to rob was not actually the wealthy guy we were expecting. He was an assistant to the wealthy guy, and the dude in the purple suit was actually the person we were hoping to snatch money from. Tony and the man in the purple suit were arguing about something when we got there.

"My time is worth more than thirty billion dollars a minute, and you want to ask me something that will take up more than three minutes?" Purple Suit asks Tony. And then apparently Purple Suit offers Tony a significant amount of money to jump in the koi pond inside the restaurant in exchange for not asking any more questions and letting Purple Suit conduct his business in peace, which Tony agrees to.

The people involved in this meeting are escorted over to a large round table. In addition to the literature professor and Purple Suit, there are three or four other people present. Purple Suit tells us that we were brought here to help him accomplish a particularly audacious plan. Purple Suit was one of the richest men in the world, but alas, he was not the richest. So Purple Suit reasoned that if poor people could steal from rich people with relative impunity, other rich people should be able to do the same.

"If you are rich and powerful enough, you will always be above the law,” he told us. “And if you help me pull this off, I will make sure you are always above the law.”

Then Purple Suit tells us his crazy plan, which of course happens in real-time in the dream. A team of people in a nearby tower is in the process of giving an even richer guy some sedatives before he goes on an yet another international trip. This older, richer guy has in his possession a box that is connected via a physical wire to his pacemaker. The battery in the pacemaker keeps the old guy’s heart pumping, but it also provides power to that box. Inside that box is a tiny circuit board that generates time-sensitive cryptographic keys that are used to secure his vast and fabulous riches. If the key generator is disconnected from the battery for more than a few minutes, it stops working permanently and can no longer be used to access his fortune.

My job is to take the box, hook it up to an emergency power supply that can put out enough power to last for maybe 10 minutes, and run down to the base of the tower where I will meet my next team member. I’m freaking out a little bit because I know I’m not very inconspicuous as I’m running through elevators with a pile of wires in my hand. But the next team member intercepts me before I get to the ground floor.

This guy is probably in his late 30s and he’s got a beard. He gives me a silver sticker called a LOOP that I’m supposed to keep on my person until the mission is complete. I don’t know what the first letters stand for, but the “OP” in LOOP stand for “Obfuscation Protocol,” and this sticker is supposed to be able to jam electronic location trackers from following the path.

But there’s still one last problem that we have to get past in order to reach the rendezvous point: there are a few security guards who know something is up (presumably because the airship that was parked on the roof didn’t take off on time. The Bearded Dude gives me a backpack and sends me into a janitorial closet to change clothes.

Inside the backpack is a bunch of athletic clothes. I ask The Beard why I need to change into these particular clothes, and he tells me that if I dress and act like a runner, no one will suspect anything. Runners can look disheveled, and they also have an excuse for running in public places.

Seems like solid logic to me, so I change clothes and go “jogging” with The Beard as my running buddy and the code generator is tucked underneath my shirt. Nobody pays us much attention, despite us passing right under the noses of several of the building’s security guards. We pass off the code generator to the next group of team members waiting in a limo, and they reconnect the code generator to a more stable power supply and use the codes that it generates to siphon away the riches of the older guy.

In exchange for our troubles, each of us is given several million dollars and a favor from Purple Suit that may be cashed in later. I woke up before I could ask about the specifics of the favor, but I’m pretty sure it would have afforded me a life of luxury for the rest of my days.

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

Header image is of a render of the proposed DeLorean Aerospace flying car featured in a recent article in Wired.

[lazuliblur]

[draft] awwyii 1

A woman cried out in the middle of the street. The noise attracted the attention of a passer-by, a man in his twenties with light combed back hair and an impeccably pressed suit in the same faded shade of blue as his glasses. Seeing a petite young woman with flowing black hair leaning against a wall and holding her foot, he put his newspaper under his arm and approached her.

“Are you all right, miss? Do you need anything?”

She looked up, dark onyx eyes set in a pale face, fixing him with unexpected intensity. For a moment, it was as though reality folded in on itself. There was something about those eyes that… fascinated him.

“I’m fine, thanks. I think I twisted my ankle.” She showed him a high-heeled shoe. Her cheeks blushed pink as she smiled. “I’m not used to wearing these… Could you help me walk over there? I don’t think I can manage on my own right now,” she said, pointing towards a bench in the shade of a maple tree across the street.

Her hair smelled like wild berries and she was biting her lip so beautifully that it sent the man’s thoughts spinning in a tight loop. At that one moment, she could have asked him anything and he would have said yes.

“Of course!”

He let her lean against his side and held her around the waist as they ambled towards the bench. Her foot must have hurt badly because she kept jostling him and throwing him off balance. As lithe and elegant as she looked, the man was surprised to discover that she, in fact, had a solid constitution. He never would have imagined her to be so heavy. Every time she bumped against him a little more roughly, though, she laid a hand over his, the picture of daintiness as she giggled and apologized for her clumsiness.

Once they reached the bench, he helped her sit down. By then, he was enchanted by her and he didn’t even think to question her motives when she grabbed his arm to keep him around for a while longer.

“My hero! Thanks for the help,” she said. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“I— uh… no, not at all, miss,” he stuttered. No one in his life had ever looked at him with such tenderness in their eyes.

She reached down to rub her ankle, giving him an eyeful of cleavage in the process. He stiffened and almost averted his gaze, would have if her head had been turned in his direction. It wasn’t.

“So, are you from around here?” she asked.

“Here” being the largest port town in the Land of Hot Springs.

The man had to fight his racing thoughts to find the words with which to answer. With the ability to form full sentences out of his reach, it was all that he could do to mention that he had not been born there, but had just moved from a close-by island belonging to Water because of the new factory that was scheduled to start operating there next week.

“Shigeki Global. I’m Regional Manager there. We’re the largest company in the canned goods business out in the Land of Water and this is our first factory in the continent. It’s a big milestone.”

“Shigeki… Oh! I’ve heard of that place! Wow, you must be some kind of a big shot, huh?”

He preened under the attention, unconsciously adjusting his glasses.

“You might say that.”

“And have you ever met the big boss? He’s been all over the news lately. I wonder if any of those things they say about him are true.”

The man grunted. The stories circulating were not favorable towards his employer. They ranged from the ludicrous, about how he had made a deal with a devil, to the outrageous, like how he intended to dethrone the Water Daimyou and seize control of the nation for himself. The young manager suspected that their competition had had a hand in spreading such malicious stories.

“Taro Shigeki is a great and generous man, a corporate genius! He inherited a near bankrupt company and turned it into the most thriving enterprise in our country. When the children of Water were starving, he was the one who fed them, paying for the food out of his own pocket! He put them through school and provided them with a future! You shouldn’t pay any attention to those filthy rumors, miss.”

She leaned down to slip her shoe back into place. After a few experimental tugs, she deemed her ankle sufficiently recovered.

“Well, I hope you’re right. The world needs more good men in it,” she said as she stood. “Now, thank you for stopping to help me. I think I’m all better and it sounds like you’re a busy man, so I’d hate to keep you. Maybe we’ll see each other around, now that you’ll be working here.”

She extended a hand. He took it between his own to bid her goodbye. Her skin was cold and surprisingly coarse.

“I’d like that very much. Take care!”

As the man walked away, he looked back a few times to make sure he had not just had a complex hallucination. But no, the young woman was there and real and looking back at him too. He rounded the corner with a smile on his face, heart warmed by the thought of meeting her again in the future.

As he left her sight, the woman clasped her hands in a simple hand seal. “Release!” she said and a cloud of smoke erupted. When it dissipated, a young man stood in the woman’s place. Like the woman, his hair was jet black, but that was the extent of the similarities between them. The right side of his face bore deep scars and he wore a patch over one eye. The one that he did have, was red, now darkening to black. Sharingan.

