#a bit too far out of sci fi explanations for me i like sci fi science that can be explained and hmmmm
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Doctor Who: The Star Beast (2023 Special 1)
I mean, I'm going to be emotional no matter what about seeing David Tennant and Catherine Tate back on my screen as the Doctor and Donna Noble. To be frank, this episode didn't have to be that good to draw me in and make me sentimental! Let's see how it went.
Cons:
I think the little prologue thing where we get reminded on the history of Donna and the Doctor as characters was a little strange. I almost would have rather just had a "previously on" with Tennant doing voiceover or something. Especially since the Doctor later explains the whole "Donna took in the mind of a time lord and had to have her memory erased" bit, on screen, to another character.
While I overall want to praise the way pronouns and gender were quite casually discussed in this episode, I did think the fact that Rose was the one to speak up and basically say "did you just assume this alien's gender" was a little clunky. I wish the Meep had just corrected the Doctor outright instead of the one trans person in the room needing to intervene? That's the smallest of nitpicks, though.
Another slightly less small nitpick about the way gender was discussed in this? I really hated the "this is something a male-presenting Time Lord will never understand" line. Because isn't the point that the Doctor is male and female and neither and more? And the Doctor has just finished living as a female-presenting Time Lord, that's kind of the whole point, right? So shouldn't it more have been something about, like, Rose and the Doctor both having explored their gender in different ways, made them more aware of how to let go the parts of yourself that you don't want, and hold onto the ones that you do? Couldn't it have been a thing where the Doctor takes ownership of his presentation, like he realizes that subconsciously he wanted to revisit someone he used to be, for a while? And that that's okay? Instead it just felt like this clunky moment where Donna and her daughter got to be like "you don't get it because you're just a stupid man" and that felt so out of the spirit of what the message was meant to be. Also, why give up the meta-crisis? If it wasn't killing them anymore? Jeez.
I did think the dialogue was again a little clunky in the explanation for why Rose was able to take on part of the meta-crisis. Because at first I was 100% on board, the fact that Donna had a child meant that the thing that was too much for one human was passed down and shared between the two of them. That Donna's memories were there buried in Rose's mind, that she made toys based on the aliens they'd met over their adventures, and that she picked the name Rose in part because of Rose Tyler. That's a lot of fun and it makes sense within this wacky sci-fi universe. But I wasn't sure what the "we're binary" and "she's not" business was supposed to be about. Based on what they're literally saying in the scene, it sounds like the Doctor is the nonbinary one, is he not? And Rose is a young transwoman, she's not nonbinary, except in so far as she connects to that? I don't know, it was just sort of a weird explanation. I'm not mad at it like I'm sure stupid reactionary conservatives are going to be, I'm just literally unclear on what they were trying to communicate there.
Shaun seems like a very nice man but he didn't have a ton of time to develop. I felt like I had time to revisit this version of the Doctor and Donna as characters. And Sylvia, it was lovely to see her again, it was like no time had passed. Rose got a few good personality beats, as did another new character Shirley. But Shaun was just kind of there... and a nice guy. And that's fine, I just didn't find him as compelling as the rest of the episode.
Not sure about the new TARDIS design? It seems a little sterile to me. Maybe it'll grow on me.
Pros:
But despite some gripes, I honestly had a really, really good time. And I'm not surprised: having these characters back on screen warmed my heart so much!
Just... instantly the energy of having them on screen together, it was so good. The Doctor seeing Donna, trying to avoid getting sucked in, but everything starts happening so fast that he can't avoid it. The "Rose" "What?" "Rose" "What?" "ROSE" bit was so fucking funny and just the kind of fan service that I personally am after.
I also loved the psychic paper not having caught up to the Doctor's current gender presentation, that was a fun little gag. I appreciated just in general that Tennant played the Doctor like he was slipping into a comfortable and familiar set of clothes. I sort of worried that he'd go mugging about and camping it up too much, and there were a few more bombastic moments, but a lot of it was toned down in a way that I really appreciated. The scene with Shirley, the UNIT scientific advisor, was a good example of this. I loved how she just came up and knew who he was, and he oh-so-casually started chatting with her. Both of them playing it cool in a way that was satisfying to see. Shirley's meeting a legend that she's heard about for who knows how long, and the Doctor is reconnecting with UNIT after a long while. ("Waited your whole life?" / "You wish!")
The Meep is so cute in such an obnoxious sort of way. I love the Doctor's incredulous "it's so cute", almost affronted by the reality of it. Because - same. And everyone saying "The Meep" in such a serious tone of voice was a constant comedic beat. Of course, the plot twist about The Meep being the bad guy and the scary insect aliens being good guys, was fairly predictable, but it still made me laugh! I think sometimes people forget that this is a family show, and it's got to have over the top ridiculous fun for the kids.
It's this wonderful tension throughout the episode, the fact that Donna doesn't remember the Doctor. There's this beat where he hands her the sonic screwdriver to hold for a second while he's working on pushing shields into place, and when she takes it there's this sense of automatic cooperation between them that feels innate to Donna. There's no dialogue, just an expression on her face, to communicate this. I love small moments like that!
I also really loved the through-line of Donna's mother and her worry that Donna will die when exposed to the larger truth about the universe around her. It's not that Sylvia is the perfect mother, there seems to be tension between them and moments where they don't always get everything right with one another. But her care for Donna, the lengths she'll go to, to keep her safe? Very moving for me. She's the one constantly on alert for Donna to start remembering, and the haunted look on her face towards the end when she said "she called him the Doctor", was honestly really powerful.
This is a small thing, but the techno-babble felt especially comedic and ridiculous in that good campy sci-fi fun way that Doctor Who is often so good at. "Brandish the gravity stanchions" / "Gravity stanchions brandished" had me laughing out loud. And "vindicate the cyberline", "inculcate the plexidrones" were some other good ones. I'm sure if I went back and watched again there would be another dozen I could chuckle at.
The fact that Donna has like... a mindwipe reinitiating sequence, like the freakin' Winter Soldier or something, is honestly so funny to me. But also, Tennant and Tate are good enough performers, and there's enough of a history and build-up with these characters, that his realization of what he has to do to save London still hits really hard. It's almost an echo of the sacrifice the Doctor made all those years ago to save Wilf. (Who, we find out, is still alive and living in a very posh nursing home. So that's fun!)
But it really worked well for me, the Doctor starting to break down, wondering why it had to be this! He's suffered so much, and he loves Donna so much, and he just wants her to be safe!
I was genuinely moved by Donna's death scene! There's something about the Doctor when the role is played really well, and the script is firing on all cylinders, where the fact of his impossibly long life is there, a pressure filling up the room, adding weight to every moment. The fact that the Doctor and Donna have this final exchange and the Doctor is able to quite calmly smile down at Donna as she dies in his arms... the part where he might have gotten this face back just to say goodbye, and Donna saying "good fun, though".... it was so sweet and simple, and then cut to the mind-controlled soldiers coming into the room as he cradles her dead body. They say they're here to kill him, and he says "do what you want." Amazing. Chills.
And then that bit at the end: "I really do remember, though. Every second with you. And I'm so glad you're back, because it killed me, Donna." I did in fact have all the feels.
A couple other moments that really made me smile: the Doctor realizing about Rose's name, that was quite lovely. And the bit where Donna's husband isn't even a little bit insecure at the thought of Donna going somewhere alone with the Doctor, because, come on: look at him. And Donna giving up her lottery winnings because she wanted to be kind and soft and helpful like the Doctor, even though she couldn't remember him? That fucks me up in the best way!
While I've critiqued a couple of awkward moments with the discussion of gender, I do also want to take a moment to praise what worked well. First, just meeting Rose and seeing her without being pre-introduced to the idea that Donna's daughter is trans. Then, that scene with Donna and Sylvia in the kitchen, where Sylvia accidentally says "he" and feels self-conscious about commenting on Rose's looks, even in a positive light, because she never did that back before she transitioned. That felt very real to me and like a good way to lightly address a real issue for the audience to maybe contemplate a bit.
So now we're off on another adventure, and we've got two more episodes to look forward to with the Doctor and Donna. I feel really grateful for a chance to hang out with them again. What other cameos from the past might we get to see?
8/10
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Metroid Fusion Part 3: Sci-Fi magic!
One of my favorite aspects of Fusion is how creative it can get with its linearity
Oh sure about half the time you’re getting railroaded by arbitrary level design shenanigans like crumbling blocks (Fusion’s favorite trick) or Security Doors. But other times it’ll be something rather unique that tends to tie into the story
It may be the SA-X destroying some doors, some creatures in Sector 2 starting to gestate which will result in them later evolving into stronger forms when you go back there later in the game, the X trying to blow up the station etc
It’s fun, it’s varied, it’s creative and helps make the game feel more memorable by putting a ton of set pieces. Moreover it makes the gameworld feel alive, like some sort of ever-changing being that’s actively out to get you and you never know what it’s gonna do next
No other game in the series does this. Super only has some brief scripted moments here and there, mostly at the beginning and end, but otherwise very little “happens” on Zebes. Dread and Prime 3, despite taking many cues from Fusion’s linear design, don’t really try to be creative with said linrearity. Dread’s EMMIs probably wouldn’t have worked as intended if the game had too many scripted scenarios but there’s nothing in Prime 3′s story that necessitates its linearity as it mostly hinges on cutscenes, mostly nothing about the game’s world(s) changing.
On the one hand I love how Fusion brings back the Etecoons and Dachoras from Super as a nice continuity nod! However:
1) I don’t buy Adam’s explanation about the X ignoring them because they “had nothing of interest to the X”. The Dachoras can speedboost what are you talking about?
2) The stuff that Samus says about them, alongside her little musing at the start about this being the second time she’s owed her life to the baby has always been unintentionally hilarious to me
She says that the Etecoons and Dachoras were the ones who taught her the wall jump and speedboost, which was true back then....
....except just two years later Zero Mission would come out and have her use those very same abilities way before she met those creatures
Then Samus Returns came along and had the baby rescue her from Ridley, thus making it 3 times total that the baby saved her
I like to imagine that she suffered a little bit of brain damage from that initial X attack, she does say it had infected her central nervous system...
I once saw someone claim that Dread wasted the X because it had the X-infested Chozo soldiers had glowing white eyes which very plainly marked them as X in disguise which would go against the idea of the X being able to perfectly mimick other beings and in general none of the X there tried to successfully mimick someone to pull off tricks or anything.
First off: none of the X we see in the game are trying to trick Samus, they’re out for her blood just like in Fusion so there’d be no need for their disguises to be 100% accurate, much like how the SA-X has emotionless white eyes
Second: it’s true that Dread never utilizes the X’s ability to copy others to have a real John Carpenter’s the Thing type of situation (except for ZDR’s backstory)...but the same goes for Fusion, in fact it’s worse here!
Samus’ mission is to look for any survivors on the station, instead of using its scientist disguise to set the station to blow it would’ve been far stealthier and more in line with the X’s abilities for that specific X to trick Samus into thinking it’s a survivor thus lowering her guard and springing a trap on her....but it never happens!
Honestly as much as the X may have been based on the Thing I think the main reason for their mimicking abilities is simply to justify the SA-X’s existence and and reuse past enemies
Anyway let’s talk about flimsy sci-fi!
Now I know that this is a series about a woman with alien bird DNA i her, wearing a high tech suit of armor and with the ability to somehow turn into a ball, so realism isn’t exactly its top priority, and that’s fine!
Sci-fi, in a way, is just magic that tries to be somewhat credible, if it were 100% real it wouldn’t be sci fi it would be just straight science
However sci-fi must still adhere to some internal rules in order to not stretch its own believability while at the same time not try to explain itself too much because, in the end, there is no real explanation for stuff like faster than light travel or high tech pseudo bio armors
I have no issue with stuff like the Morph Ball because the series is smart enough to not even try to explain it, thus leaving it completely up to the viewer’s interpretation to imagine how this fancy piece of high tech gadgetry even works.
However there are a few occasions in Fusion where the game...kinda tries to explain some of its sci-fi elements and it...kinda ends up raising more questions than answers
So a Core-X downloads the data for the Varia Suit and gains its abilities. Adam points ou how this shouldn’t be possible since the X are purely organic creatures. Ok good, so what’s the explanation?
“They can process data organically”
....what does that even mean? Data is digital, how can you “process it organically”? Given that the X have absorbed the knowledge of human scientists I can believe that they’ve gained the ability to understand and decipher data but just because you know how to read a bunch of 1s and 0s that doesn’t mean you can suddenly develop an ability just by understanding the data. I can understand Samus’ armor: it downloads the data and so develops suit modifications following said data. And the game doesn’t bother to explain any further!
Then there’s the Ice Missiles. Samus can’t use the Ice Beam because her Metroid DNA has rendered vulnerable to cold. Ok it makes sense. So what’s so different about the Ice Missiles? They’re still a cold based weapon.
Maybe the idea is that the cold is contained inside the missiles’ caps thus not coming into contact with Samus’ own body? I would buy that explanation if not for the fact that the Missiles have to be at least partially generated by the armor. Yeah sure they’re a finite resource that can run out but you download the modification that allows them to have a freezing effect, meaning that the suit has to generate the cold in the first place right? It couldn’t have been that initial download and that’s that otherwise it would only apply to those exact missiles that Samus had while performing the download.
God, Bird Magic is fucking obnoxious!
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OK, bringing it home with Part 3 of my in depth analysis of Episode 2 of Nancy Drew Season 4, “The Maiden’s Rage” - Part 1 and Part 2 in case you missed them.
TW: I covered Bro-Nancy’s abusive behavior and the fight in Part 2, but I may touch on DV and emotional abuse in this post too.
Seeing Nancy in handcuffs (presumably Ace’s) is a dark twist from the Ace carries handcuffs scene in S3’s The Demon of Piper Beach, and his untying of the scarf with Amanda in S2’s Moonstone Island. There’s nothing sexual about this scene - Ace starts out as far back as he can be from Nancy, his arms crossed, only coming closer after Nancy’s had the ‘Clari-tea’ and is able to explain what was going on with her.
We get a little lesson on toxic masculinity, but I was a bit surprised they didn’t mention DV, which is what the show recreates so accurately as an outcome of the poison’s effect on Nancy.
Nancy explains how her feelings about Ace were locked away by the poison, leaving her with only anger. I like how they tied her real feelings to the poison. Nick then ties that anger to her wanting to dominate Ace, and Bess explains how it made Nancy aggressive. I’m not completely satisfied with that explanation as I feel there was more at work here, but I am glad they address it in some way.
If you didn’t catch it, Ace’s tiny nod to Nancy acknowledging her explanation is telling. He’s come closer to her, his arms now uncrossed, and he understands what happened, but he’s not over her treatment of him yet.
This scene is an instant classic. I could watch George and Nancy (even Bro-Nancy) investigating together all day. In handcuffs. It looks like George is a US Marshall with her surly captive. It’s the buddy movie we need! Also, George’s look is 🔥.
We get another gander at Tristan in this scene - he’s dreamy, shot in the most beautiful light. Nancy can’t help noticing and admitting how good he looks in that sleeveless shirt (he really does). We also get some more clues about him - he knows about his parents’ relic business but prefers the simple sea life, and he’s willing to get them the pump but needs collateral. Nancy giving him her necklace is a big deal. The fact that she trusts him with it - is that the whammy at work? Or does she already feel something more than idle attraction to the latest Horseshoe Bay heartthrob? Hmm…
Back at the (Drew) ranch, we finally get the context for the M3gan trailer scene. George’s rough handling of Nancy as she protests that her behavior wasn’t really that bad made me chuckle, but the process itself was unnerving - it felt like a scene from a steampunk sci-fi show (in a good but disturbing way). I actually love how S4 is exploring new realms of the supernatural and amping up the effects. Also put the stomach pump in the growing list of antique supernatural gadgets, along with the soul splitter and Nick’s ghost goggles. From the S4 trailer I think we’ll get lots more of them (yay).
We also finally have confirmation that Ace is present in this scene (although that “what did you eat?” line still sounds like a voiceover). He again moves from the back of the group to the front with a concerned expression once Nancy purges the poison. Nancy’s heartfelt ‘I’m so sorry’ is a good start in making amends. Ace needs more, but it will have to wait as they jump back to the case, with Ace back in his hacker role.
Notice the grouping on the couch - unlike S2’s Trail of the Missing Witness (still my favorite pre-S4 episode), Nancy and Ace are separated by Bess. They look nothing so much as the parents discussing something serious with their teen daughter, who’s sitting between them with a mixture of boredom and confusion on her face.
Nancy and Ace sleuthing again together makes me ridiculously happy. The energy isn’t 100% back yet - compared to say “We heard great things about your bathrooms” or “No sign of Tinkerbell?” But Ace’s “she brought these stickers” was a return to form, and this visit shows them in much better cooperation than their last visit to Logan’s when Bro-Nancy left him on the sidewalk.
George’s scene with Abbott in the hospital is so heartbreakingly good - seeing her hero fall is tough, but it helps her re-assert how important finding the truth is to her, and helping those who are affected. The intercutting of the story between Logan’s and the hospital was effectively done. Nancy’s scene with Maggie Lake is quick and gives Logan and Abbott’s victim some closure, but there are still many unanswered questions about how it all fits together with the poisoned water, the bodies, and how it fits in with Nancy’s history and the founders.
I was happy to see Addy and Bess on the same page and working together on the final preparations for the dinner party. I wished we could see a little of the dinner, but in the end the important thing was that the couple is a team, and her picky parents can’t break them apart. Bess’s heartfelt hugs to them were so adorable - her sunny energy is so key to the group and the whole show. Bess might not find familial acceptance in Addy’s parents (although I bet she eventually breaks them down), but she is building something good with Addy.
Nancy continues on the rounds of her apology/explanation tour. This scene with Tristan was…interesting. They are clearly building a bond. The huge clue that Tristan is adopted was almost expected, and softens Nancy toward him in a new way. I’ll have to talk more about my thoughts on his origins in a separate post. Note how Nancy gently lifts her braid for him - we’ll see it again in the Ace scene coming up.
This gesture of his putting the necklace around Nancy’s neck - it was surprisingly intimate. More so than the casual way Nancy puts the lanyard around Ace’s neck at DetectiveCon. The fact that this intimate scene, which includes more flirting over Tristan’s arms (grr) is followed by Nancy going straight to Ace’s - this season is trying to kill me, and it’s only Episode 2.
