#Turn-O-Graph

[moonwatchuniverse]

60 years ago... March 1965 USAF test pilot Michael Collins, selected in 1963 NASA astronaut group 3, "The Fourteen", photographed during a study visit at MIT Laboratory in Cambridge Massachusetts. During project Gemini Collins was responsable for "pressure suits and EVA" (Extra Vehicular Activity = spacewalk). Already in Test Pilot school (class 60C together with Frank Borman) Collins wore a Rolex watch and NASA photographs 1964 onwards, clearly show him wearing his Rolex Turn-O-Graph during astronaut training for Gemini VII, Gemini X, Apollo 3 (which became Apollo 8) and last but not least Apollo 11. (Photo: NASA)

[bucksaiga]

Bucktommy meet cute where Tommy is a former pilot turned flight data analyst.

Buck is sitting near Tommy at a coffee shop and Tommy realizes Buck is shamelessly staring at his computer screen so he removes his glasses and turns to Buck.

"Do you mind? I can't work with you watching me."

"I'm sorry I just..." Buck laughs at himself. "I really like spreadsheets."

Tommy's mind wanders back to all his failed first dates and people that never wanted to hear about his job because they didn't find it interesting.

But here's this younger man with pretty, bright eyes and a million questions.

"Do...you wanna see one of my graphs?"

Buck nods eagerly, pulling his chair closer to Tommy.

Tommy shows Buck one of his older Ground Speed data charts, explaining how he collects and analyzes the data and Buck is absorbing every word, listening intently, his eyes glistening in the blue light from his screen.

"This is so cool!" Buck praises.

"Thanks." Tommy smiles, his eyes falling onto Buck's empty cup. "Hey, can I buy you another coffee?"

"O-oh, uh..." Buck blushes. "Yeah I-I'd like that."

[theonlyonesora]

The Man Who Married Me

PAIRING: Lewis Hamilton x Reader x Max Verstappen

CH – 06

The apartment on the outskirts of Brackley was small but clean, modern, and quiet—everything you needed to function without distraction. You’d stayed in it every season, before the promotion, before the engagement, before Lewis.

Now, it felt like neutral ground. A place to just be. No history. No expectations. Just work.

Trial week had begun, and Lewis was already back in Maranello. The silence between texts was longer this time. You told yourself it was normal—he was busy. Focused. He’d said he missed you when he left. Kissed your forehead. Hugged you like it still meant something.

Still… you hadn’t reached for your phone in hours.

At Mercedes HQ, the mood had shifted. There was an energy in the air that hadn’t been there in a while—hopeful, electric. And much of it came from the two men currently joking across the garage bay: Max Verstappen and Kimi Antonelli.

Kimi, the prodigy. Young. Razor-sharp. Bright-eyed but quiet. Max? Calm. Patient. Surprising.

You stood just behind a workstation, arms crossed, watching as they reviewed telemetry on a shared screen, their heads tilted close, expressions lit with that unmistakable spark of passion only real racers had.

Kimi estava sorrindo — sorrindo , o que raramente acontecia sem capacete. E Max? Ele estava provocando-o. De leve. Gentilmente. Encorajando.

The moment caught you off guard. Você não esperava isso dele.

He looked so at ease. So grounded. His presence wasn’t loud or arrogant—it was quiet strength, like he’d grown into something steadier than the firebrand who had nearly torn a championship from your husband’s hands years ago.

Maybe it was because of Kelly’s daughter. You remembered reading once that he was close to the little girl—like a father, even if unofficially. That softness wasn’t what people showed on the track or in press conferences, but here, watching him laugh quietly with a seventeen-year-old driver, it made sense.

You leaned in slightly, catching a bit of their exchange.

“She’s got this exact habit,” Max was saying, pointing at a graph. “Turns in early, like she’s afraid the grip’s gonna disappear. You’ve got to trust the car more in that corner.”

Kimi frowned. “I am trusting it.”

Max smirked. “Then your data’s lying.”

Kimi rolled his eyes. “Or you are.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. Max turned slightly, like he felt it—and saw you.

His eyes met yours across the bay.

He didn’t smile, but his gaze lingered. A flicker of acknowledgment. A quiet connection.

You gave him a small nod. Nothing more. And when he turned back to the data, your heart beat just a little too fast for a conversation that hadn’t even happened.

The rest of the afternoon passed in smoth rhythm—meetings, data reviews, a debrief where Max answered questions like he’d been part of the team for years. Kimi sat beside him like a younger brother finding his footing, and you couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest.

Your team felt like a team again.

E pela primeira vez… você não se sentiu sozinho.

.

Later that night, you sat alone on theapartment balcony, a cup of tea warming your hands, your phone silent beside you. You thought of Lewis. Of the way his mouth had pressed to your skin that night. Of the ache that came after.

You just… weren’t ready. Not to be alone with your thoughts. Not to wonder where he was.

Still, it felt like something you needed to do. Check in. Reconnect. Reground. You were trying. You were.

You curled up on the sofa, pulled your laptop onto your lap, and dialed.

Lewis – Video Call. The screen rang twice. Then connected.

He was lying back in a bed. Shirtless. Golden skin glowing in the soft lamplight. His braids were loose, shoulders relaxed—but his eyes flicked sideways off-screen for a split second, and your stomach dropped.

“Hey, honey,” he said, his voice soft. Too soft.

“Hey,” you replied, eyes narrowing.