Another man soon joined him in a second cloud of smoke. This one was light haired, just as tall but with a slighter build, but his left eye was similarly covered. Without looking his way, the first man pulled a book from his pocket and tossed it over at his partner.

“Here’s his agenda, Kakashi. You look it over...”

Obito sat down on the bench and lowered his head between his knees. Before looking at anything, Kakashi took a moment to ponder the street that Shigeki Global’s new Regional Manager had taken. His one visible eye was shining with humor as he turned back to Obito.

“You’re surprisingly good at playing that role. Is there anything you’d like to share?”

“Gods, shut up! I’ve told you before about what happens when you try to be funny. It’s creepy.” Despite his words, though, Kakashi could tell that Obito wasn’t really bothered. He knew because the glare he was given was nowhere near the Shut your mouth or I’ll punch you into next week end of the Obito spectrum.

“I think he would have said yes if you’d asked him out,” Kakashi couldn’t help but add.

“It was just genjutsu! Don’t make it weird.”

Obito jumped to his feet, physically needing to leave the topic behind. Impersonating others came so easily to him. Sometimes, he scared himself with just how easily he could slip into a role and pretend to be someone else. To leave himself behind and start over with a clean slate. It was frighteningly tempting. There was much of Obito’s past that he would like to pretend never happened.

Unaware of these thoughts, Kakashi fell into step next to him, leafing through the pages of the daily planner that had taken so much sacrifice to obtain.

“That guy was gross, anyway. Did you see the way he looked at me and how he couldn’t keep his hands off me? I don’t just paw at every strange girl that crosses my path,” Obito mumbled.

“To be fair, you were holding on to him and you don’t know any girls.”

Obito huffed a laugh. Looking over at Kakashi, who had his nose in the stolen agenda, he felt a surge of pride. Who would have thought that his once emotionally constipated teammate would ever learn sass? Better yet, who would have guessed that, after a childhood of rivalry, Obito would one day call him his best friend?

If there was one thing about his past that Obito was glad to hold on to, it was this bond. Through all the guilt and hardships, Kakashi kept him sane.

“Crane’s a girl.”

“True, but you’ve never actually met her, have you?” Kakashi pointed out.

Their current assignment required them to forego their uniforms for the sake of discretion, but the two surviving members of team Minato were actually working as Tiger and Hound, ANBU’s – and by extension the Leaf’s – top two-man team. They held the record for the longest-running string of successfully completed missions since the founding of the black ops.

Because neither of them had any knowledge of medical techniques, however, they sometimes called upon the services of Crane, a young medic who was leading an experimental program to render long-distance medical assistance to teams on the field. They had never met in person, but, as far as Obito was concerned, she was an unofficial part of team, ever since she had saved Kakashi’s life during a mission gone wrong.

“I’m sure I’d know more girls if my best friend would take a certain job.”

As easy as flipping a switch. Kakashi lifted his head and pinned a warning look on Obito. “We’re not talking about that.”

“Shit, you’d think they were asking you to sit in for torture!” Obito said. When that failed to get a response out of Kakashi, he added: “Something’s very wrong with you, you know? You were offered the best job in the world and you won’t even consider it! All you have to do is put on a damn hat.”

Kakashi hummed, determined to cast the ambient noise his friend was producing aside. “Elephant Island… Looks like Taro Shigeki goes there every other month. I wonder what’s there.”

Obito scowled at being ignored.

“You know I’d kill for that job and Lady Tsunade just gave it to you. The least you can do is show me some respect and take it!”

“We are not talking about this now.”

Obito was quickly growing sick of hearing that. Every time, it was Kakashi’s go-to phrase. Well, not any more. Head full of memories about the Fourth World War and of how easily their world could have ended – in no small part, thanks to Obito’s actions – the Uchiha planted himself in front of his best friend and forced him to stop.

“If not now, then when? It’s been like two weeks since you were asked and you still haven’t dug up your head out of the sand. This is not just going to go away! Lady Tsunade’s retiring and you need to step up and face reality. Hokage, Kakashi! Ho-ka-ge!”

They stared each other down for a small eternity, mismatched eyes fixed on each other. Even the civilian residents out for a walk sensed the tension between them and picked up their pace as they passed by.

Kakashi’s mask hid his expression and the slanted forehead protector covered an additional quarter of his face, but Obito had known him long enough to be able to guess which way the wheels were turning inside his friend’s stubborn one-track head. Kakashi was going to dismiss the subject. Again.

Except he didn’t.

“Not everyone has the same calling.”

It was the first time he had said anything on the subject. Before Obito could come up with an appropriate reply, though, before he could piece together what that comment was supposed to mean, Kakashi held up the planner, opened on the page bearing the current date.

“Found something,” he said, in a sing-song voice. “Shigeki has a meeting scheduled for tonight at the factory. It doesn’t say who else will be there, but we’d better start working on getting ourselves invited.”

Obito sighed and stepped aside to let Kakashi lead the way down to the docks, where the new Shigeki Global factory was located. The mission had to come first, as always. Sun down was only a couple of hours away so they did not have a lot of time left to scout the location.

“All right. Let’s wrap this up. But I’m not done with you,” Obito warned. “We’re totally talking about you taking this job afterwards. And by ‘talking’ I mean me beating you up until you accept it.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, crybaby.”

*

“How sure are we that this Shigeki’s a bad guy?” Obito – or rather, Tiger – asked. He and Kakashi were crouched on the rafters above the entrance of Shigeki Global’s new factory. A backup team was on the ground, covering the entrance of a secondary building. Now that they were off the streets, the animal masks and full ANBU uniforms were back in place to protect their identity.

Shigeki was due to arrive at any minute.

“I mean, Lady Tsunade says he’s rotten, but from the way everyone we’ve met so far talks about him, you’d think Shigeki fed every baby and pet every puppy from here to the Hidden Mist.”

“Who knows what his full story is,” Kakashi replied. “Apparently there’s reason enough to suspect him. Keep in mind that it was the Mizukage who flagged him as dangerous.”

And that was a big red note written in all capital letters on the cons side of the table, Obito had to admit. He and Kakashi had personally met the Mizukage during the Fourth Ninja World War, a woman by the name of Mei Terumii. She was a Mist ninja through and through. Like every other survivor of the sadistic practices that had been common place in that village under the previous Mizukage’s rule, she did not scare easily. It would have been out of character for her to advise the other villages in the ninja alliance to keep an eye on the business man unless she had good reason to doubt him.

“How long has it been since we’ve heard from the Hidden Mist, though? It has to have been weeks since we got an update on their investigation.”

“All the more reason to make sure of what we’re dealing with before Shigeki expands his business to Fire Country territory. No castle was ever overthrown by caution,” Kakashi said, as though quoting from a rulebook.

Obito hated it when that dead, mechanical tone made a comeback. The conversation stalled, however, as his sharingan caught the shapes of five people coming towards the factory.

Two of the individuals looked murky in the greyscale world of the Uchiha’s bloodline ability, their chakra systems underdeveloped. It was characteristic of civilians, as the flow of their vital energy naturally grew more and more impaired by age and disuse. The other three were very different. Their chakras shone in bright, sharp shades of blue. From the intensity and speed of their chakra circulation, he estimated them to be around chuunin-level ninjas.

Obito did not like it. Thanks to the new information sharing policies that had come with the establishment of the united shinobi alliance, he and Kakashi knew for a fact that none of the hidden villages were working with Shigeki. These three had to be rogues.

“Showtime,” Obito told Kakashi and the backup team through their radio transmitter, right before the bulky factory doors opened with a metallic screech.

Their friend, the Regional Manager, was the first to step inside, almost tripping over himself in his haste to hold the doors open for the others. His glasses slipped a little further down his nose every time he lowered his head in a bow.