The George and Nick bonding is much more satisfying. They are building such a strong foundation - maybe it will always be friendship, maybe more. The maturity we see in George in this episode is such beautiful growth, and Leah is killing it.
Nick is ready and willing to get to know Jade better, and they are too. I detect some chemistry starting between them by the end of the scene.
(Spoiler alert):
.
I’ve spotted them in the final scene that Riley shared on the last day of filming, so Jade will be here for the long haul. They are walking through the door in the clip, and their real name (Arianna) is called. Nick and George are standing next to each other in the Claw baby shower scene - so interested in how this turns out.
The scene that we’ve all been waiting for. Ace’s hesitancy at the door, and his expression, make it clear he is still hurt. Nancy’s peace offering and her related joke, which of course harkens back to both the bagels from Temperance’s forecast, and the pickle jar she tried to open as Bro-Nancy, falls flat. The fact that she barrels in without an invitation makes me a little uncomfortable- the poison is worn off, yet she’s still taking a high handed approach with Ace. You can see he feels the same way in his eyes and his body language, and how he only begrudgingly closes the door behind her when Nancy offers to tell him everything finally.
Nancy’s explanation is heartfelt. But Ace feeling like he has to apologize for his anger at her shutting him out doesn’t sit right with me. He had a right to ask for more, and even now Nancy blew past him and into his space. Her joking “let’s call it even” - she says she tried to kill him under the poison’s influence because he rejected her, but I don’t feel like she fully addressed both the way she treated him before, and how degrading her behavior was toward him after she was poisoned. Just a few extra lines here would have gone a long way IMO to make this part of the scene more satisfying.
Ace’s “Yeah” and his lightening the mood by asking for good things that he can look forward to, and his “Well, everything” - swoon. Nancy’s toying with her braid as she gazes at Ace on the bed, separated by a visual divider line, gives such a “teenage girl with a deep crush” vibe. It’s such a sweet ending, and I am confident that Nancy and Ace’s relationship will grow stronger from this experience, and help them weather what I’m sure are going to be harrowing times, and possibly times where they can’t or won’t interact, and turn to others for comfort (ouch).
Overall this was an incredibly deep episode with a lot of nuance, along with amazing acting, comedy, and overall writing and production. I would have liked to see a bit more discussion in Nancy and Ace’s final scene before we got to the incredibly romantic ending, and I wish there was a trigger warning at the beginning of the episode - but I do appreciate how well the writers responded online to the feedback.
I am out of my mind for Episode 3 tonight. The show creators are hyping it up mightily. I’m expecting amazing progress and some heartbreak before the end. Talk to you on the other side!
#nancy drew#nancy drew cw#nace#ace [redacted]#ndcw#nancy drew season 4#nancy drew s4#nancy drew spoilers#4x02
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Alright, I’ve seen this introduction game for writblr bouncing around, started by @iloveyou-writers , and thought I’d give it a go, because I know like. Nobody else on here lol.
Hi! I’m Archangel, or Arch, and I use she/her pronouns. I tend to traverse writing genres pretty freely, but my favorites (and most common) are fantasy, sci-fi, dystopia, heroes and villains, and horror. I’ll write anything though, so be warned. As far as tropes I love, it’s a lot of Hero Villain stuff, that one “Oh. Oh.”, hurt/comfort, anything to do with fae(is that a trope?), and of course, enemies to lovers. Also one bed. Sue me.
I would say I’m SFW, but everyday I am dragged towards NSFW, and it is entirely my friend’s fault. So uh. I may not stay SFW for long? I do tend to write a lot of mental health stuff, (including self harm, but more so healing from it/getting help), kidnapping, and hurt comfort, as of now. I don’t know what tropes I won’t write, but if someone ever asks for one (if one day, I am blessed with an ask 🕊️) and I realize I won’t write it, I’ll let you all know.
In my opinion, the best work I’ve ever written is either my half written, totally not mildly abandoned book The Edge of Truth, or my other book that is slightly close to being done and has no title, the poor thing. The Edge of Truth is entirely serial killer based and I love that the main point is to not only trick the characters, but the audience too, while leaving clues the whole time. Haha, foreshadowing. Also it’s lesbians so like. My no name book is superpowers based and has been a war to write, but I love the character dynamics and also my demon character. On here, though, my favorites are likely my Map of Fae story, or the one with the hero who can steal powers. I will not link them because tumblr hates me and I can’t make it work for the life of me :(
My favorite characters I’ve written are probably Riven, Mercy, Lucy, Melody, and Aletheia(but sometimes she actively fights me as I try to write her, which sounds over dramatic, but of course it does, I’m a writer.) (All of those are book characters that I’ve written so you likely won’t find them on here, at least for a bit)
One last thing is that I go absolutely feral for anything to do with fae, or other supernatural creatures. Also hurt/comfort. I’m lgbtqia+, and my writing is too, so check the homophobia at the door, and if you can’t part with it, then kindly find the nearest exit.
I’m also obsessed with the All For The Game series (It’s rather unhealthy, really), and my friend is relentlessly trying to get me to write megamind fanfiction. Sometimes my writing sounds British, but I’m not British, and I have no explanation.
Thanks for reading that horrifying essay, and I challenge these people to fill this out (I have very few writer friends and I’m very lonely so here are the few I know): @ettawritesnstudies @jtl-fics @save-the-villainous-cat @epiclamer @megreads22 @d-cs @lektricfergus @meadowofbluebells
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@justasong asked:
what is your favorite song?
This is gonna be... a long one. I'm unreasonably passionate about this band and this song in particular, so I really am sorry for a HUGE explanation when you probably just wanted a short "here it is, I like it because of this" response. Long story short, it's an old rock song I doubt most of you would know, but would be overjoyed if some of you did. S'a band my dad got me into my favorite genre with.
... and in effect, I've got a weird pick. One I don't think anyone could ever really expect from me. I've shown some funk, some fusion, some good old fashion hard rock. Check out my tag, #songs in hisui to see a few song reccs.
My actual favorite band? S'called Rush. They disbanded a good few years back, but hey. For a band that formed in the 70s, making it to the 2010s and ending things on their terms was one hell of a showing. Progressive Rock is my favorite genre, with its subgenres of Progressive Metal and Prog being close behind.
Lotta their songs are based on telling stories or trying to convey feelings. Their most popular album, Moving Pictures, is a string of stories. Even has by far their most popular instrumental, YYZ, on it. Another bits of their bread and butter was concept albums. Normally, they're effectively a string of songs that all tell one cohesive narrative, and their last album, Clockwork Angels, did exactly that. But these guys are fuckin' insane, and instead had a tendency to make Concept SONGS. Ever heard of 2112? Yeah. That's a 20 minute long SCI-FI EPIC. Just because they fucking could.
But I tend to gravitate to the songs that convey pure feelings from them. And none better conveys that than this song from the album Power Windows: Emotion Detector. And it's all about letting your emotions run rampant about the dissatisfaction about other people's views of you.
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Would you believe me if I told you that it helped me come to terms with who I was as a person? 'Cause it bloody fuckin' did. It's part of the reason I keep a healthy respect for the loud and proud, but know that those too quiet to really speak up for themselves might not just doing it because they want to. How there's the feeling buried so damn deep inside of you that just NEEDS to get out, and that waiting for the approval of others to show it isn't necessary; you've gotta discover it for YOURSELF. "Feelings run high", and that tone inside needs a voice to shout it out!
HI.
I'M TRANS.
I'M PROUD OF MYSELF FOR BEING WHO I AM, AND THIS SONG WAS A CATALYST FOR HELPING ME PUT TOGETHER THE PIECES OF MY MIND WHEN I NEEDED HELP TO DO IT.
MUSIC. SAVED. MY. HEART. AND LET ME BE WHO I AM AS A PERSON.
...
That... isn't to say you need to like this song. None of that. Some people aren't fond of Rush due to the vocalist. Some don't like this album in particular for its heavy reliance on synths when the 80s were at their peak, LEAST of all the guitarist at the time (boy did he throw a fit about this album). But... it feels like a song made for people like me. To just... give a description to a feeling we can barely comprehend ourselves. And hopefully after understanding it, move past it.
... I like music, okay? It's my comfort food. It's what keeps me feeling like myself.
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thoughts on Roadside Picnic so far:
the name was vaguely familiar to me, and i finally realized that I'd previously heard of it back in the winter holidays of 2020 when I went on a wild, 2 day "hey remember that anime from high school?" bender and read the entire TVTropes for Darker than Black. (I don't think this book was a direct inspiration for the anime, but it also fits into the "random alien zone appeared" category and I remember it being pretty good.)
also, Alien Zone Randomly Appeared, Fucked-Up Shit is Happening is my favourite sci-fi sub-sub-genre
our MC Red kinda falls into the same category as the MC of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep for me. He's very much A Result of the 70s: somewhat misogynistic, somewhat racist, maybe not the most interesting person in the room but definitely a white male. Too much of an asshole to really root for, and also deeply bitter and pessimistic to the point where even when he's hugging his daughter he seems miserable and disenfranchised. I like Red a bit better though because he's more interesting than Rick, and there aren't many more interesting side characters being ignored by the plot.
very much like all this spooky shit coming out of the Zone, I love the idea the aliens literally stopped for a quick picnic on their intergalactic road trip and just left some really wild trash around.
also love the names. like, Hell Slime. Death Lamp. these should be goth band names.
however I am going to need a real explanation of this Zone/its' mysterious goodies at some point, the Southern Reach series set my expectations high lol
#i'm about 60% of the way through it#thought it'd be a quicker read but it's been another busy week lol. also ebooks are always deceptive#they always seem to take longer than i think they will
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Otacon has some nanomachines. Not nearly as much as Snake, goodness no. But everyone at working at Shadow Moses was given some. Mainly it was a form of security, as it allowed for easy tracking of everyone on the base, and anyone where they shouldn't be could be 'shut down' and removed.
He quickly hacked his to turn off that particular function. It was one of the early signs that things weren't quite what they seemed at this job, but he still was too naive to make all the connections. After meeting Solid Snake he also turned off the tracker functionality as well. The only use they had after that was allowing for more advanced use of the codec system.
He doesn't have a codec implant like Snake, instead using an earpiece (which he thought Snake was too until corrected), but the earpiece works with the nanomachines to allow the audio to sync up with the video. Yes, a component of the codec that only those with nanomachines can utilize is the visual data; being able to see each other. If only one party has nanos though this doesn't work.
I know a lot of the fandom thinks the visual component is just for the player, but characters reference it in-game. Snake tells Mei Ling she's cute despite never having met her in person, and most famously Liquid asks if Snake liked his sunglasses which he only used during codec calls. Clearly the Snakes at least can see people through the codec somehow.
I think it has something to do with the nanomachines stimulating the visual cortex of the brain. The user is able to see a projection of the other person in front of them, much like a real life HUD.
The real question is just how is that visual of the other person acquired. I don't have a solid answer for that. My best attempt is something about the nanomachines recording info about limb movements and muscle contortions and stuff and sending those signals to the other communication partner, where their nanos would compile that into info for the visual cortex to construct a basic visual feed of their partner's movement. The movement of the projection would probably be a bit jerky, lip-sync a little off, but it would exist. It wouldn't provide any background, no inclusion of their surroundings, just them.
If that explanation doesn't work for you then we're truly down to handwavy sci-fi mechanics. Which honestly is necessary in the case of one-way nanos, like with Snake and Mei Ling. I don't know how he would have seen her. Liquid's sunglasses bit makes sense. But not complimenting Mei Ling. Then again I don't know how that explanation would also account for what the person looks like. So yeah; partial explanation, partial suspension of disbelief.
I guess some things in this franchise will forever go unexplained. Which is surprising for Kojima. Anyway, however it works, there is a limited visual component to the codec for users who have nanomachines.
Which brings me back to Otacon having some. He is one of the few people among Snake's codec support team who can actually see him through it. And vice-versa; Snake can see him. This is the only function of the nanos that he has left active. Quite honestly he would be rid of them if he could, but it's not like he can just go to a hospital and get that done without way too many questions, plus he's wanted by the government after the Tanker.
Post-MGS1 he also hacked Snake's to shut off any external trackers and such as well. Which was definitely for the best after said Tanker Incident. He offered to turn off everything but the codec sync, but at Snake's request left a few functions in place; after all Naomi using them to ease pain had come in handy.
Otacon's were never that extensive in their functions. They were far more basic, the kind given to regular staff at Shadow Moses, only ever able to sync with the codec, track his movements around the base, and knock him out if he ventured into off-limits areas without clearance.
Nowadays they're just for codec visual sync.
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Lost & Found by Darkfalli - Chapter 12 : Doll
Click here to see the story
"I could crawl over to my owner. My paws touched the ground. Implant laughed at me the whole way. I couldn't tell why because this was how I normally walked." Huh, I wonder if some hypnosis happened here x)
Evie being excited about her present is just... fohfoyfuitdgjidhcute
"Oh Stars, what if it was a giant plushie of Implant! That would be so cute. I could curl up in a plushie of Implant and then go inside and cuddle Implant at the same time!" That made me laugh x) Man this is cute.
Wait what? A new body?
I'm a bit lost. Was that planned?
Is Evie going to be digitized or something ? How is she getting inside a new body?
Oh, she did get hypnotized! Okay, I got that right x)
Okay, we're talking about how Evie wants to date Implant now. It's really adorable how Implant is making excuses, but can we get back to explaining how the new body is going to happen ???
Aw, look at Evie communicating with Implant and reassuring her and being so patient... Okay, that is precious.
"It wasn't like Implant could get her own implant," OMG can you imagine? XD You give Implant an implant, and then that implant becomes sentient and needs its own implant etc. XDD That would be so weird.
"Coming to terms with existing is… hard." Weirdly deep sentence there. There was something like that in my high school philosophy class.
"Was that an order?""That was me lightly begging." That made me laugh XD
It's very touching, the way Evie has evolved and is now able to help Implant who is almost like another version of herself.
*Gasp!* Omg, having the painting of Implant on the back of the new body is such a good idea!
But then again... Can someone explain how that's going to happen??? I'm still confused here! I just want confirmation!
"Of course, I couldn't say no to my second floret." OMG!!!
"I-I'm not- I'm an implant- I can't be a floret!""That's where you are wrong, little Implant Glacialis-Fir, Second and Fourth Floret." OMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!!! Implant has a full name now!!! This is so precious, gods, my heart!
Oh, okay, we got some explanations. Surgery, huh? So... They put Evie's brain and Implant in the robot body? Okay. Not sure I love that, but weirder things have happened in sci-fi.
Thank gods Evie is surrounded by good people and has Implant to keep her calm, I can't imagine switching bodies and being unable to move much at first could be a pleasant experience otherwise.
I don't have much to say about the doll-play. It's good! And it was kind of obvious Evie would love it.
I like how free Synna is. She's a floret but I think she's one of the most independant florets I've seen so far. I like that! ^^
I still love the way Dianthus speaks, it's so pretty! So she waited alone with Evie and Implant because she knew she would wake up soon? So she could mark them before anyone else got to see them? Talk about being excited! XD And the way she needs reassurance, even though she's the mistress, is so precious. I didn't think so at first, but I think she might actually be my favorite of the three.
Huh, Dianthus spoke normally. Was she too emotional? That would be understandable.
Heehee, Nilla is so cute!
Such a good ending! There is a post-script too!
Oh, yay, she's finishing the sculpture! And being painted on at the same time x) That's funny.
"I was going to make it so colorful that looking at it would turn straight terrans gay." XD I like that sentence.
Aw, that was so sweet. Going to sleep, cuddled close to her master. <3
~
Okay, so that was the end of Lost & Found, and man was it good! Loved the characters, the fluff, the creative way that Evie just... exists. I don't know, it felt so unique! I'm glad I finally finished it x) Sorry it took so long, that's what generally happens when I finally fall out of a phase x)
The first chapters were angsty, but it really made Evie's thriving and recovering from her trauma so much more meaningful. That's why I love hurt/comfort, just getting to see people feel better is so soothing.
I wouldn't say this last chapter was the most impactful or powerful. It wraps things up, but I feel like it could've hit a little harder. Don't ask me how though, I'm terrible at figuring out endings XD
It was very cute though, and Evie finally getting to finish her sculpture is a nice touch. Maybe letting her finish it completely would have been more satisfying? Or saying something about how there was still so much too add, the same way she still had so much to experience with her masters, as a contrast with her nearly suicidal behavior in the first chapters. Just spitballing here.
Anyway, yeah, that was great!
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Sonic Screwdrivers and Other Useful Devices…
The following is from my writing blog over on my website/Goodreads...
Sonic Screwdrivers and Other Useful Devices…
So, what has the sonic screwdriver in Dr Who got to do with writing then? Well, look, I’m a Who fan, it says so in my biog, so humour me. This little article gives me a chance to throw in my two pennies worth on a much-debated fan issue and has some points to make about writing too. So, win, win, as they say, unless you don’t like Dr Who of course. In which case…what’s wrong with you?
OK, so there may be the odd person out there who knows nothing of Dr Who and the issue of which I speak, so for your sake, gentle reader…
Dr Who, is the longest running Sci-Fi show in the world, made on and off by the BBC since 1963. It centres around the adventures of a largely benevolent, ancient alien being known as ‘The Doctor.’ The Doctor is in possession of a machine called a Tardis which allows The Doctor and one or more companions to go anywhere in all of time and space. The expressed intent is to explore and observe but generally speaking, The Doctor ends up fighting against oppression intolerance, greed etc and righting wrongs wherever they go.
The Doctor’s intentions are always good and peaceful but he/she often ends up being one of the most lethal pacifists you have ever heard of. Part of these aforementioned good intentions, dictate that he/she will not carry a gun, or other conventional weaponry on their person.
What The Doctor does carry, is a sort of a ‘Space Swiss Army Knife,’ or ‘Extra-Terrestrial Multi-Tool.’ This device is called ‘The Sonic Screwdriver,’
OK, so far so good. Now we come to the issue that divides Whovians and critics alike.
The Sonic, as the device is known for short, has an astonishing array of abilities. A bit too astonishing for many, who claim that it is a ‘get out of jail free card,’ and an excuse for lazy writing, a ‘magic wand’. Those of this opinion, would like the device permanently written out of the show. Those opposed, say that Dr Who wouldn’t be the same without the Sonic, which, barring a short period in the 80s, has been a feature since the Doctor’s second incarnation first used it, back in 1968. (The first Doctor had a sort of a ‘magic ring,’ that served a broadly similar purpose).