“You good?” he asked, like everything was normal.

You nodded slowly, eyes scanning the screen. His bedside table had two glasses—one lipstick-stained. His phone was face-down. And then you heard it:

A woman’s voice. Faint, muffled. Laughing.

Your pulse spiked. Your chest hollowed.

“What was that?” you asked, already knowing.

He shifted. “What was what?”

“Don’t insult me, Lewis.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at you, caught between defiance and shame.

You leaned forward, voice sharp now. “You haven’t even been there two full weeks. And you’re already—already—”

He sat up straighter, jaw tense. “We agreed—”

“No,” you snapped, “you suggested. I agreed because I thought I didn’t have a choice.” You laughed bitterly. “Guess I was right.”

“[Y/N]—”

You shook your head. “I’m not doing this. Not tonight.”

And before he could offer some half-excuse, some placating we said no emotions or you knew what this was, you hit End Call.

The screen went black. So did everything inside you.

You sat there in the dark for a long time. Not crying. Not moving.

Just… frozen.

And when your phone buzzed a few minutes later, his name lighting up again, you didn’t answer.

Because in that moment, one thing became painfully clear: You were still playing by the rules of a marriage, But Lewis? He’d already left the game.

TAG LIST: @virtualperfectioncat, @starrgir1

[wibben]

Perfectly Imperfect

🎃 My actual plan for Halloween is, unsurprisingly, not finished. But I couldn't just let Halloween come and go without a little something! So here's a little fluffy Nanami Kento, struggling with being a perfectionist. 🎃

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

You were beginning to suspect Nanami took pumpkin carving more seriously than most.

The first time you leaned over to see his progress, he’d swiveled his pumpkin out of sight, his brows knitting in concentration. “Not yet. It’s not ready.”

You’d laughed, shrugged, and let him be, thinking it was cute he wanted it to be a surprise. After all, that was so very Kento – everything he did had that meticulous touch. But after your own pumpkin was proudly propped up (and, admittedly, a little wobbly in its smile), Kento still wouldn’t let you peek. His shoulders were a little tense, jaw set as he sliced each angle of his pumpkin with the same exacting precision he used to analyze your taxes. 

“Come on,” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “Let me see.”

But he only huffed, eyes glued to the uneven surface of the pumpkin, moving his knife in slow, perfectly straight lines. “It’s not ready,” he repeated, sounding… a little deflated.

You tried to give him space, focusing on arranging the remaining seeds into tiny, wobbly hearts and stars. But every so often you’d catch him glancing at your pumpkin, a small wrinkle of irritation tugging at his brow. It’d been nearly an hour now, and he still hadn’t carved anything more than a few long, straight slices, some lines coming out so exact they didn’t even look… pumpkin-y. At all. But the lines did look familiar…

After the third time he swiveled the pumpkin away from your eyes, muttering something about the lines not coming out right, you pressed a hand to his to halt his knife. “Kento,” you said, struggling not to smile, “are you… using your technique on the pumpkin?”

His mouth twitched, a flush creeping up to his cheeks. “That would be ridiculous,” he muttered, though his fingers tightened around the carving tool with even more grim resolve. You’d seen that look before – it was his getting shit done as neatly as possible look.

“What if… just for tonight,” you whispered, stifling a laugh, “you forget about perfect lines and… you know, let it be a little wonky?” 

He exhaled, slow and resigned, and turned his pumpkin just slightly so you could see what he’d carved so far: a series of perfectly measured slashes, each one a little too sharp, too straight, all at perfect angles of seven to three, creating what looked more like a spreadsheet than a face.

“I’ve carved one eye,” he said, and he sounded almost ashamed. “The mouth keeps looking like a bar graph.”

You had to bite back a laugh. You reached over, flicking a bit of pumpkin goop in his direction. “You can’t make a jack-o'-lantern with ratios, Kento.” 

He leveled you with a scandalized look, brushing a seed from his hair where it had landed. “Yes I absolutely can and you know it,” he said, tone dead serious. “This pumpkin just has no symmetry.”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, pressing a hand to your mouth. “Symmetry? It’s a pumpkin!” 

He scowled – though the corners of his mouth betrayed him, just a little, tugging up as you reached over, guiding his knife in a jagged, uneven arc to make a cartoonishly crooked smile on the pumpkin’s lopsided face.

He watched your shaky line, a look of pure horror crossing his face. “The angles aren’t even close, my love—” he groaned, but he couldn’t stop a smile from creeping up, finally, when you added a few goofy teeth.

“There,” you said, wiping your hands on your jeans. “See? It’s you, Kento.”

He looked down at the wobbly, crooked-faced pumpkin, then back at you in mock accusation, embittered with disbelief. “Cruel woman… I look nothing like that.” He grumbled, disgruntled as he fingered at the eyehole, picking out a stray seed stuck to the inner wall.

You watched. Shamelessly. With a grin slowly growing on your face and a suggestive waggle of your eyebrows to accompany, which was promptly met with that same seed being flicked straight between your eyes.

“Incorrigible,” he accused.

He sighed, surrendering with a slump to his shoulders at having been thoroughly bested by a gourd. “Unbelievable.” But his tone softened as he shook his head, eyes lingering on your pumpkin which proudly supported your elbow, all wobbly lines and clumsy knife strokes and you couldn’t possibly look more pleased… and then his own, half him and half you, perfection to a fault but made better by your added touch and enthusiasm. 