“I beg your forgiveness, Mr. Shigeki. I was sure that I’d brought my agenda with all the security codes with me… There is no excuse for my forgetfulness!”

Another man followed, his every two steps marked by the tap of a cane on concrete. He all but ignored the Regional Manager as he walked in, pausing at the edge where the blade of amber street light coming in through the open door met darkness, chest open and chin held high. His white designer long coat with a full mink fur collar spoke of massive wealth.

Obito and Kakashi’s mission briefing scroll had only included a brief description of Taro Shigeki – tall, fit, thin brown hair and eyebrows, with a distinctive mole on the right side of his jawline – but there was no mistaking the look of pride in a man surveying his domain.

Shigeki waved the cane behind him.

“Lights! Lights! Let’s see what we have here!”

The Regional Manager hurried to flip the main switch on the state of the art circuit breaker. Row after row, the lamps hanging from the ceiling lit with a wave of resounding clangs until the full length of the open-plan factory was illuminated.

Obito and Kakashi’s position became further obscured, as they lay immediately above one such light. Their thoughts, however, were far from whether or not they would be spotted. They were confused.

The remaining three members of Shigeki’s entourage had stepped inside the factory. Mist ninjas. Their forehead protectors bore the intact symbol of their village. What was the Mizukage up to?

Taro Shigeki walked further into the room, spinning in place with his arms wide open to encompass the full scale of his newest business venture. He took a deep breath, held it in, expelled it out.

“Ahhh! Can you smell that, Tanaka?” he asked the Regional Manager, a grin brightening his features. “Brine and oil! Brine and oil! Doesn’t it fill you with excitement for all the wonderful things that will take place here once the factory starts production?”

His employer’s high spirits helped Regional Manager Tanaka overcome his initial embarrassment. He came to stand next to Shigeki, imagining that he too experienced a portion of that wonder as he glanced at the bare walls and exposed wiring of the incomplete building.

“Yes, sir. The first shipment of equipment is due to arrive in the morning. We’ll start the assembly of—”

Shigeki interrupted his carefully prepared report.

“Brine and oil, Tanaka!” He tapped his young employee’s shoulder with the crystal encrusted tip of his cane. “That’s all you need for success, or so my father used to say. The raw materials and the hard work to turn them into something that people will pay money for!”

“Yes, sir.”

Shigeki regarded the other man with an uplifted manicured brow and a benign smile. His brief sigh did not escape the Leaf ninjas’ notice. In the face of his employee’s limited vision, his speech became less extravagant.

“Well, it looks like we still have some time until our friends arrive. Why don’t you fill me in on the current state of operations here, Tanaka?”

The Regional Manager’s joy to be back on script was entirely transparent. Obito and Kakashi, though, were not as interested in listening him talk about the company’s phased hiring plans or the detailed inventory of the cargo that was due to arrive by boat at their private dock over the following days. Nothing about his speech stood out as uncommon or unexpected. Just regular business proceedings.

The three Mist ninjas were still, stationed by the door. The Leaf team began to suspect that they were there as spies to inform the Mizukage about Shigeki’s dealings.

Obito and Kakashi shared a shrug. Everything pointed to the conclusion that their mission was a bust. They hadn’t been able to find a single thing out of place. Taro Shigeki was just another business man who had gotten lucky and made a fortune off of the post-war needs of the people of the Land of Water, it seemed. The two of them were stuck in place for the moment, though, as Kakashi, the official team leader, was too thorough to cut their observation short early.

Kakashi sent one long tap over his radio transmitter, a signal to the backup team to hold their position and stay out of sight.

Obito nudged Kakashi then and whispered.

“Hey, does this remind you of Threads of Sorrow or what? That part where the Princess buries her father?”

Kakashi’s eyes moved from their targets. Leave it to Obito to start thinking about a movie at a time like this. The scene he was talking about didn’t even have anything to do with their current situation. The Princess’s love interest, at the time nothing but an enemy who had sworn to kill her, had hid behind a rock while she spoke aloud about her father and taken pity on her.

Well, with a little stretch of the imagination, there were some parallels, Kakashi supposed. Only Obito could have made such an association, though.

“You watch too much crap. Jiraya’s original books are better.”

There was an ongoing debate between them over whether the films or the books they were based on were better. Kakashi claimed to have never seen the adaptation (secretly, he had) but he said that the books were better anyway and that Obito should make himself less of an illiterate ignorant by reading them.

“Hey, don’t badmouth Rin! She’s a great actress. Besides, those books have zero taste.”

Kakashi gave Obito an exasperated look. “Like you’ve read them enough to know.”

Taro Shigeki was walking further into the building, inspecting office spaces and the few technical rooms that were already set up with electrical appliances along the way, so the two of them had to move to a better location if they hoped to continue watching him.

“Don’t need to. The words make out in the title pretty much give everything away.”

Kakashi never got a chance to reply. Both of them cringed and lifted a hand to their ears as their radios chose that moment to deliver a loud inhuman shriek directly into their eardrums.

Beneath them, Shigeki and his employee carried on their inspection, as though nothing had happened. The Mist ninjas trailed after them a short distance away, equally unfazed.

The noise had been so shrill and obnoxious that it took Obito and Kakashi a few seconds to recover and realize what it was.

A scream. Their backup was under attack.

Activating his Mangekyou Sharingan, Obito transported both himself and Kakashi to their teammates’ location.

One of the Leaf ninjas was already down by the time that the two of them arrived. Standing opposite was a full squad of Mist ninjas, decked in their customary blues and greens and bearing unmarked forehead protectors. Like the group left behind, these were not rogues either.

There was no reason, then, why they should be fighting their Leaf allies.

Obito wasted no time before throwing himself into the fight, sharingan blazing and doing his best to incapacitate rather than kill. Kakashi hung back, taking out the incautious ones with mid to long-range strikes, while he tried to make sense of what caused the confrontation. Discretion was tossed out the window.

Obito entered a state of semi consciousness. After so many years serving as an active ninja, he no longer needed to think about his moves. His muscles knew how to react on instinct. If one of the enemies struck high, he ducked and kicked them in the gut. If they struck low, he jumped and jabbed them in the throat with the metal plates on the back of his gloves. As long as they were gasping on the floor for air, there were two less enemies to worry about.

Two more attacked from the right – and Obito let them pass through him, becoming intangible so that he could catch them with an incandescent fire breath from behind.

He never completed the handseal sequence, though. A dull, rumbling roar coming from somewhere out at sea broke the quiet of the night and a chill that had nothing to do with the weather electrified Obito’s spine.

He froze. For a moment, the ground beneath him did not look like flat cement, but rather a desolate battlefield of jutting rocks. The swaying shapes cast by the ceiling lights on the wall to his left ceased to register as shadows, looking more like deadly tails and tentacles reaching skywards from white monsters with infinite chakra stores, ready to wipe out the world from existence.

Obito furiously blinked through his panic and the illusion passed as if it had never been. Were he a lesser ninja, his distraction might have cost him his life. As it was, he was able to keep his cool long enough to snap back to reality and realize that it was only the sound of a ship’s foghorn that he had heard.

He did not wait a second longer before forcing himself back into action. He phased through the enemy’s mostly blind attempts to retaliate and systematically took out those threatening his teammates’ lives. Kakashi removed the remaining enemy ninjas from the battle with well-aimed kunai throws and lightning techniques.

The battle was short lived, but it caused too great a disturbance to go unnoticed. Running footsteps approached from the direction that Shigeki and his Mist escort had been in.

“Obito?” Kakashi asked. His friend’s odd moment of hesitation had not escaped his notice.

“I’m fine,” the Uchiha said without a second thought. They were the only ones left standing. Their entire backup team was down. “I’m calling Crane for help, these guys are in bad shape!”