So, now we come to my opinion and the bit that’s to do with writing.
It actually makes no sense at all to get rid of the Sonic. In fact, it would make more sense if the Doctor carried more gadgets. For all those who were up in arms about the very brief appearance of ‘Sonic Sunglasses,’ during the Capaldi years, bear with me, I have logic and reason to back this up.
From a writing perspective, from an in-world, narrative stand point, there has to be a Sonic at the very least. Why? Well, POV as people say nowadays, you are a super intelligent alien scientist and engineer, with access to all of the technology that there is, ever has been, or ever will be. Not just all of the human tech but all the extra-terrestrial tech too. Further, you know that your lifestyle is always getting you into life threatening situations and endangering the lives of your companions. Are we seriously suggesting that such a person would carry absolutely no useful technology on them at all? What sense would that make? If I was The Doctor, every stitch of clothing I was wearing, right down to my socks, would be full of concealed, wearable tech.
In fact, not only should there be a Sonic, there should be an in-world explanation for the lack of other devices. Let me offer the suggestion, that the Doctor is concerned about exposing other species to advanced technology superior to their own and so limits the technology to the Sonic, a tool which allows them to MacGyver other devices as needed? It’s possibly not the best explanation but it’s serviceable. There is though, no, sensible reason to carry nothing at all.
As a ‘writing device,’ as opposed to a technological one, the sonic serves another good and useful purpose. Since it seems to be able monitor and detect all manner of substances, hack most computer and surveillance systems and perform medical scans amongst other things, it can save an awful lot of time. The average episode is only forty-five minutes long. Imagine if you had to spend large chunks of time seeking out a medical professional and a sick bay? Finding a hacker and getting them to a terminal, or going to a lab to analyse air samples?
OK, so yes, there is the danger of the Sonic being abused. I would just like to point out, that The Doctor freeing themself from restraints, or unlocking doors, does not constitute abuse, as has been suggested elsewhere. See, my previous argument. Obviously, The Doctor will carry a device for that purpose, even the average TV detective carries a set of lock picks, is The Doctor not as bright as Magnum PI? Again, forty-five-minute episodes in which to establish characters and give them back stories, build atmosphere and tension, explain plot points without massive info dumps and tell a good, satisfying story… that’s a lot. The Sonic as a short cut is not abuse, it’s economical writing.
Yes, yes, I hear you say but it is, used as a ‘get out of jail free card,’ or a ‘magic wand’ to zap away problems. OK, yes, it has been but that is not the fault of the Sonic, that’s the fault of the writer and the showrunner who let them get away with it. The Sonic is needed for all of the aforementioned reasons.
There are plenty of ways to temporarily side-line the sonic. It can malfunction, it can be accidentally left in the Tardis, it can be confiscated to name but three off the top of my head. Also, it is already established that there are things the Sonic can’t do. Famously, ‘it doesn’t do wood,’ and we know it cannot open a ‘’deadlock seal.’
No, the problem is not the Sonic, the problem is the writing. The kind of writer who will abuse the Sonic, is the kind of writer who will just use a different plot device as a ‘get out of jail free card.’ If the Sonic is not available, a gadget will be miraculously found in a drawer, a convenient lightning strike will take out the power, or someone will ‘just happen by at the right moment.’ Removing the Sonic doesn’t remove the problem, it just removes something useful. See, I told you this would be about writing as well as Dr Who.
Anyway, the Sonic is cool…
So, hands off the Sonic. That being said, I have to admit, that I would be fairly pleased if it was held and used like a scientific instrument and not brandished like a magic wand. Some Doctors are worse than others in this regard and it is very much a ‘Nu Who,’ thing.
Even so… Long live the Sonic Screwdriver. Just don’t say, ‘Abracadabra,’ when you wave it around.
#the doctor#doctor who#dr who#sonic#sonic screwdriver#should we get rid of the sonic?#writing#creative writing#writers on tumblr#books#booksbooksbooks#bookworms#reading#goodreads#fantasy#sci fi
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Space Chuck
I have recently discovered this abandoned webcomic. Yes, I know, yet another one. But as far as I can tell, this time the author didn't die (see Lovecraft is Missing), but simply moved on to doing something else.
TL;DR: go read it if "comical Star Trek", as the author describes it himself, speaks to you. It's got some interesting ideas, but it feels "incomplete" to me.
Longer version below:
I truly admire creative people, and envy them quite a fair bit. So it's never easy when I want to share something someone else created, but at the same time I have to be critical to manage the reader's expectations.
I enjoyed reading Space Chuck and I wish that it had continued. I like the drawing style which is clean and to the point. I like the many cool ideas and concepts distilled throughout. I like the writing, which I find to be interesting, with one major caveat however: it feels like the author regularly had an idea for a scene, wrote around it, but then left it unfinished / unresolved. This is especially true in the older strips (e.g., Chapter 8 or Chapter 10). That's honestly a shame and it really contributes to lessening the impact of anything happening. The holes between strips are so big and devoid of any explanation, that it feels almost like they could belong to different stories.
Nevertheless, I really love the background stuff, for instance humanity's struggle, its relations to the other races of the galaxy, its efforts to expand and finds it place in the universe. Or the place of hybrids individuals in society. Or the role of the forward fleet. Or the multiple uses of the mysterious "element", ...
But you have to piece these things together from the strips, because they are always in the background and never really explained properly. And the few "shameless exposition" strips (their actual name!) don't do much to help with the impression that the author had a lot of great ideas for his universe but didn't know how to introduce them naturally in the narration.
Again, I really don't like to criticize an author/artist's work, especially when it's available for free on the internet. After all, what we perceive as quality is a highly subjective thing and something that I will dislike might not register at all with another reader. And conversely.
And on top of that, I genuinely enjoyed this webcomic and I would have liked to read more of it. I think it has a lot going for it. If nothing else, it will really have made me thought about the author's universe and story and I have 200 questions I would like to ask him.
So if you like sci-fi and are not too put out by relatively disjointed story telling and an unfinished piece of work, I'd highly encourage you to check it out. It's pretty cool!
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Anyway my favorite part of the Yuffie dlc was one of the post credits scenes showing what the party is up to where Barret is prerendered and so pretty 😭😭😭
#i didnt care about the rest tbh#there was one line yuffie said that i liked a lot bc its something characters in anime should say more often#but i dont vibe that much with dirge of cerberus so i wasnt expecting to get much out of it based on the trailers#kinda wish i hadnt paid $20 to remember idc much about dirge of cerberus tho#im sure dirge of cerberus fans are eating well but its not for me#a bit too far out of sci fi explanations for me i like sci fi science that can be explained and hmmmm#oh well#anyway please liberate chadley#spoilers i guess but not really#bc ofc theres a scene promoing whatevers coming next
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Male!Companions react to waking up alone after spending the night with Sole.
Hey all! So, just a heads up, I’m also working on this prompt for the Female!Companions for FO4, and also a bunch of companions from FONV and FO3, but if you have any specific requests or want me to add anyone, just let me know! Sorry this is so damn long, but I hope you all enjoy!
Also, there is a bit of angst in here with some mentions of suicidal thoughts, so just a heads up on that!
P.S. If you’re one of the lovely folks who has sent me an ask, I am currently working on writing them up and I will definitely get them out as soon as I can, I just really like the prompts y’all gave me and I want to do them justice :)
Danse:
Danse sat up with a start, immediately trying to gain his bearings, only to find himself still in the bunker, in his own bed. He let out a shaky breath, still dazed from the heavy sleep that had claimed him. It had been years since he'd slept like that, the last time he recalled sleeping so peacefully was when he was stationed at the Citadel in the Capital Wasteland. Even more than that, he had barely slept at all since discovering his true identity. Danse shook his head, trying to clear it of its sleepy fog, he went to rub his eyes, and he felt his heartbeat increase tenfold as the memories of his night with you came flooding to the forefront of his mind. Even now he felt the heat of a blush rushing to his cheeks. He turned his head, expecting to see your peacefully sleeping form on the mattress beside him. When he didn't, he wasn't sure what to do. Immediately, a slew of emotions and thoughts ran through him, ranging from shame, to panic, to anger, and most of all, hurt. Before he allowed himself to arrive at any premature conclusions, Danse called out for you, looking around the room. Nothing. He stood up, holding the blankets around his waist to conceal himself as he made his way to the hole in the wall that allowed him to peer into the other section of the bunker. Still nothing. The slew of contradicting emotions bubbled up again, leaving him feeling slightly numb. He stood there, just staring, trying to grasp a hold of any clear thought, but they were inadvertently tumbling into his consciousness at an alarming rate.
All at once, one feeling prevailed over the others, and Danse found himself feeling extraordinarily guilty. Guilty for agreeing to last night, for jeopardizing his friendship with the one person he had left in his life by greedily pushing too far. What right did he have to you and your feelings anyway, when his weren't even real? The pain of being deserted by you was overshadowed by the knowledge that he didn't deserve you in the first place. Even when he thought he was human, he had trouble rationalizing his feelings for you, thinking you deserved better than someone like him. Someone as hard headed, as inexperienced, and emotionally ignorant as he was. But now? Now, he wondered why you even bothered to waste any of your time on him, even just as his partner, when it was proven that he's nothing but a machine. Why had you even suggested last night, when you knew the truth about him?
He simply couldn’t understand it. Why had you allowed him to be with you in such a way? To be with you so intimately? Why had you allowed him to touch you so invasively? Why had you spoken to him so softly, so earnestly? How could your gaze have been so full of admiration, of love? He was a goddamn machine, and you’d let him share a bed with you, make love to you. He didn’t even know what love was, didn’t know if it was possible for him to even feel it; and yet, you’d been more open with him than he had been with anyone before. And he wasn’t even human. He was at a complete and utter loss for any form of explanation or reasoning behind your actions.
Danse stood alone in the bunker, staring ahead with brows furrowed low at no single thought in particular. It was then that he realized his heart was still beating out of his chest, he took a deep breath, and prepared himself to leave the bunker in search of you. Because, even now, when you were at the center of his feelings of uncertainty, of guilt, of hurt, he still felt the need to seek the counsel of the one person left he could truly trust, the one whose opinions he had sought in the darkest hours of his existence. He needed you.
More than that, he needed to make sure you were safe. At least that's what he told himself as he dressed, donning his power armor, before he rode the elevator up to the surface, his iron-clad hands clenching tightly as he gripped his laser rifle.
As Danse arrived at the surface, he noted the sunlight bursting through the lone window of the bunker, indicating how late he'd slept in, and he mentally kicked himself for his irresponsibility. If he had woken at his usual hour, would you have still been beside him? Perhaps he could've spoken to you before you left, encouraged you to hear him out, begged you to stay with him. Even just as a friend, just as a partner. He felt he simply couldn’t cope with the loss of you, of the security that you provided him.
Danse shook his head in an attempt to banish these useless thoughts from his mind. He couldn't control the past, he had to keep looking forward. With that, he crossed the threshold out into the Commonwealth.
Danse returned to the bunker a few hours before sundown, feeling utterly at a loss, he'd been everywhere he could reach, everywhere you could've gone in the period of time you had had to get there. He checked every house, farm, settlement… everything in the bunker's vicinity. His limbs felt weak and numb as he approached the entrance to the bunker. He could feel heat rising up in his face as his chest ached. He felt like he needed to hit something. Tears of frustration and dejection threatened to spill over, and he brought a gloved hand up to roughly wipe away the first drop that fell. Though, through the blur of wetness, he spotted a silhouette in the doorway ahead of him.
"Where the hell have you been?!" You shouted, running from the bunker and straight into Danse's arms. For a moment, he remained still, unable to reciprocate your relief in his state of utter shock. In the next instance, his rifle fell from his grip and he was wrapping his arms around you, as tightly as he could without injuring you.
"I believe I could ask you the same question, soldier." Danse said, willing his voice to remain stable. You pulled away so that you could look up at him, your expression one of confusion,
"I thought I told you last night. I had to go to Greentop nursery in the morning and talk to the settlers about their mutant problem." He blinked at you in surprise. At least, you thought you had told him, but maybe it had slipped your mind. It didn't surprise you, given last night's activities.
"But… Why didn't you wake me?"
"Because Danse, I've never seen you sleep in, I wanted you to get some rest for once."
"I would have rather been with you." He said quietly. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued,
"It was irresponsible of you to leave me uninformed, you should have woken me. You scared me, Sole. I thought…" he took a quick breath to steady his voice, "I don't know what I thought. I woke up and you were gone, I wasn't sure if you were in danger, or if you were angry with me, or whether or not you even meant to return."
"Danse, of course I was going to come back, I just didn't expect you to be gone when I did."
"And for that, I apologize. However, I implore you to understand--"
"Danse. It's okay, we're both here now, we're both safe. And I don't know about you, but I'm starving. C'mon." You turned towards the bunker and went to make your way inside. Danse stood a moment, watching you walk away. Feeling began slowly returning to his limbs, and for the first time all day, his heartbeat slowed to its normal rate. He reached down to pick up his rifle, a small smile spreading across his lips as he moved to follow you back into the bunker.
Deacon:
Deacon opened his eyes, only to immediately close them again, as the bright morning sun showed through the windows of Ticonderoga safehouse, and directly into his retinas.
“Damn,” He said, reaching over to grab for his shades from beside the mattress. Once they were placed onto his face, he decided it would be safe to open his eyes once again. Deacon groaned as he rolled his shoulders, and sat up, stretching his arms overhead.
God, he felt good. The tightness of his muscles serving as a reminder of the… ahem, events of last night. Last night, with you. How the hell had that happened? He almost couldn’t believe it. After so many years of being alone, of feeling emotionally inept, and unable to move on. Here you came, seemingly out of some sci-fi novel, with your futuristic, time-traveling backstory, and inhuman good looks, and for some reason, you’d thought he was, of all things, cute. That was the word you had used, he remembered it vividly, and of course he had feigned being annoyed by the use of the word to describe him, but in reality? He adored the fact that you thought so. No one had ever referred to him as such, and the fact that it confirmed you reciprocated the feelings he had for you; that was truly extraordinary. These feelings that he had tried so desperately to bury deep down, where they couldn’t meddle with your friendship, or your professional relationship, or his own crippling fear of being committed to someone again (given how well it went the first time). Now, he barely understood why he had tried so hard to snuff out his emotions if this was one of the possible outcomes of revealing them to you. He never dreamed that you could have returned the affection he had for you. However, if last night was any kind of indicator… yeah, he’d say the two of you had pretty strong feelings indeed.
At least, that’s what he had thought. Until he turned to you excitedly, looking to see if you had woken yet, and found your spot next to him quite empty. His jaw clenched at the sight, but he took a breath and resolved himself to looking around the safehouse for your belongings. His teeth worried anxiously against the inside of his cheek as he noticed the distinct absence of anything belonging to you. Deacon stood in the middle of the safehouse, bringing his hands up to roughly rub at his face.
“God dammit.” He said aloud, unable to keep something from escaping him. Deacon liked to think he had a good bit of self control, it came with the job after all, a spy with no sense of restraint and proper judgment didn't live very long. However, you had this way of making him forget everything he thought he knew about himself. There he was last night, doing the one thing he vowed he'd never do again. Falling for someone. Him! Deacon, the immature, sarcastic, dishonest, and unemotional agent of the railroad; and here he was, head over heels for a widowed, pre-war saint like you. What a pair you two would have made.
I suppose it really was too good to be true. He thought bitterly.
Deacon grabbed his things and set off into the Commonwealth without so much as a glance over his shoulder. He stared dead ahead, refusing to address the pressure he felt in his chest. Trying desperately to maintain his cool and unbothered exterior, to remain the type of person he was before he'd met you. He always knew he could change the way he looked in a day or less, but the way you'd changed his perspective of the world, of his place in it, and his future? He didn't think you could have changed who he'd turned out to be if you had all the time in the world. Deacon was firmly set in his ways, so much so, that even he couldn't change who he was. No matter how much he despised himself at times. But man, had he been wrong, all the disguises in the world couldn't mask the fact that, for the first time in years, Deacon had a priority in his life besides the railroad, and besides himself. And that scared the shit out of him.
Now he wasn't really sure what to think. If you had simply wanted nothing more than a one-night stand, you could have just told him so. At least then he would’ve been prepared for this shit. For you leaving him, seemingly without a second thought.
The sniper shook his head roughly as he kicked up the dust of the wasteland, his footfalls much heavier than they had any business being. He always had prided himself at being a good judge of character, at being intuitive, but he never would have expected something like this from someone like you. Someone who cared about the happiness of everyone else more than their own well-being, someone who was kind, and selfless, and empathetic, someone who constantly put their own life at risk for the benefit of complete strangers. Sure, he did that occasionally, but his life was worth a hell of a lot less. You were a good person, and always had been. From the moment he saw you, everything he heard about you, all of it pointed to the fact that you, even after all you’d lost, after everything you endured, you were a better person than he could ever hope to be. And now, for you to do this to him? It was completely out of character. Whatever, he thought, if this is all you wanted from me, then fine. It's all you're going to get.
As he approached the Old North Church, Deacon mentally prepared himself for the possibility that you too would be at the Railroad headquarters. He decided to simply not acknowledge your… ordeal, and act as though nothing had changed. Though, if Deacon was honest (which he rarely ever was), he would rather not have you as his partner anymore. With the way he was feeling-- the way he had once felt about you, it would be too complicated. He didn’t need complicated. The railroad missions provided enough of that.
He entered HQ quietly, and mulled about, visiting with the others and picking up missions left and right in an effort to acquire enough distractions to keep him out of the church for as long as possible. He figured that way, the likelihood of bumping into you would be decreased enough for him to get a handle on himself before having to face you. But, of course, his plans were all for naught, he realized as you stormed into the catacombs, your glowering eyes falling directly to the bald sniper in the corner of the room; the sniper who was trying desperately to make himself seem distracted as he felt your eyes burning into the back of his head. At least you had the decency to lower your voice as you approached him,
“Deacon!” You hissed, shouting his name as quietly as one could shout.
He continued staring at the blackboard, a hand at his chin as he feigned interest in what was written there.
“What the hell?” You asked, taking another step towards him, close enough that he could feel your hot breath on his cheek.
“Hmm? Something wrong?” He asked, turning his head towards you while his eyes stayed glued to the board in front of him. You took a step back, and the next thing he knew, you had extended your hand forcefully towards his face, leaving a stinging red mark imprinted on his cheek in its wake. Deacon’s head snapped back towards the blackboard at the power of your blow, his sunglasses barely managing to hang onto his face by the bridge of his nose.