“You did make it adorable,” he admitted, reaching out to flick a little pumpkin goop back at you.

You grinned, unable to resist scooping a handful of seeds to toss at him. “Yeah, see? Like you!”

Before you could blink, he’d ducked away, laughing, rounding the orange-guts-covered table with one quick stride to lift you right off your feet, your gleeful squeal swallowed by his low chuckle as he tossed you over his shoulder. He held you there easily, despite your wiggling, his free hand swatting playfully at the back of your thigh to chastise your squirming. 

"Behave," he chuckled, a thick arm keeping you secured while he scooped up the pumpkins with his other hand, tucking them in the crook of his arm.

By the time he set you down and proudly displayed the two pumpkins on your front steps, they looked… well, they looked a little lopsided. But the way he looked at them, and then looked at you – all smiles and pride as you hung on his arm with matted orange hair up to his elbows – he thought that was exactly how they should be.

They may not be masterpieces, but they were perfectly imperfect.

[giuseppe-yuki]

spoiled

fernando alonso x cocker spaniel shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 2k

warnings: one curse word

part my of shapeshifting!reader series

summary: as nando's precious cocker spaniel, you are spoiled rotten.

picture credits from pinterest :)

*side note- it has come to my attention that the cute puppy in the header is actually a king charles spaniel, not a cocker spaniel, so i apologize for that one. my headers are mainly used for aesthetic purposes, so feel free to imagine yourself as either breed :)

the word “no” was practically nonexistent when you were with nando. 

you want another birkin to go in your collection? here, have three. you felt like pizza for dinner? sure thing. pizza freshly made in italy is being flown in right now. wow, that baby pink aston sure is cute, isn’t it? here’s the keys to a brand new, custom made, db9 that has matching pink heart tire rims. 

it seemed like fernando’s singular goal in life as your boyfriend was simply to pamper and spoil you. when he found out your shapeshifting abilities, he became ecstatic. even more ways to spoil you! 

that’s how you found yourself sat on his lap, twin pink bows tied on each of your ears, inside of the aston martin meeting. mike krack was currently yapping about tire degradation and management, repeatedly smacking a labeled graph with his pointer stick. you usually didn’t accompany your boyfriend to these types of meetings, but you felt particularly clingy today, and who was he to deny your request? ignoring the bewildered looks of the engineers on the spinny chairs around you both, he leans down, presses a kiss to your head, and then combs his fingers through your freshly washed fur, making you sigh in contentment. 

however, mike’s loud voice snaps you out of your thoughts. 

”fernando!” he shouts across the long table, stopping his long spiel. “are you even listening, or are you paying all your attention to your dog?”

all the engineers at the table turn towards fernando, giving him quizzical looks at the canine in his lap. (except for lance, who looked bored beyond his mind picking at his fingernails) he simply just shrugs, still petting you. “eh, what can i say? she’s kind of high maintenance.” 

the aston martin team principal rubs his face in annoyance, but picks up his pointer stick and continues on with his presentation. 

he only gets in a minute of talking before loud knocking echos throughout the meeting room. curious, you hop off of fernando’s lap and pad towards the door. 

“what is it now?” the irritated team principal exclaims exasperatedly. 

the door swings open, almost hitting you, to reveal a rather disgruntled-looking delivery man holding a clipboard that looked like it had a book’s worth of papers clipped to it. you flee back towards your boyfriend in fear. 

“fernando…alonso?” the deliveryman asks, squinting his eyes at the name printed on the top-most paper. when he receives a nod of confirmation, he continues,”i have some deliveries for you, and this stack of papers you have to sign that make sure you have received the parcels.” he then thrusts the board out to nando. 

while your boyfriend sifts through each paper, hastily scribbling his name on each dotted line, the delivery man peers around the room in shock, as if he just noticed the handful of engineers and moderately pissed team principal standing in front of him. the man’s bored demeanor shifts to a more panicked one. “i - um- is this a bad time? should i come back later?” he stutters out, shifting nervously. 

mike crack starts, “obviou-” before being cut off by fernando.

“no, right now is fine- it would be great if you could set up my purchases in my garage as well,” your boyfriend says, ignoring mike’s glare at the back of his head. 

with a jaw-dropping two championships in his racing history, who was anyone to refuse fernando? mike had no choice but to begrudgingly end the meeting short and send the engineers away to analyze the new racing data. 

meanwhile, you sat prettily in the corner of nando’s garage. and no- not at one of the dirty sweat-stained barstools in the garage- your boyfriend would never let you stain your soft fur like that. no, you sat in a plush white satin dog bed in your special curtained off area. 

under fernando’s instructions, a swarm of deliverymen bat away your pale lacy curtains and filter in like a line of ants, one after another. they place box after box on the carpeted floor of your little area. it creates a glimmering tower of designer jewelry boxes and prim monogrammed paper bags. 

after they exit the premises, fernando kneels down onto one knee and wraps you into a tight hug. “you enjoy your gifts, mi princesa!” he points to the sunny outdoors. “i’ll just be outside, overseeing the builders making the new air-conditioned mini house for you, okay?” 

you wag your tail at him, and give him a kiss (lick) on the cheek as a thank-you. 

the second fernando exits the room, lance’s girlfriend pokes her head through the sheer curtains separating your corner from the rest of the garage. 