“You’re an interesting one.”

The foreign voice was quiet and smooth, but it came out of nowhere. It sent Obito and Kakashi whirling around to look for the speaker, only to find that the man who spoke wasn’t hiding at all. Just standing in front of the door with the Mizukage by his side.

He did not appear to be from either Leaf or Mist. Wrapped in burnt orange robes, pale skinned and with long, unkempt hair covering half of his face, he had a strange symbol tattooed on his forehead and extending down the bridge of his thin nose. Only half of it was visible, but it was reminiscent of an elephant’s head.

His eyes were fixed on Obito.

His chakra could barely be felt. Even the Uchiha’s sharingan could only discern a dull smudge where a fully formed chakra system should have been. The same thing was true for the Mizukage, even though Obito knew that her chakra burned a bright amber. If not for what their eyes undeniably told Obito and Kakashi, the two newcomers would have been invisible to their other senses.

It was hard to believe that they had been there all along, watching the fight. It was an unsettling thought, almost as unsettling as trying to decide whether the stranger was friend or foe. The Mizukage was the Leaf’s ally, yet the squad of fallen Mist ninjas at their feet told a different story.

“Lady Mizukage?” Kakashi asked, but he was cut off by the stranger, who waved a hand at the Leaf team.

“Darling Mei, would you please?”

The Mizukage started forward, a coy finger rubbing her bottom lip in preparation to use one of her deadliest techniques.

That, at least, settled a few of Kakashi and Obito’s doubts, though it brought a whole new batch of questions to the table.

“Lava Release…”

[pepperpaprika]

S3 Squeeing

Under the cut, mostly nonsense. :’D I’ll do a proper review once I digest it maybe!

First watch, no subtitles, GO.

(I’m sorry about name spellings)

EPISODE 1: 

huh they still have the same opening.

KEITH IS SO SAD

ah yes the zarkon shiro moaning

NO KEITH DONT DO THE WOBBLY EYES

ahhh i forgot the robovoiceover thing the bom have need to add.

skirts seem to be a status symbol with galra.

NINJA RUN OMFG.

oooh nice torpedo, hunk!

omfg an actual parade.

WAIT WAS IT KOLIVAN SAYING "IM SORRY KEITH" earlier??

pooegian? aw cute name. im seriously getting avatar flashbacks tho.

planet keffron, feathery ears

freedom fighters.

intergalactic fashion pirate coran- YES

lance is all about the glory lmao

OMG ALLURA NO- LOOK AT THAT SHOCK.

you can tell they ALL know they stepped on keiths landmine.

Commander Thrak --OH NO THEY ARE HIDING ZARKONS ILLNESS.

this guy is hunched.... OMG SHES A CHAMELEON.

LOL KOLIVAN IS AT THE HEAD

galra empire is most massive... it seems like it could rule another ten thousand years.

LOL KEITH. SO ANGERY.

poor boy.

oh hey pizza roll and pig in a blanket.

LOTOR a;lskdas;klj -Exiled prince -halfbreed at best, no honor -generals can fight for the throne -fighting beside your forces is considered lowly.

omfg. OMFG. LOTOR IS PRETTIER THAN I THOUGHT.

OMFG WHERE DID THEY COME FROM

YEAH GROWL BB

alskdjaskdjaskldj;asjkd;lasjkd;laslk;jdlasjk;dklajsd HES SHORT

LOL NICE PUNCH

Your own agression is your undoing.

oh he was expecting to be killed wasnt he.

arena is to the death confirmed.... so how did that robeast survive.

as;ldkjasdkjasd HEY THEY HAVE GEMS ON THEIR GLOVES/HANDS.

DONT TURN YOUR BACK ON A BLOODTHIRSTY GENERAL LOTOR PLS.

I mean sure theres an audience but still.

oh wow that guy has wolverine hands.

pet the kitty

let him rot with the ice worms~

LOL theyre all looking at lance... i guess they agreed beforehand.

EPISODE 2

nice seaside mediterranean city

is that an elephant?

whoah chameleon girls antenna is super long.

HOW DID THEY LAND GENTLY. oh i see... hmn ita racial.

whoah. she strong.

oh my god. HES THERE.

well i like how chameleon girl is like ty lee

LOL how allura chose the colors.

LOL SAME KEEF.

BLACK LION LOOKS SO SAD ON ITS SIDE. /CRAI

aw ladies first.

LOL PIDGE. lajkasdjasl;kdj

NOT IT. YES HUNK.YOU DIDNT EVEN TRY.

I LOVE IT HUNK.

PIDGGGGE

30 mins of lance sitting in the lion.

but im not you. i cant beat them like you.

PLEASE NO. OMG

LOL LANCES FACE. SO DISAPPOINTED.

I DONT ACCEPT THIS.

OMG SHES PLAYING WITH THE CAT

"no black lion"

oh. shes part snake not lizard?  DID SHE HYPNOTIZE HIM

THIS ONES FOR YOU SHIRO.

oh. they have warp technology.

Lancey Lance. JUST A PHASE. lmaooooo. HIS BEST LINE.

controls dont respond like the red lions.... hmm..

KEITH PROLLY TRAINED IT TO BITE MY HEAD OFF.

Allurance shoulder touch. well I didnt see that coming.

YEAH ALLURA.

There's something different about that lion... its pilot isnt in control.

lol keith thanks coran but not lance. I mean its not his fault this time, technically.

BE CAREFUL WITH RED.

weve seen enough, retreat.

LOL zarkon has a son allura: deeply disturbing.

LANCE STOP TALKING LIKE YOURE GONNA LEAVE HER FOR GOOD.

FALLEN WARRIORS.. AND SHIRO.

"I'm glad it was you."

OMG KEITH.

Episode 3

lol keith no. NOT EVERYONE CAN FLY A THING IN TWO MINS OK.

LOTOR WANTS TO KNOW MORE INFO

fkljas;kdfsaklj YES GO ONE ON ONE

LANCE WHY

omg. OF COURSE HES GOOD AT FLYING. OF COURSE.

DOES THIS THING HAVE BREAKS.

lol yes this was gonna suck from the start.

LOL GARRISON TRIO

GREAT LEADERSHIP KEITH FFFFFT

man this is a trainwreck.

oh man theyre not gonna be able to form are they.

LOL

LOTOR CAN SEE YOU

How disappointing... indeed, Lotor.

oh no keith playing straight into his hands.

nice planet tho.

omg. NOOOO KEEF NO.

huh Hunk has been really careful of allura huh :o its kinda interesting that hes the one who woories about her most... ope theres lance

'its not about the team its about the mission" - very telling.

lol he looks like orochimaru in that helmet, lotor.

generals call him lotor. interesting

LOL THAT SPLAT

alkdjasdkjsa NOOOO

oh no hes gonna capture allura first.

WHY ARENT THE LIONS GUIDING THEM?

ohhh no she dropped into the abyss.

aw shes super scared.

lol yes keith you followed him into his trap.

"oh em gee"

WHAT WOULD LANCE DO

laskdjasldjkaskjdjskjsadfjkljksdla

ALLURA WHY OMG. PARTICLE BARRIER.

abbb ok she must want to be guided. makes sense.

d;alsjdasl IM GLAD WERE ALL MAKING FUN OF LANCE looool.

ahhh there we go 3 eps in before voltron can be formed.

HUNK IM A LEG pretty cool right. IMMORTAL WORDS.

EPISODE 4

lol allura you were never gonna be the last alteans alive unless youre a lot worse at shapeshifting than you thought.

I love this science talk.

DONT GO INTO THE LIGHT.

oh its a wormhole.

ahah a time capsule ship of alteans. Nice.