I’m not sure if I deserved that or not…
He brought his own hand up to rub the spot you had just slapped, finally letting his eyes meet yours from beneath his crooked shades. He nearly gasped at your expression. Your eyebrows were knitted together above your tear-filled eyes, your mouth a straight line as your chin trembled slightly. He’d say you looked sad, but behind your eyes, all he could see was fire. The same fire he’d felt when he saw that you had deserted him that morning. Or, at least, when he thought you’d deserted him.
Almost without thinking, Deacon grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the more private area of the railroad HQ. Despite your clear vexation with him, you allowed him to lead you to the back of the church catacombs, near the emergency exit.
“Alright, you finally ready to explain yourself?” You asked, wrenching your hand from his grasp.
“Me? I’m pretty sure it was you who walked out on me, and who just slapped me in the face for asking a simple question.” Your nostrils flared at that and for a moment, Deacon thought you were going to do something violent again.
“Okay, look, I know I’ve fallen for your lies before, but I think it’s pretty damn ridiculous for you to think that I’ll believe this one. I was there, Deacon! You left me. You took all your shit and left me alone at the safehouse. I don’t care what happened the night before, even if it was awful for you, or awkward for you to see me in that way, or whatever, you still don’t abandon your partner. We agreed to that the moment I became an agent.”
Deacon’s jaw dropped to his chest at his realization, and your accusation. He had left you? When? How? When was he supposed to find that out?
“Look, Sole, I’m a liar, I’ll give you that. But I’m a good one,” you rolled your eyes at him, a scoff sounding from your throat, “so, I wouldn’t even attempt to lie to you if I could see that you absolutely knew the truth.”
“God, if you’ve got a point, make it, asshole.”
“Ouchies, no need for name calling there, slappy. I’m just trying to figure out the miscommunication issue we’ve got going on here.” You glared at him, and he was forced to continue.
“The truth is,” Deacon looked down at the floor as he spoke softly to you, feeling as though the words were being wrenched from his throat, “I only left because I thought you had first. I woke up, and you were gone. Your things were gone. I thought that was it, that you were done with our… partnership. Done with me. And hey, I can’t say I’d blame you. Especially if you’d really think I could just up and leave after spending a night like that with you.”
“Oh.” you whispered, before trying to explain yourself, “I wasn’t-- I didn’t just leave, I mean, I went up to give High Rise the MILA for Tom. I was gone for five minutes, Deacon. I was coming right back.” The two of you stood a moment, as realization washed over you. And a bit of regret, too. And a sprinkle of foolishness.
Finally, he brought his gaze up to meet your eyes. Hoping his apology was as evident on his face as it was on yours. You brought your hand to his cheek, soothing over the angry red mark that you had left earlier, and Deacon flinched slightly at your touch, his eyes falling once again to the floor.
“It really only took you five minutes to think that I had left you?” You asked gently, the anger that had once been prevalent in your voice dissolving into concern. Deacon chuckled dryly.
“Haven’t I taught you anything? When you assume the worst, it’s a lot harder to be disappointed.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But I bet it makes it all the better when you find out you were wrong.” Deacon smiled weakly at you, shaking his head.
“Yeah, no. I’m not seeing the appeal in being wrong just yet.” The hand that still rested on his cheek slid to the back of his neck, grasping firmly as you pulled his face towards yours. The pressure of your brow displaced Deacon’s shades as you crashed your lips into his. He toppled backwards against the wall of the catacombs as you pressed more forcefully into him, his arms falling behind him to steady himself against the cold brick, as your unoccupied hand slunk up to his chest, keeping him pinned between you and the wall. You pulled your head back, but kept your hands in place as you murmured,
“What about now?”
“Hmm?” Deacon’s ginger eyebrows raised above his glasses as his mind went blank. You cocked an eyebrow at him, a smirk forming on your face.
“Oh, right. I suppose so. Though, I think I’m gonna need a few reminders every once in a while.”
“Hmm,” you mused, “I think that can be arranged.”
Hancock:
The ghoul awoke with a purr, stretching one ruined arm out to blindly search for your sleeping body. He distinctly remembered curling up with you wrapped tight in his embrace before lulling off into the best sleep he's had in years. For the first time in months he didn't have the nagging ache of wishing you were pressed against him as he settled in for the night. The thoughts of you lying so close but so painfully out of reach were finally pushed from his head to make room for the sheer bliss of being able to touch you, to feel your unbelievably soft skin, to breathe in your sweet scent and relish in the closeness of your body against his.
That was of course, until this morning. Hancock opened his eyes lazily, his dark gaze sweeping over the mess of bed sheets and pillows that littered the plush mattress. The sight of the disheveled blankets bringing back heated memories of last night. Before his brow furrowed at the realization of the current situation he found himself in. Hancock slowly rose from the bed, his dark eyes searching the surrounding room for any sign of you. He found his trousers, his hat, his coat... but nothing of yours remained where they had been tossed last night. If Hancock had a nose, it would have been curling alongside the rest of his scrunched up face as he thought of you leaving in such a hurry this morning. Hancock felt a pain in his chest and immediately craved a hit of something, anything, to numb the hollow feeling that began spreading through his body.
Sunlight shone through the windows of the old state house, the beams of light diffused by the ringlets of smoke rising from the ghoul's mouth as he took yet another hit of jet, trying hard to keep his mind blank, but inevitably failing as his thoughts returned to last night's events. Coming almost in slow motion, he picked apart every movement; every touch, kiss, lick, and caress, nitpicking every action he had made and thinking about what he might've done to warrant your desertion of him. But deep down, he knew that his actions mattered little. You had assured him on numerous occasions that him being a ghoul didn't bother you, but you had never really seen him before. Not in the way you saw him last night. Had never felt his rough skin on yours, had never run your hands up his ravaged body, the softness of your touch only amplifying the harshness of his own leathery flesh. You had never uncovered the gross discoloration of his radiation-ravaged body. But last night, you had finally gotten a good, long look. And here he was, thinking that you of all people could’ve seen past that. You had been able to forgive him for his past, after all. Hadn’t you? But maybe that had been part of it too. Maybe you’d finally realized all that he really was. A reckless and cowardly poor excuse for a man, who spends his life in a haze of delirium rather than facing the pain of being alive. A pain that he had inflicted upon himself to break away from that same self-righteous fog that he’d found himself in in the first place. It’s no wonder you’re gone. Maybe you were never even really here. Maybe you were just another daydream of his, just another hallucination. God, if that was the case, he didn’t even know what he would do. After having you so close, being with you like this? He didn’t really see the point in living without you.
Hancock sighed heavily at the thought. He didn't know how long he sat simply thinking, his perception of time temporarily altered by the jet, but he had to do something to alleviate this torture, and if chems wouldn't do it... well....
"I need some air," he rasped aloud as he stood and headed for the balcony, donning his coat and hat on his way out. The mayor had to keep up appearances, after all.
He almost didn't see you as he stepped through the door, the way you leaned out against the rail, eyes closed, a soft, beautiful smile playing at your plush lips. Hancock could've stared at you until the world around him turned to dust, but you moved long before that musing could come to reality. Turning to look at him, your smile brightened further, and Hancock couldn't keep himself from touching you. He grabbed one of your hands in his, using his other to caress your pink-dusted cheek, affirming that you truly were physically there, standing in front of him.
"And what were you doing out here all by your lonesome? Trying to give a ghoul a little taste of heartbreak?" You let out a soft laugh,
"No, sweetheart," you called him affectionately, leaning into his light touch upon your cheek, "I thought that you would sleep longer. I just wanted to get out and enjoy some sunshine." You turned once again towards the morning sun, the rays highlighting every one of your perfect features. Hancock beamed at the sight of you, before turning and looking out at his city in thought,
"Hmm," he mused, "Sunshine, huh?"
MacCready:
MacCready had been lying on his back for a while now, staring at the crumbling ceiling of the dingy little room at the hotel Rexford. This certainly hadn’t been his idea of an ideal location for your first time together, but who was he to complain? It was safe, and private, and it had been a damn good night. But he’d been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, waiting for you to stir. He’d thought it was odd, given the fact that you always woke up first when the two of you traveled together, but he’d like to think you hadn’t yet stirred because of the way he had exhausted you last night, his chest puffed out at the thought of it and he let out a contented sigh. The thoughts of your night together spilled into his consciousness, and he stretched out his arms in front of him, snickering slightly at the soreness of his body, and suddenly, he couldn’t wait for you any longer.
“Geeze, you awake yet, sleepyhead?” MacCready rolled onto his side to face the lump under the covers. He ran his hand over the mattress, over to you, but as he reached the lump beneath the blankets, all he felt was plushness. He withdrew the covers from atop you, only to find… pillows? Just a pillow, and a blanket. MacCready’s body spasmed as he jolted out from under the covers on his side of the bed, his head flying from side to side as he looked for you.
“Sole?” He cocked an eyebrow at the empty hotel room, and as he noticed your absence, his expression quickly changed from confusion to one of anger. You had left? But why? Had he done something wrong? He didn’t think so… but maybe he just... wasn’t everything you expected from him. Feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach, MacCready climbed from the bed, grabbing his trousers from the floor and stomping around the room in pursuit of the remainder of his clothes, not failing to notice how everything belonging to you was no longer in the room either. Heat rose to MacCready’s face as he pulled on his duster, but he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, or anger, or heartache, or some combination thereof.
What the heck? He thought, you were the one to suggest doing this, why would you do that if you were just gonna leave me like this? Right when MacCready had thought he’d found the one. The person who could help him move on from Lucy after everything he’d been through. You were perfect, not just for him, but for Duncan too. You were selfless, and kind, compassionate, resourceful, sometimes you were a bit of a sarcastic ass, but he loved that about you. You were a parent and a spouse, just like he had been. You were both lost, and broken when you found each other, just a couple halves that had made each other whole. You were his future... Or so he’d thought. But who was he kidding? You were so out of his league, the two of you weren’t even playing the same damn sport. He should’ve known this would be the outcome. But then, why the heck did you let it go this far? Sure, he was the one who had poured all of his feelings out onto the table, but he didn’t know what he’d expected you to do. He just felt like he would explode if he held them in any longer, especially when the two of you spent so much time together. He saw you every damn day, and all he wanted to do was hold your hand, he wanted to sleep beside you and hold onto you through the night, to have you run your fingers through his hair and tell him that you felt the same way. MacCready never imagined you’d do something like this to him, never thought you’d get his hopes up, dangling the future he'd always dreamed of having right in his face before ruthlessly snatching it away.
He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculous train of thought and groaned as he bent down to grab his rifle.
“At least you paid for the room up front.” he mumbled as he placed his hat on his head and made his way to the door.
MacCready’s footsteps fell heavily onto each stair as he headed down to the lobby, wondering where he’d go from there. He considered going and looking for you, but what was the point? Clearly if you wanted to see him, you wouldn’t have freakin left. Was he really petty enough to seek you out just to tell you how messed up it was that you’d left him the way that you did? Maybe… but he needed a drink first. To the Third Rail it was, then. What was it, 10am? He could drink at 10am. He could do whatever the heck he wanted, especially now that you were gone.
MacCready reached the bottom of the stairs, looking straight past the small crowd of people that were gathered in the lobby as he made his way to the exit. Just as his hand reached the door, he heard his name being shouted. His body shuddered at the sound of your voice, and he stood stock straight as he decided what to do. One fist clenched as the other hand pushed the door open and he crossed the threshold into Goodneighbor. The door never closed behind him, and he felt an iron grip on his forearm as he tried to head towards the Third Rail.
“Ow, hey!” He spun to face you, face slightly contorted in his confusion. What was he supposed to think now? He was still angry and hurt, but should he be? Ugh.
“Wait, Mac. I know how it must’ve looked, but really, it’s just a misunderstanding.” He stared at you, his deep blue eyes clouded with suspicion. He didn’t say a word, not wanting to ruin anything by making false assumptions or accusations. Instead, he waited for you to explain, wrenching his wrist from your grip as he folded his arms over his chest.
Before you could continue, Rufus came up from behind, asking quietly if he could go through the doors.
“Come on,” you urged, “let’s get out of the doorway.” You herded MacCready to one of the couches in the lobby, seating yourself next to him.
“Alright. Explain.” He said, brows still furrowed. You almost snickered at how put-out the sniper seemed. You couldn’t quite tell if it was an act or not, but knowing MacCready… yeah, probably not an act.
“Rufus was having some trouble with Drinkin’ Buddy.” You told him, “The bot shut down and no one could get him to turn on again. This morning, some sort of warning light started flashing, so he came up and asked if I could help him fix it. I would’ve asked you to come along, but you were still asleep, and I know how you hate being woken up…” You trailed off, waiting for him to say something in response.
Man, MacCready felt moronic. Why had he been so quick to assume the worst? Okay, maybe not the worst, the worst would’ve been… Well, that’s not important. He shook his head, finally letting himself breathe deeply again.
“You sure that was it?” He asked, uncertainty coating his tone as he narrowed his eyes at you.
You leaned forward, smoothing a hand up his chest to the back of his neck as you brought your lips to his. Your fingers fiddled with the hair at the base of his neck and held him to you as your mouth moved against his, trying to answer his question without having to use your words. This was better, anyway. You felt a hand move to your waist as he relaxed into the kiss, his strong grip pulling you nearly into his lap as he returned your fervor. Only when you needed air did you pull back from him, your heartbeat still racing as you watched his gorgeous eyes flutter open.
“Did that answer your question?” You asked cheekily. He smiled, face still pink from the heat of your kiss.
“I don’t know, boss, I may still need some more, ah, reassuring.” You snickered at that, and glanced back at Clair’s desk.
“Any more convincing and we may need that room again. You think if we go now, we won’t have to pay the hotel for a second day?”
God, I think I’m in love. MacCready thought as he nodded to you, a boyish grin spreading across his lips. At that, both of you scrambled off of the couch, quickly making your way towards the stairs and up to the hotel room.
Nick:
The synth didn't sleep, but he didn't mind it. He stayed awake beside you in bed, replaying memories of the night over and over in his mind. Although he wasn't sure how comfortable it could be, he had his arms curled around you, holding you tightly to his synthetic chest while the memories of his favorite night (in either of his lifetimes) were running through his mind. You snored softly in his embrace, utterly at peace, as he gazed affectionately at your soft features. Nick didn't often feel blissful, and he never would've imagined himself in this situation, being completely content with the person he admired, and adored so adamantly, safely wrapped in his arms. He should've known it wouldn't last.
Without a sound, he felt as you slowly and gently pried his arms off of your body, climbing off of the shared mattress. Nick figured that you would give him an explanation; perhaps once you were out of bed? When you went to go and dress yourself? Before walking through the door? But you were silent throughout, even as he heard the door click shut behind you. Nick closed his eyes tightly, sighing to himself and wondering if the pain in his chest was substantial enough to cause him to short circuit. What had he done wrong? Even if it was nothing, he would understand why you had left. Even at his best, Nick could hardly amount to what any average human could give you, and he could never give you everything you wanted. Everything you needed, and deserved. He wasn't real. So he wouldn't blame you for leaving, hell, if he hadn't been so caught up in his own blissful feelings, he might've encouraged you to go. And he had, before last night had truly begun, he recalled asking you if he was what you really wanted. Then, you had seemed so eager, almost laughing at the thought that he couldn't be enough, after all this time the two of you had spent together, and all your pining over him. These thoughts circled through the synth's mind as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He willed himself to grab a file and get to work, to do something, anything, to distract himself from the pain, but it was as though the weight in his chest was too much to bear. The height of his earlier high only amplifying the depths of his current low.
Every attempt to look through a case file was a failure, his yellow eyes roaming the first few lines of writing before his mind drifted off. To thoughts of where you could have gone, whether or not you would come back, and thoughts of last night. At the way you made his pistons fire at triple times their normal rate, the way you made his metal heart flutter in his chest, and the way you had come so beautifully undone in his arms. That was it. The moment he needed to remember for the rest of his days on this ruined earth. At that very moment, nothing else seemed to matter. He was sure he'd been foolish before, thinking you could never care for him in such a way. How foolish he'd felt then... it was nothing compared to now. The synth brought his metallic hands up to his face, the tips of his fingers displacing the worn hat on his head. He imagined tears flowing from beneath the heels of his hands as he dug them into his eye sockets, but of course none came. Would that have been acceptable? If he had been able to shed real tears, like a real human being, would you have stayed after last night? If he had been able--
The door to the agency burst open at that moment, interrupting the old detective's thoughts, and sending his head shooting back to see who had busted in so aggressively, his hat flying from its usual place atop his head.
The fact that the synth couldn't breathe didn't matter in this moment as he huffed a massive sigh of relief at the glorious sight of you, the light of the early morning sun casting a warm glow around your body.
"Oh doll..." the words escaped him as a smile began to spread across his synthetic lips, "for a moment there, I thought you were an angel." You giggled at that, your flushed smile causing the whirring in his chest to increase exponentially.
"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, I was just about to open up a missing person's case on ya." You finally closed the door and made your way to his desk, leaning down to give his cheek a chaste kiss as you smoothed your hand over his chest, stopping to grab at his tie and pull him up towards you.
"Always the professional, hmm detective?" You smirked at him and he gave you a crooked smile before bringing his good hand up to stroke his thumb over one of your soft cheeks.
"Although," you continued, teasingly bending down to pick his hat up from the floor, "your uniform doesn’t seem to be up to the usual standards."
"Oh? Is that what you think?" He said, reaching for the hat before you held it behind your back, a mischievous grin forming on your lips,
"Sure is. You don't have your hat.”
“Oh? And whose fault is that?” He interjected playfully.
“And” you continued, “look at this coat, full of rips. It’s practically in shambles." you ran a finger down his side, allowing the tip of your fingernail to catch at the tiny holes littering the worn fabric.
"Hey now, my coat's always looked like that. You didn't seem to find fault in it when you were cold last night." You shook your head,
"Nope, I'm sorry Mr. Valentine, it's all in disarray, I'm afraid we'll just have to scrap the whole thing."
"Well now, if that’s what you were after, you could've just told me, darling. No need to insult--" His sentence remained unfinished as you tightened your grip on his tie, pulling him in for a kiss that was anything but chaste. He had so many questions left unanswered, but for reasons unknown, he couldn't seem to think of a single coherent inquiry to voice to you in this instance. Looks like it will just have to wait until later.