“hellooooo!” she giggles. “now what do we have here?” 

looking over the pile of assorted bags and boxes on the floor, she pokes a green patterned bag labeled, ‘gucci.’

she jumps giddily after seeing several other matching shopping bags. “i saw the deliverymen come in with fernando’s order, and i was wondering i could-”

you shift to your human form before she can finish her sentence.

“yeah, i guess you can help me open them…” you sigh, rolling your eyes in fake annoyance. 

lance’s girlfriend squeals in glee before ripping open a dior bag. 

“how about this one?” you question, twirling around in your bedroom a haute couture babydoll dress. 

from his position on the bed, wedged in between the plush pillows, your boyfriend rakes his eyes across your body appreciatively and pretends to think for a second. 

“i think-” he pauses for a grand effect- “it looks absolutely beautiful on you, mi amor.” 

even though he compliments you everyday, it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks heat up wherever you hear his praise. 

“why, thank you, nando!” you say, flashing a smile at him.

ducking behind the changing room divider, you slip on a more skimpy stirling green pajama set that lance’s girlfriend had somehow pulled from the stack of clothes earlier in the day.

you can practically hear nando’s jaw hit the floor when you daintily step out from behind the divider, hands shyly held together behind your back. 

“i’m guessing you like this one?” you joke, watching him blink back at you with an awestruck look. tiptoeing over a pile of clothes strewn on the ground and the pieces of expensive jewelry in various boxes, you run over to nando’s figure on the bed and prance onto his lap. 

face inches away from his, you take your hand and physically shut his gaping mouth. 

“speechless, huh?” you tease, tittering. 

fernando looks at you, the pajama set draped over you perfectly (why would it not? he had it custom designed to fit you), new van cleef necklaces hanging from your neck, and celine bangles adjourning your wrists, and he can’t help but think all the money he spent for you was worth it. 

his hazel eyes sparkle with adoration. “what can i say, mi amor? you take my breath away.”

you bat at his chest, giggling, before climbing off his lap and tucking yourself in next to him. like an automatic response, he protectively wraps his arm around you tucks your head into the crook between his neck and his shoulder. 

the twinkling stars, crickets chirping, and warmth of fernando’s body quickly lull you to sleep, but before you drift off, you place a soft kiss on your boyfriend’s stubbled jaw.

“thank you for all the gifts, nando. you’re way too good to me.” 

the next morning, you woke up early to drive to the paddock with fernando. it was race day, one of your favorite days to watch your boyfriend on the track. but, that also meant the swarm of celebrities, media, and fans of all ages that might step on your tail or ruin your little pink bows with their grimy hands. your ever so observant boyfriend took note of this right away and tucked you safely in between his arm and his body in your cocker spaniel form before a speck of dirt from the floor could touch you.

he doesn’t let you down until he arrives in his garage.

along with a couple of engineers, lance and his girlfriend are in there too. lance waves a polite hello to you and his older teammate, while his girlfriend shuffles over. she flashes a shy smile at your boyfriend before opening her mouth. 

“could you please tell your *ahem* girlfriend-“ she gestures to you in his arms- “thank you for letting me open all those gifts with her yesterday. it was really fun!” 

fernando lets out a chortle before nodding, “of course.” 

you let out a bark, as if saying no problem, and give her outstretched hand a lick. 

after your boyfriend peels away from you to go suit up with lance, you and lance’s girlfriend scamper back into your little sectioned off corner in the back of nando’s garage. you both sprawl yourselves on your satin white mini couch to wait for the the start of the race. you had to admit, having a boyfriend that spoiled you rotten was kind of nice. before you can get comfortable, however, the girl next to you practically launches herself off the couch.

“oww!” she yells, clutching her back. “what the actual fuck is that?”

you tilt you head in question, before you spot the offending material on the couch.

it was a swarovski diamond-lined dog collar with alternating green emeralds (you knew the possessive side of nando purposely put that in there to show what team you were rooting for). you laugh internally, before gingerly clutching it in your sharp canines and picking it off of the other side of the couch.

lance’s girlfriend shoots a playful glare at you. “wow…i literally helped you rip open all those boxes yesterday, and this is how you repay me? by nearly stabbing me to death with those ridiculously sharp gems?”

you roll your eyes, but give her a bark to apologize. jumping off the couch, you gently place the collar in front of her. knowing your intent, she bends down and fastens it on your neck, but not before exaggeratedly groaning and clutching her back as she knelt down.

in front of the full size mirror propped against the wall, you admire the way the collar glimmers like stars on your neck. then, the girl in front of you comes up with an idea. 

“hey! we should go show max’s girlfriend your sparkly new jewelry!”

max’s girlfriend is nowhere to be found when you arrive in the redbull garage. ignoring the redbull engineers’ weird looks, you pad through in your aston martin colors with lance’s girlfriend by your side. still, you are unable to locate the girl you had in mind. 

lance’s girlfriend shrugs. “that’s so weird! i wonder if she is still in his driver’s room or something?”

you tilt your head in confusion. she shouldn’t be, as the race was starting soon, so max must be in the garage! making up your mind to find max’s girlfriend, you pad over to the highest object next to you- max’s car. without thinking, you jump up onto the drs flap the back in order to have a higher vantage point. you only realize your grave error when lance’s girlfriend looks at you with wide eyes and nearby engineers let out gasps of shock. 

as if it couldn’t get worse, max walks into the garage with his girlfriend in tow. he scrunches his eyebrows when he sees you on his car. pointing at you he lets out a shout.