Orrr not.

whoah lots of arms on that one. IS IT SLAV.

wheres slav anyway.

bom?

ALdaslk;djAS:LKdjasdljOMFG

OMFG.

YES IT IS SLAV AND SHIRO. SVEN.

aldfjlkqwlk;jehs ITS THE ACCENT.

"I MAY BE CRAZY"Nice slav.

ldjasd;lkj LOL LANCE HAS RED GUN.

"OH THATS HIM"

;ldkaslkak I LOVE ITTTTT

ALTEANS ARE EVIL. YES.

EMPRESS

WHAT IS THAT BEHIND THEM A YUPPER.

NO DONT HELP THE EVIL ALTEANS PIDGE.

its nice that all the new chars are girls.

alkjd;askdjasjkl;d I CANT EVERY TIME SVEN TALKS.

Moxus hmn. OMG BRAINWASHING. ALTEAN BRAINWASHING.

preservation of life. is the highest prioirty.. interesting...

YOOHOO UP HERE.

I love how sven has a mullet.

GUNS OF GAMORA.

Voltron can travel between realities. I love this plot device.

ohhhh no. oh nooo. shes doing it WHY ARE YOU SO BLIND.

awww the mice are so SAD.

i cant stop laughing whenever i see Sven.

ASLkdjaskld;jasjdkl THIS IS THE REALITY WHERE EVERYTTHING WORKS OUT FINE.

DOGPILE

I LOVE ITTTT.

;lkvsdf;aldkas;lkd LOL SVEN SVEEEN. lol shance with sven?

DOES HE DO THIS IN EVERY REALITY.

I LOVE THIS REALITY TOO SLAV.

NOOO DONT TAKE IT TO LOTOR. though thats probably needed to make a comparable weapon to voltron.

DESTROY IT

welp.

EPISODE 5

alk;sdjaskj SHIRO

SHOW ME THAT LONG HAIR BABY.

oh wait this is a dream isn't it.

whoah. such hair.

HOBO SHIRO

wtfffff is happeniiing. STAGE 3??

wow the animation quality went up tho.

YOU BE THAT AMERICAN NINJA SHIRO

hmm thigh wound.

anime snow...

aw haggar, its ok.

Yep thigh wound. Niiiiice legs. oh nooo.shiro.

interesting. an oasis of warmth. ohhhh NO NOO NO. GET AWAY.

TENTACLES.

WHAT IS THIS OTHER ALIEN.

lol shiros face. he's so done.

but somethings not adding up.

why was he allowed free?

eiii the return of the term "years"

IDK WHAT IT IS BUT HOBO SHIRO LOOKS SO MUCH BETTER RENDERED SOMEHOW? LIKE AN OVA?

lol yes why dint they GO WITH HIM.

but how did his hair get so long??

ALTERNATE REALITY?

VOLTRON.YES SHIRO. AH HES TOO FAST FOR ME.

oh. THAT ARM.

Lotor is on bad terms Haggar. I AM THE LEADER BUT I AM NOT MY FATHER.

holy shit that arm looks like shiros arm.

OH NO SHIROOO.

alksdjasjd OMG MEMORIES.

BLACK SAVE HIM. SAVE HIIIM.

NOODLES.

EPISODE 6

LANCE LIKE WHIPS. OF COURSE HE DOES.

WHERES SHIRO.

oh new white undershirt.

KEITH JUST TALKING TO SHIRO IN THE DARK IN HIS ROOM.

"they need you you know." Keith talking about himself.

AS MANY TIMES AS IT TAKES TO SAVE YOU SHIRO.

oh. SHORT SLEEVES.

oomg. omg.

I LOVE THE GEEK TALK.

...OH NO

HEY MAN.

SOLID MATH LOL.

Leave the math to pidge. LOL. solid advice.

HUNK BUTT WIGGLE.

LOL keith defers ofc.

THE HAIR IS ALL WROOONG. ITS GOING THE WRONG WAY.

oh no.

THIS MAY BE THE WORST POST IN THE GALRA EMPIRE BUT ITS MY POST. VICTORY OR DEATH. I LOVE YOU FOR THAT THROK.

oh its lotors guards.

???

OMG. OH NO. TELEDUV.

ohh no. SHEITH FIGHT.

lol they believe shiro ofc.

oh so it IS her.

OH YEAH AMBIDEXTROUS KEITH.

aw yes allura grab lances scruff.

ohhh no. this is a rift.

lotors brains vs shiros brains. hmn.

NICE KEITH.

ooooh no.

I wonder if Throk is still alive and can snitch.

Shoulder touch.

SOFT LOOK. The black lion has chosen you.

landing codes? what? whoa lotor. SO THAT PLAN WAS TO SET UP THROK? HES THAT PETTY??

episode 7

IS THAT HAGGAR?THE BLUE PALADIN??

ORIGINAL VOLTRON PALADINS

OH DEAR.

LOL ZARKON HAS A MACE. OR A HAMMER.

MORE KNOWLEDGEABLE AS AN ALCHEMIST THAN A SOLDIER

BEAR ALIEN

ERODES DISCIPLINE.

QUEENS AND KINGS NICE.

alluras already old there huh

and lions are super recent.

omg. ZARKON IS AFRAID OF CATS.

Minerva? Onerva?

OH ALLURA IS A BABY. THATWAS HER MOM SHES A PERFECT COPY.

HES MARRIED TO AN ALTEAN.

oh ships vs clean energy.

OH NO ITS SENTIENT.

why does she sound so dead???

WHY ARE THE LIONS ALL BANGED UP THEYRE SUPPOSED TO BE NEW??

also zarkon used to be so small

GALRA HAVE PUPILS

so blue lions are flirts. hmn.

IS THAT A LIL KITTY NOSE ON THEIR HELMETS?

THE SQUAD. THEYRE SO CUTE.

LOL LEG.

waiiit. WHY DOES KEITH STILL PUSH HIS BAYARD IN FOR FORM SWORD??

isnt it with lance now??

live foreverrr.

Enerva is Haggar??

ohhh thats why his eyes are pink. SO THISIS THE BIRTH OF DRUID MAGIC, THE PARTICLES.

....THATS IT??

[retrosedes-writing]

Star Crossed Part 2

For Ignoct Week, Day 1: Falling in Love

Rating: General, fluff Warnings: The Slowest Burn in Existence Summary: First Meeting

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Save a dashboard, reblog the preview instead!

Ignis had already reached his sixth birthday by the time little Noctis Lucis Caelum was ready for his guidance. Having heard several rumours about the young heir apparent's rebellious disposition and penchant for misbehaving, he was a bundle of nerves about being properly introduced for the first time.

What if the future king didn't like him? If he refused to listen to what Ignis had to say? What if he was even smarter, rendering his position useless?

Entering the nursery suite with his uncle at his side, he was immediately taken aback by the sight before him.

King Regis was kneeling beside a rather average-looking little boy, clasping his small hands in his own and quietly murmuring to him with a kind smile hiding underneath his neatly trimmed beard.

Surely this was not his son, the prince? Noctis was barely younger than Ignis himself, only a couple years separating them at most, but this scrawny toddler with shocks of coal black hair partially covering his eyes was somehow not what he had been expecting.

"Your Majesty." His uncle bent at the waist to announce their presence and the King quickly got to his feet to welcome them with open arms, giving Noctis a little nudge to scoot off the chaise longue as he did so.

With his father's hands on both shoulders, the boy was shepherded around his long legs to stand reluctantly in front of his guests, giving Ignis a closer look at his pale, round face. His expression was somewhat forlorn, his gaze filled with a sort of compelling innocence, and his eyes were very blue, like the last remaining light of the night sky after the sun had long since disappeared below the horizon.

"Are you excited to meet your new playmate?"