Preston:
Preston felt uneasy. His eyes had opened slowly when he had awoken, his heartbeat had remained consistently calm, dapples of sunlight shone through the holes in the curtains beside the bed, indicating that he had slept through the night. Why did everything feel so… so peaceful? No nightmares, no panic attacks, the usual insomnia Preston tended to face in the wee hours of the morning had never reared its infuriating head.
Then he remembered.
It was all because of you. Amazing, incredible, infallible, irresistible you. Heat flooded to his face as a coy smile touched his lips. Suddenly, he felt he had to be near you, he had to see you to believe what his mind told him had happened last night.
“Mhm, good morning," he sighed, as he turned to face your side of the bed, "how are you-- ?" Preston's eyebrows creased as he noticed your absence, his voice trailing off as he realized his question had no recipient.
"Sole?" He sat up, rubbing his awakening eyes before glancing around the room of your Sanctuary house.
"Sole?!" Preston said, louder than the first time. Perhaps you had simply gone to the washroom? Or to the kitchen maybe? Rising from the bed, Preston fetched his trousers from the pile of clothes that rested at the foot of the bed, trying not to dwell too much on the thoughts that it inspired.
But... only my clothes are here. He reflected, feeling a pang in his chest, before reminding himself that you might want to be clothed, wherever you’d gone, even if it was just in your own house. He released a bit of his anxiety in a quick breath, before heading for the bedroom door, he opened it gingerly, glancing down the hallway before making his way to each of the rooms in search of you. He did so slowly, hesitantly, in fear of what he might find. Or, rather, afraid of what he wouldn't find.
Preston stood in the empty kitchen, numb, his fear utterly realized. He collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, afraid to let himself think, but unable to do anything else in his current state. Why, why, why did he have to act on his feelings for you? He just had to tell you how you made him feel, he had to be vulnerable and had to “put himself out there.” He just had to be intimate with you, he had to ruin everything. Why couldn’t he have just been happy with the way things were, with you as his friend? There he was, his life in danger, unable to help the people who needed him most, the Minutemen in complete disarray after having failed those they vowed to protect, and there you were. Here to save their asses, to turn his disaster of a life into one full of hope, full of light, and now, you were gone. You had left because he was an inarticulate, inexperienced, greedy, fool of a man who couldn't keep his mouth shut and just settle for having you as his general, and as his best friend. Why had he needed more? He didn't deserve more, not with you, hell, the whole damn world didn't deserve you, so how did he ever think you could want to be with him?
But you told me you did. You said you cared about me and-- No. Actions speak louder than words, and your absence after the first night you two had spent together… that spoke volumes.
Maybe you finally realized that I'm nothing special. Not compared to you. Maybe you realized that, next to you, and without you, I'm nothing at all. Preston balled a fist and pounded it weakly against your worn kitchen table, the dull thud resounding through the empty house. He sighed, sliding the chair back with a groan as he rose to his feet, heading once again to the back of the house. Entering your room without you felt like a crime, but he figured he might as well remove his things, and put on the remainder of his clothes, before leaving.
He stared down at the pile of tousled fabric at the foot of the bed, slowly untangling each individual article, secretly hoping that, if he took long enough, you would eventually make your way back into the room. That you would give him some inconsequential excuse for your absence, and he could forget all of the confusion and uncertainty of the morning. As Preston gingerly began to re-dress himself, thoughts came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. The way your soft, gentle fingers had undone each of the buttons of his shirt, the pressure tickling his neck, then his chest, down his stomach to his naval, your hands wasting no time as they moved upward to push the silky material off over his shoulders. He recalled the feeling of the smooth fabric of his scarf, as it unraveled slowly around his neck, a chill creeping onto the sensitive skin before you had chased it away quickly with the heated touch of your sweet lips. He remembered the breathy gasp that had escaped from you as your hands grasped tightly at the lapels of his coat, his mouth colliding with yours over and over again as his mind screamed for him to stop, to slow down, to ignore the fire blazing beneath his skin.
This is your general! It had told him, this is your friend, your recently widowed friend, your friend that you desperately need to keep in your life! If you screw this up, how will you ever be able to forgive yourself?
He should have listened to his head then. Why hadn’t he? Preston was sure that, if he had, it would have spared him from the awkward discussion he was bound to have with his superior officer in the near future. It certainly would have saved him the pain he was feeling now.
At the same time though... Last night had been the best night of Preston’s life. Did he really regret having those memories now? Yes, he had to. After all, what did last night matter if it hadn’t made you happy?
Preston shook his head, releasing a breath he was sure he’d been holding since he left the kitchen. Pulling up his boots, he grabbed the remainder of his things and left the room, glancing back at the empty bed one last time before placing his hat atop his head and pulling the door shut softly behind him.
The beams of morning sunlight chased away the fog that had settled in the streets of Sanctuary, bits of bright blue sky peeking through the gaps in the clouds. Looks like it’ll be a nice day. He thought somberly, trying desperately to perk himself up, lest he bump into any settlers on his patrol. He wouldn’t want to worry anyone with his troubled expression, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to answer any questions about his current state. Preston started towards the bridge, planning to begin his patrol of the perimeter from there. He was so focused on his destination, he nearly failed to notice the hand waving him down from the side of the street. When he did turn to look, his breath caught in his throat.
“Sole!” He exclaimed, much too loudly, as he noticed you, nearly dropping his laser musket. A wounded settler was seated on the curb, you were kneeling next to him on one side, wrapping a bandage around his arm, with Sturges standing on the other, an empty stimpak in hand. As soon as he processed what he was seeing, the Minuteman lieutenant tried desperately to compose himself, a blush inadvertently creeping up his cheeks as his eyes met yours. He adjusted his grip on his musket, and cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment.
“Is everything alright over here?” He asked, making his way over to the group, “What can I do to help, general?” you gave him a small smile, assuring him everything was alright, and finished tending to the settler who, as Preston found out, was a new arrival who’d run into a pack of mongrels on his way to Sanctuary. When they were all certain the settler would be okay, Preston quietly asked the general if they had a moment to talk, much to Sturges’ amusement.
“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it, then. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Sturges slapped Preston on the back as he passed by, snickering to himself. Preston felt heat rising to his face again and quickly motioned for you to follow him behind the house, hoping to get a little privacy. He took in a sharp breath, before releasing it slowly, and you smiled warmly at him. That’s a good sign, I suppose.
“How are you feeling?” He asked you quietly. Your eyes looked past Preston, almost as though you hadn’t heard him, and he felt a pang in his chest. Turning your head slightly, you glanced to either side, ensuring no one else was looking on, before turning back to him, looking into his eyes as a flush touched your cheeks.
“If I’m honest?” you started, and Preston’s breath caught in his throat, “I’m a little sore.” you said with a little smile, and Preston felt his knees wobble as his legs nearly gave out in relief.
“Heh, if I’m honest, me too.” He said, shyly looking down at his feet as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. “So, about that,” he continued, “last night, I mean. Did you, ahem, did you like--”
In an instant, your lips were on his own. The kiss was soft, but forceful, affirming all that Preston was uncertain of.
“Last night was… amazing, Preston.” You told him after you had pulled away, your hands resting on his shoulders, keeping his body pressed to yours.
“Then, when you left this morning ... ?”
“Sturges was looking for you when he found the settler on his patrol this morning, but he obviously didn’t find you in your bed, so he came to find me and--”
Preston groaned, an embarrassed smile forcing its way to his lips,
“He didn't see anything, did he?” You giggled at that,
“No, honey, he didn’t see anything.” You rolled your eyes playfully, before pulling at his shoulders, urging his ear to your lips, “But someone did. And I hear they really liked what they saw. You know who it was?” you whispered.
“Who?” you heard him breathe.
“Hmm, you really don’t know?” You sneaked a peek at his face, noting the goofy grin that spread all the way to his warm, chocolate eyes, and you couldn’t help but lean further into him. Preston drew an arm around you, his hand on your lower back, keeping you anchored to him, and all apprehension following this morning’s events seemed to be forgotten.
“You might just have to remind me.” He said cheekily, pulling you into another kiss.
X6-88:
The tightness in his chest was the least of the courser's worries as he woke to find himself utterly alone. You were gone, that, he knew. But where-- no, how? How had you woken and readied yourself without also waking him?
He never should have agreed to last night. Not only was it completely inappropriate, given your future position in the Institute, but it had distracted him from his main duty. The most important mission he'd ever been assigned: to watch over his charge, to keep them safe. To protect you. He had grown distracted, and now you were gone. The future director of the Institute, someone he respected and idolized, a person he cared about, more than anyone he'd ever come across in his existence, was just gone. His loyalty to you was akin to his loyalty to the Institute itself, and that was non-negotiable, unbreakable, hard-wired into him. You had won his devotion on your own, which made it that much more meaningful. And that much more painful when he realized that you might not feel the same loyalty for him. But why would you? And why did he care? He was allowed to feel allegiance towards you without you needing to return it, was he not? But … if you had felt this loyalty for him, you surely wouldn't have left him alone, correct? At least that's what it seemed like, but X6 wasn't particularly knowledgeable when it came to this subject. He didn't know, these thoughts confused him, and normally you were the one to help him make sense of his more... human tendencies and emotions, but clearly in this instance, he was on his own. You had treated him like no one ever had, like a real person, and so he thought he could start acting like one. Feeling like one. But he was wrong. X6 wasn't wrong often, and he hated the feeling. In his current state, every feeling he had was a negative one. He decided to shut it out. These feelings weren't helping him protect you, which was still his mission, reciprocated loyalty or not. Sitting around, contemplating his emotions didn't help him to find you.
The courser sat up and climbed off the mattress, grabbing his clothes that he had folded neatly beside the bed last night, noting that only his were present. After you had fallen asleep, X6 had untangled his body from your own as gently as he could, so as not to wake you, and had placed your clothes beside the bed in preparation for the morning. He had retrieved his courser uniform from the floor, with the intent of dressing himself and sitting on watch for the night, but you had stirred, sleepily requesting he return to the space beside you. He remembered hesitating, before folding his coat and placing it on the table beside your own clothes and doing as you had asked. Sliding beneath the covers, he had laid on his side, placing an arm around your waist. He remembered wondering if what he had done was correct, if he was doing this all right, but you had seemed happy, and that was all that mattered to him. So, if he had done nothing wrong, why had you left? Taken your clothes, and your bag, and your gun, and vanished without a trace? And when had he started caring about your happiness? Your health, and your safety, yes, he should certainly care about those, given the nature of his orders. But now he cared about how he made you feel. He wanted you to be happy, and he wanted to be the one to make you feel that way. But why?
X6 shook his head, attempting to clear it, and grabbed his rifle from the top of the dresser. It was distracting thoughts like these that had forced him into his current predicament, he wasn't about to make that mistake again. Placing his shades onto his face, he prepared to head through the door, and out into the wastes to search for you.
X6 surveyed the surrounding area outside of your home in Sanctuary: the gas station, Abernathy farm, Tenpines bluff, even the inside of Vault 111. Yet, there was no sign of you. He returned to Sanctuary and found your house still empty, the hollowness growing in his chest as he realized that your leaving really had been intentional. Elsewise, he would have stumbled across you, or some sign of you, by now, right? He stood in your old kitchen, his knuckles paled at the death grip he held on the edge of the counter, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold his emotions at bay.
How could he have agreed to last night? And why would you have presented the idea if you had meant to do this to him in the end? With a groan of frustration, X6 pounded a hand against the countertop, leaving a small indent in the shape of his fist. Not only had you left him, you had done so without warning, without explanation, and now he couldn't find you. He couldn't find you. That's what he did, he was a relentless hunter, a cold pursuant, he completed all of his missions efficiently, he followed Institute protocol, he followed orders. What he didn't do was get wrapped up in human emotions, he didn't throw caution to the wind and give into his most base desires. He was a synth. He didn't yearn, or want, or love. Or at least he hadn't.
Not until he met you.
The courser sighed, fists still clenched in frustration. He didn't know what to do, you were his mission, but if you commanded him to leave--? But you never actually had ordered him away... In his eyes, there was only one option for him to consider.
"Unit X6-88, ready to relay back to the institute. Alone."
A flash of blue, and he was back. No one asked him to report in, and he didn't offer. He started straight towards the SRB, wondering what the consequences would be for his behavior. A memory wipe would be the best outcome, especially if... Oh. But if they saw the memories from last night, what would happen to you?
X6 stopped in his tracks, turning quickly to go up the stairs that ascended to the residential portion of the Institute. Once again, he was at a loss. He didn't want to lose those memories, but more than that, he didn't want anyone else to see them. You were the first person he's ever met that treated him as a human, saw him as one, made him feel like one, and he couldn't bear the thought of what the Institute scientists would say about you, say to you, or do to you, if they saw what you had done with him. The courser looked down at his feet as he walked quickly, moving instinctively towards your quarters. He turned down the hallway, and recoiled at the figure that appeared as your door dragged open. X6’s eyes widened beneath his shades, and he cleared his throat to keep himself from gasping in surprise as your eyes met his.
"There you are! I was wondering when you would finally turn up, I finished with the meeting hours ago. I was just about to go out and look for you. Don't tell me you slept in this late?" You said with a grin that spread all the way to your glorious eyes. X6 couldn't form words, he just stood gawking at you, his mouth half open, looking like a complete fool. Right, the meeting with Father. How had he forgotten?
"Is everything okay?" You asked, your smile being replaced by an expression of concern. The courser didn't answer, he still couldn't keep his thoughts in order; instead, he stepped forward until his chest pressed against yours, urging you to back into your quarters. You did so rather hesitantly, a confused expression causing your brows to crinkle. When the door had closed behind him, X6 slowly reached out his arms, wrapping them tightly around you, just as you had shown him last night, he pulled you to his chest and held you firmly. The warmth of you, your soft hair and sweet scent calmed his strained nerves, and he finally allowed himself to take a deep breath and close his eyes, just for a moment. As quickly as he'd initiated it, he pulled away from the hug, squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture,
"I'm glad you're safe, ma'am/sir."
#fallout#fallout 4#fallout companions#fallout companions react#fallout companions reactions#fallout companions reacts#fallout 4 companions#fallout 4 companions react#fallout 4 companions reactions#fallout 4 companions reacts#fo4#fo4 reacts#fo4 react#paladin danse#fallout danse#danse#fallout deacon#hancock#john hancock#fallout hancock#maccready#fallout maccready#rj maccready#nick valentine#fallout nick valentine#preston garvey#fallout preston#x6-88#x688#x6 88
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Into The Unknown, Part 5
First
Previous
Tim finished up pretty quickly.
After all, all the baby toys seemed to just be different variations of each other. Some crinkle, some make sounds, some squish, some… do nothing at all? Tim had no clue how he used to get by as a kid.
He ended up getting Damian three toys:
A tiny rubber duck. He’s almost completely sure that Marinette would have bought one if Tim hadn’t. At least when he was the one buying it he could opt to get the Darth Vader one (Damian had always been woefully uncultured, this was his one chance to make the kid watch sci-fi without risking getting stabbed).
A plush cow with crinkly ears. He had to hope that this could maybe jog memories of Batcow and, in turn, everything else. Tim had tried to think of something a little more relevant but all he could think of were things related to Batman, to Superboy, to the League of Assassins (did their lives really revolve around vigilante-work that much?)... and, unfortunately, this reality didn’t have merch that he could give the kid.
And a squishy plastic baguette. Because that was all he could think of to get back at Marinette for the duck thing.
When it came to little kid books he hesitated for just a bit before getting the basics -- stuff like animals and the letters and Spot The Dog. He wondered, vaguely, if he’d have to teach the kid numbers since they already used the Arabic numeral system. He got a book on it just in case.
Then he got a couple of books on parenting.
He checked out and then walked back to the sitting area where he was supposed to meet Marinette.
… she was taking forever.
He sighed quietly and skimmed through a book on parenting.
… oops they were supposed to breastfeed until Damian was about two. No clue what to do about that. Maybe the kid was already used to a bottle? He hoped so. He’d watch him more carefully while Marinette was holding him to see. In the meantime, he’d get a bottle and some formula on top of the baby food they’d been getting so far.
Alright so the kid was supposed to learn behaviors and language through observation. Good. That, hopefully, solved that problem. Tim probably would have just given the kid a textbook and said ‘good luck’. Marinette… he didn’t really know what Marinette would have done, but the woman wasn’t a teacher as far as he could tell and asking her to teach the kid properly was a little unfair.
Babies around his age are supposed to speak in something called… protowords? Like… a baby language? Damn, he has a miraculous and it seemingly allows him the power to understand every language but apparently ‘baby-speak’ didn’t count as a language. Tim called bullshit.
He felt a weight settle down on the bench next to him and absently glanced over.
Marinette sent him a slightly tired smile. She was wearing a new, dark red scarf.
He opened his mouth to say something only to have her shake her head and adjust her scarf a little to show him something.
Ah. It looked like Damian had fallen asleep on her shoulder so she’d fashioned the scarf into a makeshift baby sling.
“Could’ve used the stroller,” he whispered, setting his receipt in the book to mark his page.
She snorted. “And risk waking him? He cries every time he wakes up, I’m not dealing with that right now.”
He bit his lip. “You know… this book says he’s supposed to cry for, like, an hour to an hour and a half a day.”
She tipped her head to the side a little. “He’s cried like… three times.”
“Yeah, and he was really easy to shut up. Decidedly not normal.”
They looked back down at Damian, identical frowns on their faces.
“Does it have an explanation for why he’d be like this?” Marinette asked, her voice soft.
Tim hesitated.
“The only reasons I can think of are that he doesn’t think we’d help him if he cried or he thinks crying is something he’d be punished for. Considering how he was raised… it could be either. Or both.”
~
Marinette yawned as she sat back on the hotel bed. She leaned back against Tim, leaving him to bear the weight of both her and Damian.
He, to his credit, barely even blinked. He turned slowly until they were both leaning back against each other.
She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder.
She could fall asleep like this, she thought. Propped against Tim. Damian, in her arms, watching an episode of something called True and the Rainbow Kingdom… it was nice.
Or, at least, it would be if Tim could stop that infernal tapping.
“Ugh, could you stop that? Some people actually sleep.”
He gave a tiny puff of laughter that acknowledged that he heard her but, alas, he continued typing.
She groaned a little and reached a hand behind herself to give him a tiny bap to his side.
“Hm. This may shock you, but hitting me really hasn’t helped your case.”