“hey! what is fernando’s cocker spaniel doing on my car? call fernando and tell him that’s a €50,000 fine!”

when fernando comes over to the red bull garage to collect you, you bow your head in shame, fully expecting him to chastise you, but instead he holds you close and laughs. leaning close to your ear, he whispers, “good job, baby! i know max will never fine me for you touching his car- his girlfriend would never let him. next time, collect more info on his steering wheel setup and rear wing…they’ll never catch you!”

a/n: jk! one last fic for the current grid :)

taglist: @ilivbullyingjeongin @ale-522 @formula1-motogpfan @aceyalonso @my0hmary 

@mbappebby @madkohi @rakshatos @heartsforleclerc @papaya-twinks

[dovesdreaming]

Chasing the calm

Summary: Boone and reader are complete opposites yet they compliment each other in every way

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: none

-

Boone was a force of nature. Not in the way that a tornado was but in the way he approached life. Every day was an adventure, every moment an opportunity for excitement, and every challenge a chance to prove that nothing could bring him down. His energy was infectious, his grin a permanent fixture on his face, and his voice carried through the storm chasing headquarters with a vibrancy that rivaled the wind itself. And then there was you. You were the calm in the eye of the storm. While Boone thrived on adrenaline, you found solace in the numbers, the data, the intricate patterns that made sense of the chaos. You could sit for hours, pouring over weather models, programming algorithms that predicted the unpredictable, all without a word. You needed the quiet, the solitude, the focus. Boone was a wildfire; you were the gentle, steady rain. It was a wonder to anyone who knew you both how the two of you had ended up together.

“Hey, babe! You gotta see this!” Boone’s voice boomed across the room as he burst through the door, clutching a tablet with the latest storm report. You didn’t look up. “Boone, I’m working” you replied, your tone measured, not unkind but firm. Your eyes remained fixed on your screen, numbers and graphs reflecting in your glasses. Boone bounded over anyway, dropping into the chair beside you with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. He leaned in close, too close, his breath warm against your ear. “C’mon, just take a look! This supercell’s got the potential to be the biggest one of the season! We gotta get out there and see it in action!”. You sighed, finally turning to meet his sparkling eyes. “And by ‘we,’ you mean you want to drag me out of my perfectly quiet, controlled environment to chase another storm with you?”. He grinned, completely unbothered by your lack of enthusiasm. “Exactly! It’s gonna be awesome!”.

You stared at him for a moment, then shook your head with a small, affectionate smile. Boone was relentless, but it was part of what you loved about him. His energy, his passion. It was everything you weren’t, but maybe that was why it worked. He was the spark that kept you from getting too lost in your world of data. And you, in turn, were the anchor that kept him grounded when his excitement threatened to send him spiraling. “I’ll think about it” you said, knowing full well that Boone would be back to ask again in five minutes if you didn’t give him a definitive answer. He beamed, leaning in to press a quick, soft kiss to your cheek. “You’re the best, you know that?”. You hummed in response, trying to suppress the warmth that bloomed in your chest at his touch. “Just let me finish this analysis first, okay? We’ll talk after”. Boone hopped up from his seat, still buzzing with energy. “Deal! But don’t take too long, we’ve got storms to catch!”. As he bounced out of the room, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly to yourself. Boone was a lot, and sometimes it was exhausting just trying to keep up with him. But as you turned back to your work, you realized that your heart felt lighter, your thoughts a little less heavy. His excitement was contagious, even when you tried to resist it.

The hours passed, and before you knew it, Boone was back. He was quieter this time, almost tentative as he approached. “Hey” he said, softer now. “You ready?”. You looked up at him, at the boyish excitement still lingering in his eyes, and felt the corners of your mouth lift into a smile. “Yeah, I’m ready”. The two of you headed out to the van, Boone practically bouncing as he drove, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel in time with the music blasting from the speakers. You let your head rest against the window, the rhythmic thrum of the engine a comfort as you watched the landscape blur by. It wasn’t long before the sky darkened, the telltale signs of a storm brewing on the horizon. Boone’s energy shifted, his excitement now laced with focus as he started navigating the roads with practiced precision.

“See that?” Boone pointed out the windshield, his voice hushed with awe. “That’s gonna be one hell of a storm”. You nodded, your analytical mind already processing the data. But even as you did, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Boone. The way his eyes lit up, the sheer joy he got from the chase, it was a sight to behold. “You really love this, don’t you?” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. Boone caught your words and smiled, reaching out to take your hand. “Yeah, I do. But you know what I love more?”. You raised an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable cheesy line. “You” he said simply, squeezing your hand. “I love that you’re here with me, even though I know you’d rather be back in the lab. I love that you’re willing to put up with all this crazy because you know how much it means to me”.

Your heart skipped a beat, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. You squeezed his hand back, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you. “You’re worth it” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Boone’s grin was as bright as the lightning flashing in the distance. “You know, I think we balance each other out pretty well”. You nodded, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder as he drove. “Yeah, I think so too”.

As the storm raged outside, you found a strange sort of peace in the chaos. Boone was your storm, wild and unpredictable, and you were his calm, steady and unwavering. Together, you made sense of the madness. And in that moment, as the thunder roared and the rain poured down, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

-

Thank you for reading!!