Ignis bowed uncertainly, slightly worried about colliding with the prince's head as Noctis was just that much shorter than him.

"Shake his hand, son," King Regis instructed Noctis gently.

To be greeted as an equal rather than as a subject caught Ignis off-guard yet again but nevertheless he extended his hand to Noctis as he'd been taught. After a brief hesitation, the boy hastily grabbed his hand and shook only the very tips of his fingers, then looked back to his father for further guidance. Completely unsure how to react, Ignis followed suit, staring unblinkingly up at his uncle through the big, round lenses of his glasses.

King Regis chuckled good-naturedly. "You'll have to forgive him, he's yet to do this before. Still so much to learn. Like this, Noctis," he said, winking at his son. "Mr. Scientia and I will give you an example of how it's done."

Ignis watched as the King graciously shook his uncle's hand. He then looked curiously back at Noctis as the prince's soft, warm palm shifted slightly upwards to wrap around his own. The boy seemed to be blushing; an embarrassed rosy pink had developed and spread across his cheeks. Looking away to one side, he staunchly avoided eye contact and stowed his hand into the pocket of his shorts.

It was at that moment that Ignis realized he was shaking hands with a boy like any other, just another little kid already being groomed for the trappings of high society like himself. He was a child from an important bloodline, certainly, but he was real nonetheless.

"Good job, Noctis!" Regis applauded them warmly. "I hope you'll do your best to become friends. Why don't you start by showing Ignis your new toys over there?"

They were led by the hand to the corner of the room where a considerable array of children's playthings lay scattered around a large custom playmat depicting what was probably a highly inaccurate cartoon version of Insomnia, complete with the Citadel at the centre, and then left to their own devices while the adults conversed with each other at a slight distance.

Feeling distinctly older than his own age, Ignis settled down beside the quilted map and tried to pay dutiful attention while Noctis shyly presented him with his favourite toys.

He fidgeted with a cactuar figure wearing a chef's hat and driving a small shiny red car which he had immediately grown partial to while he politely observed Noctis in action, looking on as the young prince began to lose himself in his own imagination. Eventually he joined in and together, they pushed life-like toy trucks along gentle fabric roadways, crashed miniature convertibles into piles of multi-coloured building blocks and launched off makeshift bridges Noctis had constructed out of books clearly borrowed from his father's study.

Yet despite having another boy from his own age group to play with, the tiny successor to the throne seemed more enamoured by his father's presence than anything else. He kept looking over at the adults and frequently toddled back over to them to deposit his toys in the king's lap instead, seeking his attention and approval before being kindly redirected back to the play corner where Ignis was waiting.

Soon enough, however, there was a knock on the door and another grown man poked his head in. "Your Majesty, the delegates are-"

"Growing impatient, I'm sure," King Regis supplied, standing with the intent to depart and heaving a sigh. "Tell them I'll be right with them momentarily. Ancilla," he asked of one of the nursemaids hovering nearby. "Please, watch over my son."

His uncle left them a few minutes later as well, giving them over to the care of the prince's governess and nursing staff for a couple of hours. For the most part, the women let them be and gossiped among themselves around the corner so their hushed voices wouldn't carry to the ears of the children, trusting Ignis to prevent Noctis from doing anything drastic.

Surprisingly, much of the young heir's bashfulness quickly disappeared after his father had exited the room. He regarded his new playmate with much more interest and open curiosity even as he largely ignored him to tug a variety of realistic, detailed rubber fishes out of a toy aquarium by the magnetic hooks in their mouths, lining them all up in a row to compare each catch with the kid-friendly depictions in the accompanying species identification booklet. His future advisor picked idly at the carpet fibers and refrained from interrupting.

The longer he watched Noctis, the more he thought there was definitely something special about him, immersed somewhere in the cerulean depths of those eyes perhaps, but Ignis couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly.

Nevertheless, he felt somewhat awed at finally being in the presence of the prince he was preparing to serve for the rest of his life. The boy sitting beside him was at once so much more and so much less than he'd been expecting; his pale green eyes were wide and his heart was open, because Ignis too was just a child then.

And then Noctis experimentally tried to put one of the toy fishes into his mouth, causing Ignis to panic and grab it away from him before he could swallow it and die. He picked his nose while his governess was looking the other way, because that's just what little kids do, and Ignis quickly felt his preconceived notions of divine royalty come crashing down around him.

Not that he told him to stop. No, he merely chose to look the other way awkwardly. Someday, Ignis would do a fine job of growing out of his apprehension for scolding the prince of Insomnia, telling him what to do or not do, but today was not that day.

Once he had gotten over his shock that the inheritor of the power of kings was in fact just a normal toddler as equally clueless and awkward in private as he was (perhaps moreso), Ignis gradually came to terms with the fact that his position was also currently lesser than what he'd been promised. The talents he had been training to possess later on in life weren't necessary just yet, so instead, he was essentially brought in early to help with what was really just... glorified babysitting.

He held the prince's hand and took him to the lavatory when he needed a restroom break, called for the nurse when he got sick, and encouraged Noctis to pay attention during lessons as the younger boy had a great tendency to doze off. Most importantly, Ignis tried his best to keep Noctis out of trouble, something which his petite royal highness was very good at getting into when he thought no one was looking.

Not that he minded at all. Ignis gained a new appreciation seemingly every day for the fact that his lifelong "occupation" was a real, living, breathing human being like himself, capable of holding interesting conversations and independent thoughts (be they limited to the topics and questions that would typically occur to a very young boy). His loneliness at being "abandoned" by his parents for an existence of perpetual servitude to the crown had all since evaporated.

As the two steadily grew older together, side by side, it was inevitable that they became friends.

Noctis was not as an aloof a prince as he appeared to be at first glance; it seemed he merely took a while to warm up to people, especially people who occasionally had to tell him what to do "because of the rules." But when left alone together, as one of the few boys his age in the vicinity, Ignis was always his first choice for a partner in misadventure.

It didn't matter that he was technically intended to be a sort of attendant, like his uncle Mr Scientia but significantly smaller, because the adults were simply no fun at hide-and-seek or playing Hunters and Daemons and could not be enticed to co-op video games with him either (not that Ignis was much better at them).

He didn't take it personally that Ignis always insisted he tell an adult member of staff where he was hiding just in case he couldn't be found after a set time had passed, and remained in bright spirits even when the young advisor-in-training tried to put a stop to his more boisterous shenanigans.

Of course, to keep the spirit of their friendship alive, Ignis had to compromise his duties now and then... He didn't always say no. Sometimes, he didn't really have much a choice, as Noctis would merely shrug and say, "You're not the boss of me. I'm the prince."

He had a point.

Ignis learned to choose his battles wisely. If he didn't see any real harm in the prince's ventures, he joined in just to keep a trained eye on the situation and sometimes even off-handedly brought a couple of well-chosen books along as well, in the vain hope that he could maybe convince Noctis to study on the go. This rarely worked, though the younger boy did seem to develop a liking for one book in particular, which depicted many beautiful illustrations of the various constellations and explained the cosmogony behind them. Even if he could barely read (and didn't like to try because learning was hard), he obviously enjoyed the pictures.

An unfortunate side effect of this was that it increased the prince's desire for a nighttime escapade tenfold.

Ignis often slept over by request and every other week it seemed he was woken by Noctis tugging on his sleeve to let him know he was hungry and sneaking out of his rooms to find the kitchens, or (to his utter panic) trying to climb out the upper part of the window with the intent of accessing the purely ornamental balustrade that lined the outer walls of the Citadel.

"How did you even get up there?!"

"I dunno, I threw something at the window to try and get it to open and then I was on top of it."

"Please get down."

For Ignis, following the king's wayward son out into the darkened, empty halls of the palace was quite the stressful ordeal - where Noctis could only be lightly punished for disobeying curfew, Ignis was risking his very livelihood.