She huffed and twisted around to try and see over his shoulder. She’d given up on sleeping, anyway.
“What are you even doing?”
He shrugged just slightly. “Trying to figure out what to do about money.”
She nodded slowly, looking over his shoulder as he scrolled through jobs they could do with zero experience or degrees. That could sustain a family of three and pay for the daycare they would have to take Damian to. The options... weren’t great.
Damian tugged on her shirt for her attention and she looked down as he pointed at his screen with a bright smile. There was a black cat on the screen. She didn’t really know what he wanted until he kept saying ‘ma’ over and over. She nodded and said ‘cat’ in both Arabic and English, which seemed to sate him as he went back to watching… the giant green yeti monster stealing a basket of candy? What the fuck was even going on on this show? Were kids’ shows like this in her own world, too? Or was this one’s shows just especially weird?
A thought occurred to her and she looked back over at Tim.
“You exist in this world, right?”
He nodded absently and opened a tab that, despite its claim that it was an entry level job, apparently required two years of experience and a degree. He closed it quickly.
“Why don't we just mooch off of the other you?”
Tim sighed. “Because that’s illegal?”
“You’re a vigilante. I don’t think that ‘borrowing’ money from your alternate self is where you should draw the line on illegal activities.”
“I draw the line when it harms innocent people.”
She laughed at that. “He’s rich. It’s not like he’s going to miss it. Think of it as… giving the money to people who need it.”
“You’re a regular robin hood,” Tim said sarcastically.
“I know. I’m so kind,” she agreed, grinning.
There were a few moments of silence.
Then, finally, he shook his head. “Even if we could somehow do that -- which I can’t guarantee because I’m not completely sure I could guess my passwords -- the fact that we’re in Texas… he’d notice.”
She shrugged. “Then let’s move back to Gotham.”
He blinked and finally looked up from the computer. “What?”
“We don’t have much of a life here, really, so why not move?”
He considered this for a while before sighing and flopping back on the bed. “Let me see if I can even get into the account. There’s nothing to say that I even have the same social security number here...”
She nodded her understanding and laid back next to him. Damian whined a little at the sudden displacement but just ran a hand up and down his back absently until he was watching his show again, completely silent as he stared at the screen. Now the main girl was reaching into her bag for a weird orb of light that was, apparently, sentient. Was this the Dora of their world? God help their children.
Speaking of helping their children...
She picked up a parenting book to read while Tim tried to guess his otherworldly counterpart’s passwords.
~
Tim managed to get in.
He rested his head in his hands, cursing quietly.
She glanced over and smiled at his slightly flushed face.
“What was the password?”
He grumbled under his breath.
This only seemed to encourage her more because she started nudging his shoulder, the soft smile morphing into a cheeky grin.
He sighed and took a moment to gather himself before looking over at her. “It’s… ‘<3Richard<3graysons<3little<3brother<3’.”
“... I don’t get it.”
“Good. So you can’t tease me about it,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.
She scoffed. “That’s not fair.”
“Totally is.”
He set the computer down beside himself and stretched his achy old bones. He’d had a baby for approximately two days now and he could already feel the bad back setting in. Tomorrow he would have gray hair.
“I’m going to look it up if you don’t tell me.”
“... he’s a celebrity,” Tim said quietly.
Her grin wavered back towards that genuine smile for just a second before spreading into an even wider grin. She reached out and pinched his cheeks. “Awwww, Tim, that’s so cute --!”
“Shut up,” he complained, batting her hands away.
She snickered. “No. I’m going to write that password on your tombstone.”
“You’re assuming I’m going to die first.”
“I have an extended lifespan. You’re only going to have that for another fifteen years. After that? Unless I’m really stupid you’re gonna die first.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to find out how to be immortal now. Purely to spite you.”
She snorted. “Okay. Good luck with that.”
“Thank you.”
With that, he pushed himself up with a groan. “I’m going to get him ready for bed.”
She nodded her understanding and continued with her reading.
Damian whined a little when Tim tried to take him away from where he had curled up next to Marinette but that seemed to be more because he was tired and cranky than genuine distress.
Tim was the one to bathe him. It wasn’t a bubble bath, he wasn’t eager to repeat the previous night’s mistakes, but he did give Damian the rubber duck. This seemed to work for all of them, since Damian now allowed them to take him out of the bath as long as he got to bring his duck.
Marinette grinned when she looked over at where Damian was chewing on his rubber duck as Tim struggled to click the annoyingly difficult buttons of the onesie into place.
“Told you he would love it.”
“We both know that wasn’t why you wanted to get it.”
“And we both know you didn’t get that squishy bread-thing just because you thought he would like it, either.”
He smiled. “Maaaaaybe.”
The onesie finally allowed itself to be buttoned and Tim picked Damian up so he could get into bed.
Marinette frowned. “This book says we shouldn’t let him sleep with us every night. Says it creates a bad habit that’s hard to break.”
Tim raised an eyebrow at her but, reluctantly, carried the kid over to the crib so they could sleep separately.
“Fine. But I’m going to sleep before him so I don’t stress out all night.”
She snickered. “Fine. Fine.”
He climbed into bed, set a pillow between them, and promptly dozed off before he could get woken up by Damian whimpering through the night.
… Tim woke up a few hours later -- his body wasn’t quite used to sleeping through nights just yet -- to find that Marinette had brought the kid into bed with them again.
He smiled a little and moved the pillow out from between them. Even if Damian was currently too trapped in Marinette’s arms to even reach it, it was best to make sure it couldn’t happen.
Damian whimpered a little in his sleep again and Tim tipped his head to the side. He reached over and gently combed his fingers through the fuzzy little tufts of hair that the kid had so far. Damian relaxed.
Tim sighed and shifted in the bed until he was closer to Damian, then maneuvered through Marinette’s mess of limbs to press a tiny kiss to the top of his head. The baby smiled in his sleep and, though the kid couldn’t see it, he returned the smile. He rested an arm around the kid as well in hopes that it would keep the kid feeling safe before allowing himself to drift off.
~~~~~
Next
@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff
#into the unknown#maribat#tim drake#marinette dupain cheng#ladybug#red robin#timari#timmari#shutterbug#timinette
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survival of the fittest. spencer reid.
5.3k words.
masterlist
“ If they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them. ”
three hours earlier
Y/N was ready to go home - more than ready. They'd gotten back from a hard hitting case in Boston, touching down by early afternoon meant they were expected back at the HQ, which henceforth meant piles of paperwork were in their future. Y/N knew her complaining would only go reprimanded by Hotch, so she kept to herself in her cubicle, shoved into the corner of the bullpen, and desperate to get the documents out of the way.
Over the scribbling of her pen, she heard the mutterings of Morgan and Reid's conversation beside the latter's desk not too far away from her own. She sighed in defeat, because she knew she wouldn't be able to resist joining them, especially when the opportunity arose to take the mickey at Spencer.
When it did inevitably arise, she pushed herself away from her desk and allowed the wheels on her chair to escort her over to the men. At the sound of jagged rolling, Morgan stepped aside to make space for her to insert herself, a snide smug painted on his face.
"Did I just hear the word 'Spencer' and 'girl' in the same sentence?" She asked, leaning on the armrest to shove her shit-eating grin into Spencer's face; he only rolled his eyes and gave an insincere 'ha ha'.
"Your ears did not deceive you, baby girl," Morgan said, receiving a smack on the arm from Spencer. The warning stare he gave him almost made Y/N stop pestering him. Only almost.
"Oh my! Spill the beans, who is she?" Y/N gushed, steering her chair even closer to the Doctor while Morgan watched on amusedly.
"There isn't a she," he grumbled, head bowed to his paperwork in the hopes that if he ignored the Agents they'd just go away.
"...a he?"
"No!" Spencer exclaimed, snapping his head upwards.
"Hey! It's no skin off my nose, Spence."
He groaned, then turned back to his work and allowed for Morgan and Y/N to exchange a glance as they both tried to hold back snickers at their friend's flustered existence.
She stayed huddled around with them for a few more minutes, but as soon as she saw the clock hit 5, she jumped from her chair and kicked it back to her desk. Announcing that she was off, she began to gather and pack her things. While she did so, she heard Spencer make the same announcement.
"You're off earlier than usual," she called back, "let me guess... Doctor Who marathon?"
Spencer's smile gave him away; Y/N chuckled and draped her coat over her shoulders, standing by his desk while he adjusted his satchel.
"Busy man," she commented, then proceeded to listen to whatever sci-fi related ramble Spencer was emitting, interjecting with exclamations of intrigue or surprise whenever she deemed suitable (they were all timed guesses, but she didn't waver once).
"...Christopher Eccleston is actually the second favourite, despite the fact that a lot of people skip his season, but he has a 52% popularity–"
"Wait, why do people skip his season?"
"Oh, because he preceded David Tennant. He's the favourite, with a 69% popularity."
"Ha, 69," Y/N muttered under her breath with a crude smirk. Spencer only gave a restrained smile and raised his eyebrows. The two fell into a silence, except from a 'thank you' Y/N said softly when Spencer opened the door for her.
The elevator button illuminated under her touch, and they stood in front of the steel doors, awaiting their opening. Y/N tapped her foot senselessly, and Spencer rolled on the balls of his heels.
In amidst the silence, Y/N looked up to Spencer and they exchanged a warm smile. The beep of the elevator distracted them, and after stepping aside to let people out, they ambled in and finally relaxed when the doors closed on them again.
"Today was relentless," Y/N sighed, checking her watch.
"Have any plans?" Spencer asked, out of courtesy.
"Well, I have to head to the repair store to pick up my phone, but after that there's leftover Chinese food in the fridge with my name written all over it," she chuckled.
"What happened? To your phone?"
"Morgan happened," was all she said. Spencer joined in on her judgement even though he didn't know the story, he did know that 'Derek Morgan' was simply a reason in itself that didn't warrant an explanation. Then, they lulled in the return of silence.
It wasn't until the elevator jerked and came to a sudden stop that the two spoke again.
"That's not right," Spencer muttered, and he immediately began to jab at the ground floor button before Y/N smacked his hands away, because she was already deep in a panic, so it was even worse when the next astounding jerk hit. She screamed when they were thrown off balance, and hoped she hadn't got a concussion from where she collided with the back wall upon the motion.
"What the hell?" She panted. They came to a still, but it made her even more nervous because she knew they hadn't been in there long enough to reach their floor. That, and the fact that they had just ripped through the air at about a hundred miles per hour.
Spencer's eyes furrowed, and he licked his lips in the way he did when he was focused on something. Judging by the way he assessed the doors, Y/N thought he was about to pull some thwarted stunt, or more likely reel off some facts about steel.
"I think something's wrong," he mumbled.
"No shit, Sherlock,"
"Ah, elementary my dear Watson," Spencer replied so quickly that Y/N was almost inclined to believe it made any sense.
"Did you know that Sherlock Holmes never actually said that? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle never wrote those words, they were only adapted into the movies years later-"
"Oh my god, Spencer, are we stuck in this elevator?" Y/N shrieked, her knuckles whitening under her tight clutch of the hand rails on the wall: half from fear and the other from frustration.
"Oh, uh, yeah, I think so."
Upon Spencer's bluntness, she stepped forward, desperate for any attempt of an escape plan, she began pressing the ground floor button repeatedly; when that didn't work, she resorted to aimlessly smashing all the buttons on offer.
"That's– that's really not gonna do anything," Spencer said in the background.
"Do you have a better idea?" She snapped, turning to him with a glare before resuming her actions.
"Try the - try that one!" He pointed to the red button with an alarm bell engraved on it, and Y/N felt stupid under his stare for not noticing it before. She pressed it, and the ringing noise that emitted from it seemed to do nothing but that: ring. She was certain someone was supposed to come to their aid through a speaker, so she pushed it continuously, but derived nothing further. At least she gained some comfort in the panic of Spencer's voice that told her he was shitting himself as much as she was.
"It's not doing anything!" She cried, and when he leaned over her and pressed it too, she bit her tongue and raised her eyebrows to tell him 'see?', infuriated at the fact that he thought she could be somehow pushing a button wrong. But, then again, she'd have been even more angry if he'd done it and it had worked.
When it didn't, she alternated to the next best thing.
"Help!" She yelled, slamming her palms against the doors. She didn't know what floor they'd been wedged at (or even if they were just floating in some space between levels), but someone had to hear them; they were bound to...right?
Spencer seemed to think so at least, because he was joining her in pounding his fists on the steel. Sooner rather than later, the harsh echo made Y/N's ears ring, so she stopped and took a step back.
"Well, this is great," she sighed, slumping in a lean on the wall as she rubbed her temples.
"I'm gonna miss Doctor Who," Spencer whined, pouting.
Y/N just rolled her eyes at him and told him to call somebody. She was sure she'd seen JJ just before they left, still huddled in her office; hopefully she'd be able to call maintenance and they could be released from this death trap of a machine.
"I can't, my phone died. Use yours."
"What?"
"My phone's flat, can you use yours?"
Y/N just stared at him. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt because the adrenaline rush of panic can make memories a bit hazy, but her skin was flustering under the rage she was feeling, her forehead was already beginning to perspire and the walls were so small and entrapping and - is it hot in here or just her?
"My phones at the store," she reminded him through gritted teeth, and watched his composure fall in both comprehension and defeat.
"Great," he remarked.
"Oh, like it's my fault?"
"Well, it's not mine."
"And it's not mine either so don't talk to me like that!"
It was only a short exchange, but it made Y/N's blood boil; if they were to somehow get out of here alive, she was certain it would only be one of them.
Spencer gulped, and Y/N was sure that had he the opportunity to he would be storming away right about now, but unfortunately for the both of them that wouldn't be happening anytime soon. The wonderful reality of this hitting Y/N, she kicked off her shoes and planted her bum down on the floor.
Spencer looked at her curiously while she did this, then quirked his lip and proceeded to do the same. He used his satchel as a pillow to support his head, and sighed loudly (it seemed deliberate just how exaggerative it was).
"No one is ever gonna find us here," Y/N said.
"We're not dying–"
"You don't know that. We could be suffocating as we speak-"
"Suffocation is impossible in elevators: the cars are designed not to be airtight and there's vents that allow air to move in and out," he pointed up at the grated opening above Y/N's head. At being proved wrong by Spencer and his big, unfathomable brain, she crossed her arms much like a stroppy toddler and even pouted her lip.
"We could still die," she mumbled.
"The statistics of that are still very unlikely; in fact, the people that die the most in elevators are elevator technicians themselves. An average of 26 people die in elevators every year in America–"
"And you're ready to be one of those 26?"
"We're not going to be. We won't suffocate, and it hasn't fallen."
"Yet," she said. "Plus, theres other ways to die. Like, I don't know, murder perhaps?" She said with a potent glare in his direction. He gave her a blank stare partnered with a sarcastic smile, one that only made Y/N more devoted to her other-ways-to-die initiative.
"We just have to wait a while... Did you know the longest duration of time someone was stuck in an elevator was 41 hours? Nicholas White. And all he had to eat was a packet of Rolaids."
More than accustomed to tuning out Spencer's rambles, Y/N barely heard what he was talking about, in a dazed trance where she was focused intently on where the paint didn't match the wall, she was so invested she almost missed what he said.
"Wait... oh my god. Do you have food?" She asked, sitting up from her subsided posture.
Spencer's face softened in dread, which didn't bring any aid nor optimism to their situation.
She watched him sit forward, shoving hands into the pockets of his blazer, coat, trousers and pulling out nothing but a few crumpled pieces of paper. Y/N matched him with an empty gum wrapper and a Walmart receipt displaying a concerning amount of pregnancy tests she had purchased last month.
"Do I even wanna know?" Spencer asked, chucking it back to the ground with a grimace as if it was riddled with germs (it probably was but, still).
"All you need to know is that I'm not pregnant," Y/N scoffed, almost amicably, but her eyebrows creased and she was back to a fuck everything this sucks expression in less than a second.
"Well we can't survive on this."
"You really haven't brought any food?" Spencer pestered.
"No, I had Chinese leftovers on the cards for tonight. And I don't see you offering anything up; what's your excuse?"
Spencer only groaned, again. He kicked his feet out and let his head fall onto the wall back in the same place. He ran a hand through his hair, and the scarce gel he had used to keep it in place disassembled around his face in random strays of curls. The sight of him relaxing like he was settling in for the night didn't appease Y/N one bit.
While Spencer closed his eyes, Y/N got to her feet and decided slamming on the door again was a better pastime. Spencer, however, did not agree.
At the banging, Spencer's eyes shot open and his body shook in alarm. His eyes darted around the space frantically until they landed on Y/N's figure aligned with the doors on which she was unleashing hell. If yelling could open an elevator, they'd have been out in a jiffy.
"I think we've established that doesn't help," Spencer said.
"Then you help!" She shouted, continuing the thrashing of metal.
"How?"
"I don't know!" Her shriek echoed, and she yet again gave up on the violence. "Use that big brain of yours and find us a way out of here."
"The 7 steps to surviving being stuck on an elevator are fundamental; we've already done them. They include pressing the open button, the alarm and call button. We still have our light source, otherwise finding one would have been number two. We've tried yelled for help. The only one we haven't done is stayed calm," he said with a heavy emphasis in her direction. Currently, she was the epitome of panic.
Y/N furrowed a brow at him, "That's six. What's number seven?"
She watched Spencer inhale deeply before he told her, "wait it out."
Y/N felt her heart sink. The possibility of her going insane while being confined within this space was only increasing as the minutes passed by. And with that, she felt like oxygen was depleting alongside it. She took a big breath to remind her that there was still air to breathe, and Spencer caught sight of it.
"Are... are you claustrophobic?"
"No!"
His eyes widened at her outburst, and he even raised his hands in defence should the situation present itself, which was looking pretty inevitable.
"I'm not, I just... get a little... panicked, that's all."
"You don't say," he murmured, and —with a grunt— got to his feet again. He treaded towards the damned doors. Y/N thought he was going to bang on them again, and she took front-row seat on the floor to watch the imprudent, futile attempt. Instead, Spencer's long arachnid-like fingers dug into the crevice of the doors and he tried to pry them open. This was an even vainer approach; his strained groans showed such.