[murfpersonalblog]

Sinners - Tentative Timeline (Pt1)

I needed to make a Sinners timeline, for science. As usual, Pt1 will be the full text breakdown, and Pt2 will be the actual graph/chart.

Remmick's coins are strange. We don't get a good look at them, which sucks, but I assume they'd be one of 2 different types of coin:

4th century BC - 5th century AD

The Greco-Roman "Celtic" coins of Britain/Gaul/etc (c. 4th - 1st centuries BC): Britain & Gaul are not Ireland. Ancient pre-Christian Ireland did NOT use coins as money. They kept gold & silver coins cuz of the precious metals, but as mediums of exchange/currency they used animals and other tradable goods. Remmick definitely predates Irish Christian conversions, but until we learn otherwise, I doubt Remmick predates Christ himself--ie: being from the BC era. He said his father's land was stolen "from us" by Christians, and if he (and his father?) were already vamps b4 the Xians showed up, I doubt the Xians would've survived taking his land. 💀 More than likely, IF the coins are Greco-Roman, Remmick found some buried coin hordes, or stole them from the British/Anglo-Saxons, Gauls, Vikings, etc (eg: Irish raids on Britain). But IF they're Greco-Roman, I doubt they're older than the 5th century AD, since that's when Rome collapsed. MAYBE the Roman Catholics took the coins with them to Ireland, then Remmick got turned into a vamp & stole the money? (Why wouldn't he have just bought his father's land back then?)

The Hiberno-Norse coins (c. 995 AD - 1150 AD): The Normans introduced coinage as currency to Ireland in the Middle Ages (x x).

4th century AD

c. 300 - 600 AD: Nanih Waiya mound built by the Mississippi Peoples. The Choctaw worship it as their sacred origin place.

5th century AD - 7th century AD

St. Palladius and St. Patrick active in Ireland; Celtic pagans converted to Christianity.

c. 431 AD: St. Palladius arrives in Ireland

c. 432 - 461 AD: St. Patrick converts Ireland

Going by his actor's age (34 in 2025), Remmick would've been in his 30s when he got turned into a vampire. I have no idea when this would've been. IDK how literally we should take Remmick being human/converted/Turned in the 400s, and not the 500s or even 600s, since Ireland was still actively being converted 200 years AFTER St. Patrick arrived. Irish Monasticism really established itself during the 600s/7th century. Before that though, who knows. 🤷

1700s

1718 - 1719: First (official) African slave shipments in the Mississippi, mostly from Jamaica & the other Caribbean islands.

By 1795-1810, cotton's totally outpaced [Haint] indigo, sugar, tobacco, etc (x).

Jewett, Clayton E., and John O. Allen. Slavery in the South: A State-by-State History. Westport, CN: Greenwood Press, 2004.

1800s

1801 - 1820/1837: Gradual removal of Southern Native Americans from their homeland (x).

Jewett, Clayton E., and John O. Allen. Slavery in the South: A State-by-State History. Westport, CN: Greenwood Press, 2004.

1803: The Louisiana Purchase cedes the Mississippi River Valley from France to the USA (gaining access to New Orleans' port into the Gulf of Mexico).

May 28, 1830: the Indian Removal Act

September 27, 1830 - February 24, 1831: The Treaty of Dancing Rabbit Creek between the Choctaw and the US gov't was the very first treaty mass-moving the Native Americans from their homelands. This was the first step towards President Andrew Jackson's Trail of Tears, forcing natives in the American South to relocate to bumf**k Oklahoma (AKA: "Indian Territory").

1831 - 1840/50: The Trail of Tears. Of course, some (very few) Native Americans declined/resisted being moved, and stayed put in the South; but most left when everyone else did. By 1850, the Choctaw were basically gone in Mississippi.

1845 - 1852: Ireland's Great Potato Famine.

In 1847, The Choctaw (& Cherokee) sympathized with Ireland's plight, and donated hundreds of dollars to help with the Potato Famine (x x x x x x x). The Irish & Choctaw have had great relations ever since--which Remmick probably effing knew about & exploited.... 1849 - 1910: The Choctaw in 1 of the 3 districts in Indian Territory (Oklahoma) were led by the McCurtain family, a half-Irish half-Choctaw family. They were the last freely-elected Chiefs of the Choctaw until the 1970s, oof.

1848/68: Clarksdale, Mississippi founded as "the Golden Buckle on the Cotton Belt." Famously known as the Devil's Crossroads, the home of the Blues.

April 12, 1861 – May 26, 1865: The Civil War

September 22, 1862 - January 1, 1863: The Emancipation Proclamation abolishes slavery--kinda. Plenty of Black people are still kept forcibly enslaved around the country (hence: Juneteenth & the 13th Amendment in 1865, etc).

1865 - 1877: The Reconstruction Era.

1865: The Black Laws during basically reverted the status of recently "free" Black people in the American South to pre-Civil War conditions (x x). Ofc, the Ku Klux Klan starts. 💀 Sharecropping keeps African Americans working in the same plantation fields they'd been enslaved in. But many Black people leave the fields to seek new opportunities. Black towns & communities rise (Freedmen's Towns).

1870s: Chinese immigrants brought to the South to replace Black laborers; start opening segregated grocery stores when white people refuse to do business with Black freemen & former slaves.