Yet what else could he do? Noctis posed more of a danger to himself while wandering the corridors alone than he did with a reluctant accomplice who could at least keep him in line. No longer satisfied with watching the fish in the palace garden's koi ponds, the prince had already been caught by the guards while slipping out on his own to the nature park behind the Citadel buildings more times than Ignis could be bothered to count.

"I just wanted to see the stars," Noctis mumbled, tears dripping off the end of his nose into the mud splatter which he had tracked halfway across the foyer floor before being caught mid-jump in a skid by his stormy-faced father coming into the front hall. His jubilation at having made it outdoors without being seen by the guards had quickly transformed into an expression of horror. "It's impossible with all the city lights right outside... I'm sorry I let you take the blame."

"I know. It's okay," said Ignis, pulling him into a comforting hug, although he stared unseeing over the prince's shoulder at the lengthy streak of mud on the floor as the angry, booming voice of the king still echoed in his mind. His heart was beating weakly against his chest as if trying to escape the predicament they were in.

King Regis usually tolerated Ignis taking the blame for his son's misbehaviour, with a twinkling in his eyes no matter how stern he appeared on the surface, in such a way that Ignis suspected he secretly didn't mind them getting into typical childhood trouble every now and then. This time it seemed they had crossed a line.

Even his uncle had something to say about it. It was uncharacteristic of him to raise his voice to such a volume.

"You cannot simply abscond from the Citadel with the prince in tow whenever the two of you feel like it!"

His normally even-tempered uncle had been practically spitting, his eyeballs nearly bulging out of their sockets in anger. He paced the room in front of Ignis while sweat gathered on his glistening forehead.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to take the bloody crown prince outside the palace, at night of all times? There are people who wish the royal family ill, here in this very city! You never know who may be lurking about out there, waiting for their chance. What if you had walked right into their lap?"

Ignis looked down at his shoes. "I'm sorry, Uncle," he said quietly. "I had no idea it was so unsafe behind the Citadel." He paused, trying to collect himself as tears welled up in his eyes. "I should have known better," he muttered, more to himself than for his uncle's benefit.

In the end, it was decided that when Noctis and his father departed a few weeks later for their first planned visit to the royal family of Tenebrae, Ignis would be forced to remain behind as punishment. Perhaps if he wanted to be advisor to the prince, he should first learn how to act like one, or so his uncle told him firmly.

Ignis was gutted that their single late-night excursion beyond the palace walls had cost him such an important diplomatic opportunity. It didn't matter as much to him that he had family in Tenebrae; after so many years apart from his parents, he could scarcely remember what they looked like, let alone desire to be reunited with them.

Nevertheless, the hole they had left in his life by sending him away at only four years old was quickly re-opened with Noctis's absence.

Who was he without the prince at his side? Having been tutored privately most of his life, he didn't have any other friends and he wasn't about to make any new ones attending private school part-time. He suspected that anyone attempting to ingratiate themselves with him were most likely only trying to get a good word in with the royal family and besides, he didn't really have time to socialise anyway. As another part of his punishment, his study-load had increased to include a history of the dangers posed to the Crystal and the royal family of Lucis by the outside world.

He would remember in vivid detail the night he had fallen asleep with his nose in a passage about how the Empire of Niflheim had begun weaponizing daemons to invade the few parts of the world that still opposed them. His nightmares had followed him back into the waking world as his uncle gently shook his arm to rouse him. The expression on his lined face bespoke grave news.

"We've just received word from the Crownsguard. There was an attack."

Ignis stared back at him for a solid few seconds, unwilling to believe. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse.

"Noctis?"

"The prince... has sustained severe injuries. They're continuing on towards Tenebrae as soon as he's stable, with the intent to seek healing from the Oracle as quickly as possible."

Was this some sort of cruel joke? Another punishment for not understanding the danger Noctis was in outside the palace? No, he must still be dreaming. He had to be.

By the dawn's morning light, nothing had changed.

Over the next few weeks, news from the King's convoy continued to trickle down from the higher-ups at the Citadel.

They had arrived in Tenebrae.

The prince was in a coma.

Ignis was beside himself with anxiety and grief. Noctis couldn't die. He was still so young! After everything they had worked toward together these past 6 years of childhood, his friend had to live to become King one day. That was his duty, wasn't it, to guide him once he took the throne? What would he do if, one day, the prince just.. wasn't there?

He couldn't stand the thought of it. It made him sick, like a stone had become lodged in his too-dry throat and then sank to the bottom of his stomach. Yet at the same time another part of Ignis, his more pragmatic side, began to steel himself to the possibility.

To his great relief, however, after many weeks had passed in the grey and hollow rituals of daily life with no updates from the Crownsguard, Ignis finally received a letter from Prince Noctis himself:

Hi Dear Iggy,

I'm okay. Sorry if I made you worry.

Anyway, guess what? I made a new friend. Her name is Luna and she tells me stories like the ones in those books you're always trying to make me read. She has a lot of those books too.

Do you like dogs?

- N

Beneath the prince's crude handwriting, he had drawn two rather bean-shaped animals in what was presumably black and yellow crayon.

If anything, knowing Noctis was alive and well and enjoying himself elsewhere made Ignis miss him all the more.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[wellpresseddaisy]

I'm really surprised by the comments defending Dumbledore here. He was, objectively, a terrible Headmaster. He played favorites in the most obvious manner possible. He fostered an environment in which an entire House was villified by the student body (and some professors - Hagrid's comments) while giving lipservice to cooperation. He flat ignored and excused bullying which nearly resulted in the death of a student. He allowed a student to break just about every rule going and rewarded him for it.

Is fostering an environment where it's acceptable for upper year students to hiss at an 11 year old due to their sorting acceptable? Would having all your hard work through the year disregarded for the celebrity kid attending school with you (in your rival house, no less) make you feel welcome? Make you feel positively toward him? It's a great setup for a great deal of festering resentment.

To the comment that he was 'restoring points taken unfairly through the year due to pro-Slytherin bias' (paraphrased), this is absolutely not the case. First of all, Gryffindor lost the points due to Harry &Co. being out of bounds after hours and were taken by McGonagall. Is McGonagall secretly pro-Slytherin? Snape gave no points to anyone and took fewer than any other professor. Second of all, he's giving points unfairly based on an situation no other students had access to. Points are generally given for work in class or for being helpful outside class, but in situations where any student could have earned them. The troll? A fair earning of points. Any student could have rendered aid to Hermione. The Stone? Unfair, since only Harry was being lead by the nose right to it.

It's also interesting to note that some people feel it's appropriate to humiliate students in public when they're Slytherin and Dumbledore is doing it, but a crime worthy of public execution when it's Snape and Neville, for example.

Some people (this is not directed at the OP in any way, and is a general statement about fandom) want to yell about Snape terrorizing students (usually read as 'any student not in Slytherin'), but ignore that we only see his interactions with Harry, Neville, Ron, and Hermione. That he's certainly rude and a prime asshole, but hardly terrorizes them (do terrorized students cheek their professor?). That he gives no points, but takes very few (for acceptable reasons) and gives few detentions.

He does seem to frighten Neville, at least for the first couple of years, but even Neville seems to feel it's a bit silly to be so frightened of Snape. It simply isn't fair to a character to ascribe things we don't see them do to them. We don't see Snape with higher level classes. We don't see him with Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs. We can't generalize his behavior with a specific group to the larger school community when it seems everyone else (including Hermione) respect him and feel he's not completely unfair.

So I love my complicated asshole Severus Snape, the spy who sacrificed everything for a child he hated with eyes he loved, who was one of the most badass wizards on the Light Side who still had to make himself feel better by terrorizing children.