"It's no use. We're gonna be here for a while. I can offer you a juice carton," Y/N spoke, making Spencer turn attentively at the word 'juice'. He looked down to where she was rummaging through her bag and depositing a few random objects while she did so. In a very Mary Poppins like fashion, the entities incessantly kept coming and coming, gathering in remarkable piles on the floor. There seemed to be more things than space available, but then they were trapped in an elevator and space was one of the many luxuries the agents realised they had taken for granted. Despite his astonishment at the growing belongings, there seemed to be a concerning lack of food present.
She was, however, holding out an apple juice carton, and Spencer figured that you get what you're given. So while her attention focused to the remnants of whatever was in her bag, Spencer punctured the carton with the straw, and began sucking. He made a squeal of surprise and relief when he saw her pull out a feebly wrapped, half eaten bag of crackers.
"Oh, I forgot about these," she announced, with the first smile Spencer had seen from her since the elevator had broken down.
He leaned down to grab the bag, dusting off the sprayed crumbs and then took a seat to Y/N's left. He left space between them for chivalrous purposes and also to allow space for the bag of crackers to sit.
They made attempts to ration the snack, but it soon developed into an every man for himself situation when Y/N noticed Spencer had started to take two at once.
She wasn't even hungry anymore, but the hunger for beating Spencer at something prevailed and disregarded any logical thought that they ought to save food, so she dove in again for another cracker. Unluckily, she did so at the same time as Spencer, so it made for an awkward encounter when their hands collided but neither was willing to give up their slot in the bag.
Eventually (because they didn't want the other to notice their blush), they gave up when time ran too long and reached a compromise with halving the cracker. Y/N gave Spencer the bigger half of her failed equal snap, but neither of them addressed it.
Neither of them addressed anything actually, for the next... god knows how long they were cooped up in there. They sat in a pleasant silence, free from any awkward glances or trepidations: it was both from the fact that they were in their own heads, and a serendipitous comfort in one another.
"I'm sorry you're going to miss your Doctor Who... thing," was what broke the silence.
"Oh, it's okay. I can just watch it on repeat tomorrow."
"Okay," Y/N laughed softly, and they floated into another quiet.
"I'm sorry you're stuck in an elevator."
"Ha! Me too."
"When we get out of here maybe we can go for Chinese food," Spencer suggested, craning his neck to look at her with a discreet smile.
"Sure," she agreed. "By the time we get out my food at home might have rotten anyway."
And then time after that just... passed. In Spencer's satchel he had an uncanny assortment of reading material to thrive on, and amid her odd collection of pretty much everything she had ever owned, Y/N found an old MP3 player and some earphones (only the left ear worked, but it was as good entertainment as she was going to get).
There comes a point, though, when one person can only listen to so much music from their teen years; Y/N's taste back then was... questionable, to say the least. And her earphone seemed to agree with her, because it gave out just when the unmistakable sound of an NSYNC song began.
"Ugh, just when it was getting good!" She complained, tugging the bud from her ear and throwing it onto the miscellaneous pile.
Spencer's head quirked to Y/N, but his eyes only followed after he had finished a sentence on his page. When he did, he saw her curiously leaning over his shoulder and squinting at the words.
"You can borrow it if you want," he said. "This is my third time reading it and I have others."
He gestured to his pile, which had evolved into a makeshift bookcase in the corner of the elevator. A few pages were torn, and the spines were so worn down that she could barely make out what the titles were. Not from a lack of TLC, but rather copious amounts of it; having been read over and over again.
"No, it's okay. You continue, I'll just... meditate, or something."
"It's a good book," Spencer said, and he sounded like he was trying to persuade her, so she gave in and nodded. Readjusting her posture, she focused again on where the paint didn't meet the wall as she listened to the one thing she thought she wouldn't ever be able to stand: Spencer Reid's voice.
———
Which, to her and Reid's surprise, she found quite calming. Her hidden envy and not so hidden annoyance with his ability to reel off facts and wisdom like he was only recalling what he had for dinner hindered any fondness Y/N could associate with his voice. Until now, that is.
He was reading Strangers on a Train, supposedly his third favourite book, and they were reaching "the best bit" according to Spencer, but then every bit within the past forty five minutes since he'd started reading had been "the best bit", so Y/N wasn't sure.
But she's pretty calm, as calm as she can be stuck in an elevator, so she's actually thankful she has Spencer of all people beside her. She knew that if Morgan was in his place they'd have attempted murder at least a couple times by now; not to say that Y/N hadn't considered stabbing Spencer at all, but there's only so much damage a blunt pencil at the bottom of her bag could do.
So, she's calm. She's barely following the story because she only joined in halfway through, but she's grasped the basis of it because Spencer reads so eloquently and so well that he's practically painted the vividness of the narrative for her, even though he vouches it's down to Patricia Highsmith's words, which is true, but Spencer has a role in it too.
One thing Spencer recites makes Y/N wonder why she's never had him read to her before.
"People, feelings, everything! Double! Two people in each person. There's also a person exactly the opposite of you, like the unseen part of you, somewhere in the world, and he waits in ambush."
The story portrays an uncanny resemblance to the plots of the abundant crime scenes they analyse daily (Y/N wonders how Spencer comes home from work only to read about the same gory instances): the same mannerisms, behaviours and intricate understanding of criminal attitudes. It's accuracy is so astounding that Y/N asks if the author was ever a profiler of sorts.
Although it's selfish, because Y/N is not the real victim, she wished there was some way Highsmith's words could spring into real life and provide tainted rose coloured spectacles to which she could observe reality through. In some sick way, Y/N needed to see beauty in things like murder. She sometimes forgot that what they were doing had a purpose, and they tended to be the good guys. But there was no writing beautiful enough for Spencer to read and glorify the crimes with.
But even Y/N thinks Spencer's reading could help her see life through more of the silver lining rather than shrouded by the dark cloud that accompanied it.
The moment of rare serenity within Spencer's words is suspended, however, when he suddenly stops with no obvious justification. Y/N wonders if she's missed something profound within the story again so she goes to read over them on the page this time (because she's been rather entranced in Spencer's voice rather than the actual words), except when she looks up she sees a look of horror depicted on Spencer's face: one that doesn't register with her primarily because what's happening in the story is rather quite mundane compared to the dismay on his face. It's so poignant that she thinks something must be fatally wrong.
"What is it?" She asks, sitting up (and away because she thinks he may be about to vomit. But no, the real reason is even more horrific).
"I need to pee."
Y/N gasps; she hadn't even conjectured this predicament. It was a basic human necessity, how had she not anticipated this would happen? At first she thought, hey it's not that bad, better him than me— he can stand. Until she realises that there isn't really anywhere to stand.
"Oh no," she whispers, and he looks at her dauntingly. "You shouldn't have drank that apple juice."
"What was I supposed to do, bathe in it?" He scorns, and the two connect in an unwavering exchange eye contact with one another. Y/N dreads looking away in fear of what he'll do when she has her back turned.
So, like I said, Y/N was pretty calm, and I'd say Spencer was too; reading was a delight, and he found Y/N almost as endearing (almost). Life was bearable until Spencer needed to pee.
And it is here that they throw all peace out the window (if there was one) and give up on step number seven, and instead say hello to their old friend step number five: frantic yelling.
The energy pent up from lazing around reading and being read to is released fairly effectively. Y/N thinks she's never screamed so loud in her life, and Spencer knows he hasn't: entrapment and a full bladder can take one hell of a toll on a man.
And when the profusion of footsteps and the clanging of doors sounds, it is glorious. It is what they imagine heaven to sound like and more. Y/N collapses to the ground in relief, and Spencer throws his hands up in a prayer of thanks (even though he doesn't necessarily believe, but he is just so high on adrenaline and the discomfort of needing a wee that he'd just about believe anything now if it meant he could get to a bathroom).
"You guys okay in there?" A voice calls in from above them (Spencer genuinely thinks it's God) and Y/N has never been more happy to hear Derek Morgan.
"We're good! We're good! Oh my god, get us out of here please!"
"Right on it, baby. Bet y'all thought you were gonna die in there, huh?"
"Worse," Y/N called, "I thought I was gonna have to see Spencer's dick!"
Morgan laughed (music to their ears: any voice that wasn't each other's fit that criteria in that moment), and then told her he didn't want to know. Spencer and Y/N heard him holler behind him, and even more footsteps approached. Y/N couldn't see much from the slither between the doors that had just been pried open, since they had fallen a considerable distance from their floor. What she could see was only half of Morgan's face while he knelt on the ground.
"What happened?" Spencer asked, trying to gain some understanding for the reason behind missing his Doctor Who marathon.
"Power cut. The whole city's in blackout."
"You're kidding," Y/N replied, then turned. "A whole lotta people just risked that 1 in 26."
"Us included," Spencer said.
They recognised the voices of the maintenance team, and even a few uniforms of firefighters that worked on opening the doors with as much force as they could muster. Y/N looked again to the wall and paint mismatch, finding it too unsettling to look at their rescue attempt (that had way too much potential to go wrong) and even more unsettling to look at Spencer who was practically cradling his crotch.
"Ladies first!" A fireman called, and his hand reached into the space they had managed to (barely) increase, hoping that it wouldn't prove to be too difficult. From what Morgan told them, Spencer wouldn't have any trouble getting through it if they had halved the space ("the kid's a sherbet stick, I'm telling you").
"No, we've got a man here who's about to explode," Y/N joked, forgetting that the word 'explode' is a term one should use lightly within the headquarters of the FBI. She was blissfully reminded of this when the few surrounding agents brandished their guns. They almost didn't let them out until Spencer yelled that if he didn't get to a bathroom that instant he would give them a real reason to get their guns out.
So he was lifted out first, falling into Morgan's arms the chance he got to. He, somehow, managed to wait until he saw Y/N definitely leave the elevator before racing off down the hallway. Maintenance didn't even bother telling him that the doors have been locked because officially work finished three hours ago; they figured he had enough vigour in him to knock a wall down, never mind a door.
"Are you alright?" Morgan asked Y/N, lifting her up onto her own to feet. She's given a shock blanket, which is a pretty cool souvenir.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"Miraculously. I don't know how you survived in there with him; I'd go insane."
"Eh," she chuckled, "he's not too bad."
———
After gathering their belongings, Y/N and Spencer make their way to leave work, again.
Morgan's nonchalant explanation of the blackout is in no way accurate to the genuine portrayal of, what Y/N can only describe as, a thriller movie come to life. She's looking out the wide scale windows in the bullpen room and can only see her reflection. It's creepy. Skittishly, she jumps when Spencer's image shows up behind her own.
"Jesus, haven't I had enough near death experiences tonight?" She asks, holding a hand over her heart that she's sure just kickstarted (for various reasons).
"Sorry," he laughs. Placing his hands in his pockets, Y/N can sense he's more relaxed now that he's peed and no longer trapped within the restrictions of one metre.
They smile, then look out again to the darkened abyss before them. Y/N has never seen the city so quiet, yet she knows it's anything but. Once she steps outside it's bound to be hectic central.
"You normally get the subway, what are you gonna do?"
"Oh, I guess I'll just walk," Spencer shrugs.
"Absolutely not. I'll drive you home."
"Oh, no, you don't have to do that—"
"Spence, I just spent the last three hours in a confined space with you, I'm sure I can do twenty minutes more," she said. "Get your stuff ready, we can head off now."
She swung her bag over her shoulder and turned to walk out the bullpen, her heels reverberating throughout the room. Spencer watched her stride out by her reflection in the window, as to not be caught staring.
"If my car breaks down I'm gonna commit murder!"
Spencer laughed loudly, which made Y/N smile as she passed the kitchenette. When he continued to chuckle to himself he realised he wouldn't mind another three more hours stuck with her— at least he'd have an excuse if the car broke down. Maybe if he set off now he could get there in time to beat Y/N to her car and slash the tyres. He kindly reminded himself that that's illegal while he retrieved his satchel off the back of his chair and strutted out the office.
He wasn't too far behind Y/N when he suggested getting a Chinese on the way back.
"Is that a date?"
"If eating a Chinese takeaway in your car is your idea of a date," he sang.
"It very much is," Y/N grinned irrefutably.
He held the door open for her, she said thank you, and their giddy (dare I say lovesick) smiles dropped when they faced the elevator.
They've taken the stairs every day since.
fin.
#criminal minds#dr reid#dr spencer reid#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid gifset#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid imagines#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x reader#Spencer reid x reader#Spencer reid fanfiction#Spencer reid oneshot#criminal minds oneshot
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i watched red vs blue: zero with my dear friends today and i was asked to “post” my “thoughts” on the subject. Please do not click this readmore unless, for some reason, you want to read three thousand words on the subject of red vs blue: zero critical analysis. i highly doubt that’s the reason anyone is following me, but hey.
anyway. here you have it.
Here are my opinions on RVB0 as someone who has quite literally no nostalgia for any older RVB content. I’ve seen seasons 1-13 once and bits and pieces of it more than once here and there, but I only saw it for the first time within the past couple of months. I’ve literally never seen any other RT/AH content. I can name a few people who worked on OG Red vs. Blue but other than Mounty Oum I have NO idea who is responsible for what, really, or what anything else they’ve ever worked on is, or whether or not they’re awful people. I know even less about the people making RVB0 - All I know is that the main writer is named Torrian but I honestly don’t even know if that’s a first name, a last name, or a moniker. All this to say; nothing about my criticism is rooted in any perceived slight against the franchise or branding by the new staff members, because I don’t know or care about any of it. In fact, I’m going to try and avoid any direct comparison between RVB0 and earlier seasons of RVB as a means of critique until the very end, where I’ll look at that relationship specifically.
So here is my opinion of RVB0 as it stands right now:
1. The Writing
Everything about RVB0 feels as if it was written by a first-time writer who hasn’t learned to kill his darlings. The narrative is both simultaneously far too full, leaving very little breathing room for character interaction, and oddly sparse, with a story that lacks any meaningful takeaway, interesting ideas, or genuine emotional connection. It also feels like it’s for a very much younger audience - I don’t mean this as a negative at all. I love tv for kids. I watch more TV for kids than I do for adults, mostly, but I think it’s important to address this because a lot of the time ‘this is for kids’ is used to act like you’re not allowed to critique a narrative thoroughly. It definitely changes the way you critique it, but the critique can still be in good faith. I watched the entirety of RVB0 only after it was finished, in one sitting, and I was giving it my full attention, essentially like it was a movie. I’m going to assume it was much better to watch in chunks, because as it stood, there was literally no time built into the narrative to process the events that had just transpired, or try and predict what events might be coming in the future. When there’s no time to think about the narrative as you’re watching it, the narrative ends up as being something that happens to the audience, not something they engage with. It’s like the difference between taking notes during a lecture or just sitting and listening. If you’re making no attempt to actively process what’s happening, it doesn’t stick in your mind well. I found myself struggling to recall the events and explanations that had immediately transpired because as soon as one thing had happened, another thing was already happening, and it was like a mental juggling act to try and figure out which information was important enough to dwell on in the time we were given to dwell on it.
Which brings me to another point - pacing. Every event in the show, whether a character moment, a plot moment, or a fight scene, felt like it was supposed to land with almost the exact same amount of emotional weight. It all felt like The Most Important Thing that had Yet Happened. And I understand that this is done as an attempt to squeeze as much as possible out of a rather short runtime, but it fundamentally fails. When everything is the most important thing happening, it all fades into static. That’s what most of 0’s narrative was to me: static. It’s only been a few hours since I watched it but I had to go step by step and type out all of the story beats I could remember and run it by my friends who are much more enthusiastic RVB fans than I am to make sure I hadn’t missed or forgotten anything. I hadn’t, apparently, but the fact that my takeaway from the show was pretty accurate and also disappointingly lackluster says a lot. Strangely enough, the most interesting thing the show alluded to - a holo echo, or whatever the term they used was - was one of the things least extrapolated upon in the show’s incredibly bulky exposition. Benefit of the doubt says that’s something they’ll explore in future seasons (are they getting more? Is that planned? I just realized I don’t actually know.)
And bulky it was! I have quite honestly never seen such flagrant disregard for the rule of “show, don’t tell.” There was not a single ounce of subtlety or implication involved in the storytelling of RVB0. Something was either told to you explicitly, or almost entirely absent from the narrative. Essentially zilch in between. We are told the dynamic the characters have with each other, and their personality pros and cons are listed for us conveniently by Carolina. The plot develops in exposition dumps. This is partially due to the series’ short runtime, but is also very much a result of how that runtime was then used by the writers. They sacrificed a massive chunk of their show for the sake of cramming in a ton of fight scenes, and if they wanted to keep all of those fight scenes, it would have been necessary to pare down their story and characters proportionally in comparison, but they didn’t do that either. They wanted to have it both ways and there simply wasn’t enough time for it.
The story itself is… uninteresting. It plays out more like the flimsy premise of a video game quest rather than a piece of media to be meaningfully engaged with. RVB0 is I think something I would be pitched by a guy who thinks the MCU and BNHA are the best storytelling to come out of the past decade. It is nothing but tropes. And I hate having to use this as an insult! I love tropes. The worst thing about RVB0 is that nothing it does is wholly unforgivable in its own right. Hunter x Hunter, a phenomenal shonen, is notoriously filled with pages upon pages of detailed exposition and explanations of things, and I absolutely love it. Leverage, my favorite TV show of all time, is literally nothing but a five man band who has to learn to work as a team while seemingly systematically hitting a checklist of every relevant trope in the book. Pacific Rim is an incredibly straightforward good guys vs giant monsters blockbuster to show off some cool fight scenes such as a big robot cutting an alien in half with a giant sword, and it’s some of the most fun I ever have watching a movie. Something being derivative, clunky, poorly executed in some specific areas, narratively weak, or any single one of these flaws, is perfectly fine assuming it’s done with the intention and care that’s necessary to make the good parts shine more. I’ll forgive literally any crime a piece of media commits as long as it’s interesting and/or enjoyable to consume. RVB0 is not that. I’m not sure what the main point of RVB0 was supposed to be, because it seemingly succeeds at nothing. It has absolutely nothing new or innovative to justify its lack of concern for traditional storytelling conventions. Based solely on the amount of screentime things were given, I’d be inclined to say the narrative existed mostly to give flimsy pretense for the fight scenes, but that’s an entire other can of worms.