1877 - 1965: The Jim Crow era enforces racial segregation to keep Black people disenfranchised.

c. 1890s / EARLY 1900s: Going by Michael B. Jordan's age (38 in 2025), The Twins would be 38 in 1932. Their mom dies in childbirth when Stack is stuck in her birth canal. Delivered & nursed by Mary's mom. Viciously beat by their dad, esp. Stack.

1900s

1910s/1920s: The Great Migration(s) of 1910 / 1920. Many Black people leave the South to go North for opportunities outside of sharecropping on declining plantation fields.

August 1, 1911: Remmick's the Demeter lookin arse arrives in America. Reports of the Celtic Hare blood-soaked shipwreck, that had arrived from Ireland the prior night with no survivors aboard. Loud music had been heard coming from the ship as it approached the Boston harbor, as if there'd been a huge party onboard. A fire started somehow, and a lone man covered in burns was reported fleeing the scene.... 👀🍀🧛

July 28, 1914 – November 11, 1918: World War 1. The Twins would be ~20yo when they joined the War. The segregated US Army only allowed the 92nd Division (AKA Buffalo Soldiers) & the 93rd Division sent to France (AKA Blue Helmets) to go into combat.

1914 - 1917 the recruitment age limit was 21yo (1893 - 1896 birth)

In 1918 the recruitment age limit was 18yo (1900 birth)

1920 - 1933: The Prohibition Era bans alcohol. Naturally, the underground moonshine industry booms. Rise of Al Capone (AKA Scarface).

pre-1925: Smoke & Annie's baby dies.

February 9, 1924: Report of the Twins bank heist at Clarksdale First National Bank, after a string of similar armed robberies around town.

1925: The Smokestack Twins leave Clarksdale, Mississippi for Chicago for 7 years.

1925 - 1929: The Beer Wars of Chicago: Italian South Side Gang (Al Capone's Chicago Outfit) vs the Irish North Side Gang.

1929 - 1931: Al Capone arrested, convicted on tax evasion

1929 - 1939: The Great Depression

October 5, 1932: Irish vs Italian gang beef, reportedly due to missing stockpiles of Irish beer & Italian wine that went missing.... 👀👬🏾

Friday, October 14, 1932: Mary's mother's funeral (Mary's maternal grandfather was 1/2 Black, her mom was the Twins' midwife & saved Stack's life when he was stuck in the birth canal. Their mom died during delivery, and Mary's mom nursed the Twins). Mary leaves Little Rock, Arkansas & her rich white husband, and returns to Clarksdale.

Saturday, October 15, 1932: The Smokestack Twins return to Clarksdale with 500 bottles of contraband Irish Beer stolen from the North Side Gang. Open their juke joint, Club Juke. Remmick is drawn to Sammie's Blues music. Everyone is killed by Remmick's vampires. Smoke kills Remmick, but lets Stack & Mary go "free."

Sunday, October 16, 1932: Smoke kills the KKK lynch mob & dies. Sammie tells his dad's church what happened.

Friday, October 16, 1992: Stack & Mary visit Sammie at Pearline's Club in Chicago. Sammie declines their offer to become a vampire. Plays "the real" (the Blues) for them one last time.

If anyone has other dates/deets, do let me know! Heaven knows I suck at math!

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Are there possibly any tend updates 👁️👁️

Oh... are there any TEND updates, my friend? 👁️👁️

★ The Earnest Nathan Drake: Prologue ★

(Optional: to be strategically paired & timed with Donna Summer's Last Dance, as all great fics are.) (Thank you for reading. She's been 3 years in the making but just getting started, and happily: my everything.)

Nate Morgan is all of five and two-twelfths years old. And in a universe full of mystery and intrigue, of love and history, of hate and greed, of men who choose to craft weapons and men who are forced to wield them, of Columbus and da Vinci, of Caesar and salads (the kind with big, fat watermelon chunks in the middle), of the fun fact that every human brain will spend the entirety of its life eating itself, and the fear of long words being as whimsically wonderful a word as hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, only five things will ever be for certain:

Nate Morgan has never fired a gun.

Nate Morgan cries when other kids are mean to him.

Nate Morgan has a double-jointed thumb on his right hand.

Nate’s favorite color is yellow.

And—

He has been practicing his entire life for this one exact moment. 

Well, maybe like a week.  Sam curry-oh-graphed the dance on toots-day.

⋆⋆⋆

Nathan Drake is all of twenty four and two-twelfths years old. He has most definitely fired a gun now. 

The world is smaller. Turns out his fascination with Columbus was a hair overblown. Now, only four things are for certain:

Nathan Drake definitely does not cry when other kids are mean to him anymore.

Nathan Drake has a double-jointed thumb on his right hand.

Nathan Drake’s favorite color is blue.

And—

They have been practicing their whole lives for this one exact moment.

Well, maybe like a month. 

Sam mapped the jail break plans on Wednesday. 

And Nathan, conveniently for them, has most definitely fired a gun before.

⋆⋆⋆

Nate Morgan wasn’t always a crybaby. And Nate’s favorite color most sur-ten-lee wasn’t always yellow. 

⋆⋆⋆

But, then again, Nathan Drake wasn’t always a killer, either. Because at one point, the world-renowned thief, con artist, combat expert, card-counter, legendary killing machine Nathan Drake— the kind of man people far less interesting than him wrote, lived, and died for stories of— wanted nothing more…

Than to be a dancer.