I also pity the hell out of him. A part of me will always be convinced that the main reason Snape never grew the hell up because that would have conflicted with Dumbledore’s plans.

For all this talk I see about how Snape terrorized children (which is true and valid), I hardly ever see anything about Dumbledore and his treatment of the Slytherins. Imagine those Slytherins Harry’s first year, when Dumbledore deliberately swept away their victory to make sure Harry’s house won the cup. It was public humiliation and a clear demonstration that the Gryffindors would always be better than the Slytherins in his eyes. 

Harry choosing to be in Gryffindor? Dumbledore made it clear that was Harry choosing Light over Dark. How many other instances like that were there in the books? How many before Harry arrived? How many Slytherins went Dark because they were taught that was the only path for them? How many times did it feel like it was the other three Houses against theirs? With Gryffindor reigning supreme, of course.

This is the man who knowingly kept Harry in an abusive household, then later made him a sacrificial lamb. He made himself a martyr by forcing Snape, already fucked up and under his heel, to kill him.

I love my fucked up Snape, but I can’t help but wonder how much of that is due to Dumbledore’s manipulations. He had a game plan in mind, and he needed his chess pieces to know their roles. If Snape grew up, if Snape began to heal, then he would be much harder for Dumbledore to control. Snape was Dumbledore’s tame, broken Slytherin, just like Harry was his pure, sacrificial lamb.

So when ranting about Snape and how he made himself feel better by terrorizing children, don’t forget how Dumbledore targeted an entire house of children to make himself feel wise and powerful and Good.

[aion-rsa]

Line of Duty Series 6 Episode 2 Review: What is Kate’s Game?

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DCI Jo Davidson: D for Devious. C for Corrupt. I for I wonder what hold the OCG has over her. Because that flappy car tantrum was not the act of an ice-cool customer solely in it for the spondulicks. Jo’s a foe in woe. Why? We don’t know.

What we do know is that AC-12’s shade-ar now has a 100% detection rate. Every time it’s pointed at a potentially bent copper, it finds one. The moment Davidson picked up that burner phone from Beardy Blue Van Man, she lost all claim to innocence. Everything now points to her having 1) tipped off the OCG about Carl Banks running his mouth, 2) bought them enough time to kill him and the CHIS framed for Banks’ murder, and 3) used her keys to Farida’s to plant those burner phones and frame her as the leak.

What made Davidson do it, and whether AC-12 will be able to nail her are the questions. This series is still at the drawing-us-in phase, making steady progress by laying the ground and setting mysteries instead of bounding from one shock to the next.

Speaking of nailing Davidson: now that she’s dirtier than a street dog, is Kate about to lie down and catch fleas? DI Fleming was firmly on Team Jo this episode, thumbing her nose and rolling her eyes at AC-12 at every opportunity. When Steve tried to muster a sense of bonhomie in that piss-stinking underpass, Kate was having none of it. She betrayed him to get in Davidson’s good books, exposing Steve to a humiliating defeat when he and his troops stormed the Hill, his waistcoat puffed up with the fair winds of justice.

Was Kate and AC-12’s break-up really that bad, or – and a prize poppadom to everyone who got here earlier than me – is the lady protesting too much? It wouldn’t be the first time Fleming has gone undercover via a different anti-corruption team. The twist would be that, having exhausted all the Forster, Francis, Flynn surname variants in previous series, this time she’s gone undercover as herself, playing a disgruntled ex-anti-corruption officer who’s had it up to here with those pious tossers at anti-corruption. Hate those guys.

It’s one explanation for the cosy glass of wine, lingering hug and weekend invitation. Another equally plausible scenario is that Kelly Macdonald is a pre-Raphaelite beauty, even in her sensible trousers, and Kate’s recently single and ready to mingle. Who could blame her?

It is in the air, after all. John Corbett’s widow Steph let Steve know that he’d be welcome to visit her bungalow whenever the desire arose. Steve’s problem is that thanks to his injury and painkiller addiction, nothing of his has risen for well over a year. (Not strictly true. In a victory that couldn’t have been more bittersweet if it had come dipped in Green & Blacks Organic Dark 70%, Steve’s finally been promoted to DI – rewarded for his loyalty by a Super he’s planning to skip out on.)

Uncharacteristically, Steve wasn’t at Steph’s for yet another unwise sexual liaison, he was there to covertly suss out why she’d visited Ted at work. If I heard it right, Steph told Ted “You promised you’d call me back, it’s HMRC,” before he ushered her out of headquarters. Are people starting to get suspicious about that so-called life insurance sum (actually £50K of hooky cash Ted passed Steph to make up for the lack of police pay-out on John’s death)? Another mystery: are Ted’s buttocks the ones leaving a dent in Steph’s sofa in front of that big TV on match nights? 

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TV

Line of Duty: Who is DC Chloe Bishop? Fan Theory Suggests Series 1 Link

By Louisa Mellor

TV

Line of Duty Series 6 Episode 2: Ryan, Davidson & All Our Questions & Theories

By Louisa Mellor

Apologies there, for the blasphemous mention of Ted Hastings’ buttocks. Three Hail Marys and an act of contrition later, where were we?

That’s right, the return of Ryan Pilkington or The Caddy V2.0. The OCG’s newest inside man, Ryan’s history with AC-12 made for some awkward moments – whenever Steve showed up at The Hill, Ryan had to duck behind a tall plant lest Arnott remember that time he tried to amputate his fingers with a set of bolt cutters. Kate, now working alongside Pilkington, struggled to place him as the kid she’d once attempted to scare straight with threats of the sexual assault he’d face in juvenile custody. For Ryan to be Farida’s replacement on this case means there’s definitely somebody on high pulling the strings. Two to one odds it’s CC Osborne, whose conspiracy to cover up Steve’s botched Counter-Terrorism op in series one we were reminded of in that first Vella clip.

No thanks to Murder Squad, there was a breakthrough on the Vella investigation. Steve and Chloe (Ted was right, a great wee girl) have learned that Vella was poised to go public with her findings on police corruption, and so was likely killed for her silence.

The Vella case has been the force’s highest priority for over a year and has got nowhere. AC-12 poke it for five minutes and they’ve already uncovered a motive. It’s amazing how much police work can get done when the investigators aren���t being bribed to drop the evidence in puddles and misplace their pencil when it’s time to take down witness statements. “Working their bollocks off to find Gail Vella’s killer,” are they, ACC Wise? If Central Police are so desperate to solve Gail’s murder, why put Ian pigging Buckells in charge, an officer with only half of what it takes to be a useful idiot. 

It’s a clever trick, inserting Vella into the past investigations. Zoom out a little from every series we’ve watched and it’s easy to believe there she’s been, watching alongside us, raising eyebrows and keeping receipts. Vella’s a mouthpiece for series creator Jed Mercurio’s well-aired opinions on PR and optics-led politics and policing. (Literally a mouthpiece. He gave me her line questioning what corrupt police officers were getting out of their relationship with Jimmy Savile back in 2016.) Her case may also have been partly inspired by the still unsolved murder of Daniel Morgan in 1987 – as namechecked by Vella’s producer – a case with alleged connections to serious police corruption. 

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Wrapping Vella around the past series is a neat turn, but comes with the drawback of needing to keep those cases alive in viewers’ memories. That means more recap dialogue than we’re used to from a series that usually, flatteringly, speeds off without a backwards glance and expects us to keep up. “If your man pulled the trigger that means he’s a gun for hire, the order came from higher up,” said Ted this episode. “If organised crime ordered the murder of Gail Vella, they’re protecting Carl Banks and framing Terry Boyle,” said Steve. “Yeah, we get it”, says Kate, speaking for the viewer. Credit us with some grasp, Line of Duty. Loyalty works both ways.

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