2. The Visuals + Fights
I have no qualms with things that are all style and no substance. Sometimes you just want to see pretty colors moving on the screen for a while or watch some cool bad guys and monsters or whatever get punched. RVB0 was not this either. The show fundamentally lacked a coherent aesthetic vision. Much of the show had a rather generic sci-fi feel to it with the biggest standouts to this being the very noir looking cityscape, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like something from a batman game, or the temple, which my friends and I all immediately joked looked like a world of warcraft raid. They were obviously attempting to get variety in their environment design, which I appreciate, but they did this without having a coherent enough visual language to feel like it was all part of the same world. In general, there was also just a lack of visual clarity or strong shots. The value range in any given scene was poor, the compositions and framing were functional at best, and the character animation was unpleasantly exaggerated. It just doesn’t really look that good beyond fancy rendering techniques.
The fight scenes are their entire own beast. Since ‘FIGHT SCENE’ is the largest single category of scenes in the show, they definitely feel worth looking at with a genuine critical eye. Or, at least, I’d like to, but honestly half the time I found myself almost unable to look at them. The camera is rarely still long enough to really enjoy what you’re watching - tracking the motion of the character AND the camera at such constant breakneck high speeds left little time to appreciate any nuances that might have been present in the choreography or character animation. I tried, believe me, I really did, but the fight scenes leave one with the same sort of dizzy convoluted spectacle as a Michael Bay transformers movie. They also really lacked the impact fight scenes are supposed to have.
It’s hard to have a good, memorable fight scene without it doing one of three things: 1. Showing off innovative or creative fighting styles and choreography 2. Making use of the fight’s setting or environment in an engaging and visually interesting way or 3. Further exploring a character’s personality or actions by the way they fight. It’s also hard to do one of these things on its own without at least touching a bit on the other two. For the most part, I find RVB0’s fight scenes fail to do this. Other than rather surface level insubstantial factors, there was little to visually distinguish any of RVB0’s fight scenes from each other. Not only did I find a lot of them difficult to watch and unappealing, I found them all difficult to watch and unappealing in an almost identical way. They felt incredibly interchangeable and very generic. If you could take a fight scene and change the location it was set and also change which characters were participating and have very little change, it’s probably not a good fight scene.
I think “generic” is really just the defining word of RVB0 and I think that’s also why it falls short in the humor department as well.
3. The Comedy
Funny shit is hard to write and humor is also incredibly subjective but I definitely got almost no laughs out of RVB0. I think a total of three. By far the best joke was Carolina having a cast on top of her armor, which, I must stress, is an incredibly funny gag and I love it. But overall I think the humor fell short because it felt like it was tacked on more than a natural and intentional part of this world and these characters. A lot of the jokes felt like they were just thrown in wherever they’d fit, without any build up to punchlines and with little regard for what sort of joke each character would make. Like, there was some, obviously Raymond’s sense of humor had the most character to it, but the character-oriented humor still felt very weak. When focusing on character-driven humor, there’s a LOT you can establish about characters based on what sort of jokes they choose to make, who they’re picking as the punchlines of these jokes, and who their in-universe audience for the jokes is. In RVB0, the jokes all felt very immersion-breaking and self aware, directed wholly towards the audience rather than occurring as a natural result of interplay between the characters. This is partially due to how lackluster the character writing was overall, and the previously stated tight timing, but also definitely due to a lack of a real understanding about what makes a joke land.
A rule of thumb I personally hold for comedy is that, when push comes to shove, more specific is always going to be more funny. The example I gave when trying to explain this was this:
saying two characters had awkward sex in a movie theater: funny
saying two characters had an awkward handjob in a cinemark: even funnier
saying two characters spent 54 minutes of 11:14's 1:26 runtime trying out some uncomfortably-angled hand stuff in the back of a dilapidated cinemark that lost funding halfway through retrofitting into a dinner theater: the funniest
The more specific a joke is, the more it relies on an in-depth understanding of the characters and world you’re dealing with and the more ‘realistic’ it feels within the context of your media. Especially with this kind of humor. When you’re joking with your friends, you don’t go for stock-humor that could be pulled out of a joke book, you go for the specific. You aim for the weak spots. If a set of jokes could be blindly transplanted into another world, onto another cast of characters, then it’s far too generic to be truly funny or memorable. I don’t think there’s a single joke in RVB0 where the humor of it hinged upon the characters or the setting.
Then there’s the issue of situational comedy and physical comedy. This is really where the humor being ‘tacked on’ shows the most. Once again, part of what makes actually solid comedy land properly is it feeling like a natural result of the world you have established. Real life is absurd and comical situations can be found even in the midst of some pretty grim context, and that’s why black comedy is successful, and why comedy shows are allowed to dip into heavier subject matter from time to time, or why dramas often search for levity in humor. It’s a natural part of being human to find humor in almost any situation. The key thing, though, once again, is finding it in the situation. Many of RVB0’s attempts at humor, once again, feel like they would be the exact same jokes when stripped from their context, and that’s almost never good. A pretty fundamental concept in both storytelling in general but particularly comedy writing is ‘setup and payoff’. No joke in RVB0 is a reward for a seemingly innocuous event in an earlier scene or for an overlooked piece of environmental design. The jokes pop in when there’s time for them in between all the exposition and fighting, and are gone as soon as they’re done. There’s no long term, underlying comedic throughline to give any sense of coherence or intent to the sense of humor the show is trying to establish. Every joke is an isolated one-off quip or one-liner, and it fails to engage the audience in a meaningful way.
All together, each individual component of RVB0 feels like it was conjured up independently, without any concern to how it interacted with the larger product they were creating. And I think this is really where it all falls apart. RVB0 feels criminally generic in a way reminiscent of mass-market media which at least has the luxury of attributing these flaws, this complete and total watering down of anything unique, to heavy oversight and large teams with competing visions. But I don’t think that’s the case for RVB0. I don’t know much about what the pipeline is like for this show, but I feel like the fundamental problem it suffers from is a lack of heart.
In comparison to Red vs. Blue
Let's face it. This is a terrible successor to Red vs. Blue. I wouldn’t care if NONE of the old characters were in it - that’s not my problem. I haven’t seen past season 13 because from what I heard the show already jumped the shark a bit and then some. That’s not what makes it a poor follow up. What makes it a bad successor is that it fundamentally lacks any of the aspects of the OG RVB that made it unique or appealing at all. I find myself wondering what Torrian is trying to say with RVB0 and quite literally the only answer I find myself falling back onto is that he isn’t trying to say anything at all. Regardless of what you feel about the original RVB, it undeniably had things to say. The opening “why are we here” speech does an excellent job at establishing that this is a show intended to poke fun at the misery of bureaucracy and subservience to nonsensical systems, not just in the context of military life, but in a very broad-strokes way almost any middle-class worker can relate to. At the end of the day, fiction is at its best when it resonates with some aspect of its audience’s life. I know instantly which parts of the original Red vs Blue I’m supposed to relate to. I can’t say anything even close to that about 0.
RVB is an absurdist parody that heavily satirizes aspects of the military and life as a low-on-the-food-chain worker in general that almost it’s entire target audience will be familiar with. The most significant draw of the show to me was how the dialogue felt like listening to my friends bicker with each other in our group chats. It required no effort for me to connect with and although the narrative never outright looked to the camera and explained ‘we are critiquing the military’s stupid red tape and self-fullfilling eternal conflict’ they didn’t need to, because the writing trusted itself and its audience enough to believe this could be conveyed. It is, in a way, the complete antithesis to the badass superhero macho military man protagonist that we all know so well. RVB was saying something, and it was saying it in a rather novel format.
Nothing about RVB0 is novel. Nothing about RVB0 says anything. Nothing about it compels me to relate to any of these characters or their situations. RVB0 doesn’t feel like absurdism, or satire. RVB0 feels like it is, completely uncritically, the exact media that RVB itself was riffing off of. Both RVB0 and RVB when you watch them give you the feeling that what you’re seeing here is kids on a playground larping with toy soldiers. It’s all ridiculous and over the top cliche stupid garbage where each side is trying to one-up the other. The critical difference is, in RVB, we’re supposed to look at this and laugh at how ridiculous this is. In RVB0 we’re supposed to unironically think this is all pretty badass.
The PFL arc of the original RVB existed to show us that setting up an elite team of supersoldiers with special powers was something done in bad faith, with poor outcomes, that left everyone involved either cruel, damaged, or dead. It was a bad thing. And what we’re seeing in RVB0 is the same premise, except, this time it’s good. We’re supposed to root for this format. RVB0 feels much more like a demo reel, cutscenes from a video game that doesn’t exist, or a shonen anime fanboy’s journal scribbling than it feels like a piece of media with any objective value in any area. In every area that RVB was anti-establishment, RVB0 is pure undiluted establishment through and through.
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Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 11: “The Temptation of Death”?
Wonder Egg Priority is a beautiful, uncomfortable, moving and confusing series that starts out engaging all the things we don’t talk about—self-harm, abuse, rape, bullying, gender dysmorphia, and homosexuality, to name a few. Our silence and blindness to these issues have a weight and pressure to them, and WEP shows how this reinforces the isolation and hopelessness of the young women of the “eggs” who turn to suicide for relief. The first ten episodes have been exhilarating and exhausting alike.
And then there is Episode 11. This past week, the series took a bit of a turn, leaning hard into the sci-fi-philosophical, with appearances from Greek gods, a murderous artificial intelligence, and really, really disturbing insect girls, one of whom, despite being a brutal killer, is apparently a vegetarian. Has the show gone off the rails? Has it lost its way in departing from the familiar procedural approach of engaging a differing social or mental health issue with each episode?
Such a critique is perfectly legit, but before you write off the penultimate episode of WEP, just hear me out on why the abstract, meta turn in episode 11 may just be the most valuable thing this series has to offer so far.
Before we begin though, a little recap of what we learned this week. In episode 10, we hear the eggheads, Acca and Ura-Acca, discuss the need for warriors of Eros to battle Thanatos. This is our first hint that things are about to get lore-full and maybe a bit weird. Eros and Thanatos are of course gods in the ancient Greek pantheon, Eros being the god of love, and Thanatos, of non-violent death. Within the first minute or so of episode 11, it’s clear that the eggheads’ hope is now focused on Ai becoming the long-awaited warrior. At this point though, rather than continuing with Ai’s story, the episode shifts into flashback mode and we are finally introduced to the villain, an artificial intelligence created by the eggheads back when they were still human. Their lives gradually come to revolve around her: She is the fulfillment of their obsession to create life, and she is good.
Frill is associated with hydrangeas, which symbolise heartlessness and pride in Japanese flower language. But is it her heartlessness and pride, or that of her makers?
(Atelier Emily has done an outstanding series of posts on the flowers in WEP. Check it out!)
Only, it turns out she doesn’t play so nice when others join the happy family. After killing Acca’s wife, and putting the life of the unborn baby at risk, the AI—who named herself Frill—is unrepentant, all traces of her seeming humanity now revealed to be illusory, a mere affectation. Acca locks her away in a hole in the cellar. Years pass. The baby, Himari, grows up and is a ray of sunshine. But after effectively confessing to her ‘uncle’ (why does anime always do this?), she commits suicide. Ura-Acca discovers that Frill is still very much alive and active from her hole in the cellar, having powered up all the discarded monitors and laid down reams of electrical cables—to what end, we do not yet know. Though Ura-Acca surmises that she has somehow influenced Himari to take her own life. How else would the girl have known about Ura-Acca’s admiration for her mother? Where else would she have learned to make what will forever be to me now that uncannily sinister popping sound?
Here’s where it gets weirder. Unlike the suicides of subsequent egg girls, there is no indication that Himari, Frill’s apparent first victim, struggled with any mental health or other issues that would motivate her to take her own life. Indeed, her ‘uncle’ did not even reject her confession. (Again anime, why you do this thing?) Instead, the eggheads explain Himari’s suicide as being on account of the “temptation of death.” What now?
This is implying that death is somehow attractive, not just to someone facing overwhelming brokenness, trauma or pain, like the egg girls we’ve met so far, but to someone on the verge of stepping from a (relatively) happy childhood into young adulthood, with the promise of potential love to look forward to; someone who has not known suffering, but rather only smiles and cake. (To be fair, it is always possible that she experienced trauma in the womb, or was more deeply affected by her father’s sadness than Ura-Acca’s memories belie.)
That’s my question too, Ai.
The notion of death as somehow attractive or even beautiful is rather alien to Western culture. Certainly, there will always be some who romanticize death, à la star-crossed lovers (Shakespeare, I’m looking at you). But in general, Western culture views death as something ugly and frightening, something to avoid until it is staring you directly in the face, and even then, closing your eyes in denial is a perfectly reasonable response. Death is one of those things we don’t talk about. In my experience, Anglo-American culture is not very good at even mourning death. We lack the grieving rituals and observances of other cultures, and instead seek to confine death to the sealed, sanitized spaces of hospitals, care homes, and funeral parlors. We keep it shrouded tightly in silence. How could there ever be anything like the “temptation of death”? How could we ever consider death to be something desirable? Are the eggheads or CloverWorks simply aestheticising suicide and death here to make it sound deep and philosophical?
No, I don’t think that’s it. Instead, Acca and Ura-Acca are doing what all good researchers do—and indeed what all Christians, as believers in an unseen spiritual reality, are also called to do: They are looking more deeply into phenomena that seem, on the surface, to already be explained. The two idol fans were consumed with their obsession, so when their idol killed herself, they followed suit. The young woman whose identity was wrapped up in her own appearance ended her life to preserve her beauty. The abused gymnast saw no way out, no hope in ever living free from torment. Some explanations may be more sympathetic than others, but they all possess their own internal logic. Contemporary society is full of a vast array of pressures and stresses and each one, taken to breaking point, can result in death. Case closed. This might very well be our conclusion from the first ten episodes.
Only the case isn’t closed. Because there is a question that has pervaded every episode until now, but has remained unspoken: How is it that death could even become an option for the egg girls? Why does reaching a breaking point trigger suicide? What made death seem like a savior to these girls? This is the question that episode 11 tackles, in its own admittedly obscure way. The eggheads are focused on the underlying, deeper reality that unites all the eggs’ stories, as disparate as they are—the common thread, which is the idea that death is a release, a rescue, a beautiful ending, and as a result, it is tempting.
“But we wondered if there could be another push that drove them to suicide,” explains Ura-Acca.
This is a really important question for us to be asking. Because it’s not just these traumatized, vulnerable girls who fall for the seduction of death. We do, too.
Just ponder for a moment: Have you ever anticipated how wonderful it will be when, in heaven, you no longer struggle with that particular temptation? When your temper is no longer so short, when you’re not afraid of being hurt anymore? Or maybe you think about how one day, on those gold-paved streets, you won’t have to worry anymore. All your hard work coping and just keeping it together will finally pay off and you’ll cross that finish line and heave a sigh of relief, knowing that you made it in the end. Have you ever contemplated these kinds of things? I know I have.
But here’s the thing: When I expect my liberation to come only after I die and not right here, right now, then it is not Jesus who is my savior, but death. I am waiting for death to free me from temptation and sin and fear and brokenness, and usher me into eternal life. I make Thanatos my god.
The temptation of death is not limited to the drastic act of suicide, but also permeates all the accusations and fears that inspire us to put off living the fullness of life in Christ here and now. It’s the temptation to believe that it is death that will ultimately solve the more difficult and painful problems in life.
Acca and Ura-Acca seek to create a love that suits their ideals, just to relieve their stress.
The source of this “temptation of death” in Wonder Egg Priority is Frill, the AI. That is, a man-made, artificial version of love—with ai meaning “love” in Japanese. According to Ura-Acca, they made her “just for fun,” as a way of dealing with the stress of their enclosed lives. They designed her to suit their preferences, to make it easier to love her and forget that she was artificial. In this sense, Frill is the fruit of their self-centeredness, her every characteristic designed to satisfy their own ideals of how a daughter and woman should be. And this artificial love born of selfishness brings death into their midst and beyond, spreading it through the horrendous deformities of girlhood that she in turn creates, in imitation of her fathers. (Only perhaps her creations are less deceptive than theirs, wearing their monstrosity plainly on the outside…)
Frill’s creations. We’ve met Dash (right) and Dot (center), but who is that on the left? And is her name Morse??
To counter her destructive influence, Acca and Ura-Acca need true love, a genuine love. They need Ai, a messy, at times very weak human being, but one who nevertheless is willing to fight to live up to her name and maybe, just maybe, become a warrior of Eros.
There is also a deep, underlying force at work in our world, one that connects all despair and the actions born of it. A wide range of social issues, traumas and mental health challenges can and do trigger suicide, but they do not explain it fully. The deeper reality is the existence of an enemy who seeks to manipulate us into believing our true savior can only be death, whether it is right away by our own hand, or more subtly, decades from now by natural causes. But this is a lie, and it is one that we can combat. Just as I’m sure we’ll see in the final episode that Ai is equipped to wage the coming battle in WEP, so too are we armed, here and now, with the power to overwhelm the enemy’s “temptation of death”—we possess already the words of life, given to us by our true savior.
Jesus began his ministry with a public announcement that he had come to heal heart wounds, comfort those in pain, fill broken lives with beauty, and wrap those in despair with reasons to praise like a warm protective blanket, so that they might celebrate with joy once again. He came to bring freedom to prisoners and captives alike, giving a fresh new life to those locked up because of deeds done wrong, and those punished and injured at the hands of others. He came to take the outcasts, the weak, the traumatized and broken and transform them into mighty oaks, clean and strong; into people with the vision and skill and compassion and fortitude to rebuild a broken world (Isaiah 61:1-4, Luke 4:18),
He came to rewrite and restore our experience of life here on earth, and through us, to redeem our communities, cities, nations, and the world. God does not withhold the fullness of life from us until we finally make it to him in heaven. No, instead he moved heaven and earth to get right up close so that he could pour his own life out into us, even going so far as to breathe his very spirit into our hearts and bodies and minds. We don’t need to wait for death’s rescue—our hero has already come. But we do need to remind each other and ourselves of this truth pretty often, and let it work down deep into all the cracks and bruises in our souls until it strengthens all our weak spots.
In Deuteronomy 30:19, God tells the Israelites that he has given them the authority to choose between life and death. But he also tips the balances in their favor, urging them to choose life. In Jesus, he comes to tip the balances even further, making it possible for us to step into eternal life here and now, immediately and forever. So let’s do it. Each day, through each struggle we face. Let’s choose life and not death.
Warrior of love? And is Ai’s himawari (sunflower) related to Himari somehow?
Join me (in spirit) for the final episode on Tuesday to see Ai’s love triumph! (At least, I really really hope that’s what happens!)
#wonder egg priority#wep#wep frill#ai ohto#Christianity#blog#NOT by me but rather by one of our other writers: cajk2
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