⋆⋆⋆

Sam taught him the word ‘curry-oh-graph’ on Monday, and ‘curry-oh-graph’ is a pretty big word, which means that Nate is officially the smartest kid in the whole entire world now. After Sam, of course. Always after Sam. That was just the way the world was then. Sky was blue. Puppies were soft. And Nate came after Sam.

It was only fair since Nate already got to be first in the alphabet. And when Sam explained it that way, everything made perfect sense. And in those days, to Nate, that was the only thing that mattered: for things to make sense. And for the things that made sense to happen.

On that wed-ness-day in the summer of 1981, Nate didn’t think he’d ever been happier. Because he didn’t think he’d ever be happier. And on that day in the summer of 1981, Nate Morgan was almost maybe right. 

He just didn’t know it yet.

⋆⋆⋆

Nathan Drake wishes he still remembered a time when he didn’t know things yet.

⋆⋆⋆

“Me and Sam—”

“Sam and I, sweetie.” The Woman corrects politely, ankle over ankle in their least broken porch chair, the infamous ‘Sidewalk-Slasher’, a piece of snowy plastic hanging on for dear life at the bottom of leg number 3.

“Sam n’ I—” Nate says with a smile. He and She nod satisfiedly. “Made this for your birf-day gift. Sam curry-oh-graphed it, but I picked the song first and moved the boombox when we needed to move the boombox.”

“I also recorded the song.” Sam bellows from behind a speaker the size of his head.

“H-he also recorded the song, but I picked the song, and remembered most of the name of the lady who sang the song, and I think that’s just as import-teent.”

“Carry on, then.” The Man next to her, decked head to toe in matching discare and five-o’-clock shadow, waves an offhand palm. 

“Import-eent. Import-aunt.” Nate tries. He fails.

“It’s okay, Nate.”

“Im-pert-tant. Im-purt-tant.” Nate tries. He blubbers between baby teeth.

“Don’t matter, kiddo. Let’s see it.”

Sam nearly trips himself silly— stoopid shoelaces— on his way to launching a feather boa over the top of Nate’s shoulders. He had begged his little heart out for the blue one with sparkle tinsel in between, and so Sam had given him the blue with the sparkle tinsel in between, even though Nate knew Sam didn’t like purple very much. And the other one was totally purple. And Sam didn’t really like purple. And Sam didn’t really like purple one bit. But Sam was just like that, anyway. 

Sam was good like that. 

The Man gives Her a raised eyebrow when Nate plucks out a tail-end feather and tucks it preen-ing-lee behind his ear. She says nothing, all smiles too wide for her boo-tee-full, sun-kissed face.

“Happy birthday, Mom.” Sam grins with more teeth than Nate can possibly count. And without another word, he presses his stubby thumb into the boombox’s pebble of a play button, and the music begins. The moment Nate, five years and two months old, has waited his entire goddamn life for.

She presses her hand to her chest the second the tender notes of a flute emerge. 

“Oh, I love this song.” 

As Donna Summer croons her opening riff, Nate readies himself into position, right in the middle of a bright yellow ‘X’, chalked three days before and having barely survived a multi-midnight sprinkler head, just like Sam had taught him to. He always found it was easier when he just told him where to start. 

And Nate thought: how lucky he was, luckier than every kid in every neighborhood, in every state, in every dynasty, in every kingdom, in every generation, in every planet, in the entire world, to never have to decide things on his own ever again.

⋆⋆⋆

“What… what do I do?” Nathan heaves with every breath the bleeding mass before them cannot, words barely lilted beneath the bellowing emergency alarm and the ringing tinnitus of someone else’s firearm. “What do we do?”

But today, it’s not Sam who says it: “We stick to the plan.”

“Was this part of the plan?!” Panic fizzles between his lips, legs shellacked in place, eyes too beholden to the horror, the betrayal— he knew if something fucked up, it would all be Rafe’s fault, Rafe who Nathan told him not to trust, Rafe who had far less to lose and a far more million dollars to return home to— to the impulse kill all of them swore would never, ever be necessary again.

But where Rafe breaks every promise made, Sam holds fast. And he does what Nathan needs more than anything. He grabs him by the hand.

And he tells him what to do.

“COME ON!”

⋆⋆⋆

“Las’ dance—” Nate mumbles under his breath. A slow sway to his right. A slow sway to his left. A piece of the boa’s tinsel catches in his eyelash when he moves his arm too high, and Sam smacks his shoulder back to focus when he starts to rub his eye. “Las’ chance fer’ love—”

⋆⋆⋆

“Rafe, where we goin’ ‘ere?” Sam asks in Nathan’s stead, lungs too burned with oxygen to even consider speech. Mind too spellbound by the sight of the dead body upon the carpet, a body he had known, considered an ally not even one minute previous. That man was a body.

A body with a name.

⋆⋆⋆

“Yesh, it’s my las’ chance—” 

“Nate-ya-don’t-have-ta-sing-it. She’s-already-singin’-it.” Sam hisses between notes.

“M‘kay.”

But Nate just makes sure to say the words quieter this time. 

“For romance—”  A sway left. A pointed toe, just like Sam taught.  

“Tonight—” Another sway right. Another pointed toesy. 

He had wanted to understand the words, even though Sam said it didn’t really matter.

Nate thought it actually kinda mattered, maybe. 

⋆⋆⋆

“Vargas said the boat is right under the lighthouse.” Rafe’s voice laces sickish in its steadiness, eyes beading unseemingly certain to the horizon before them. With a swift tug, the door to the courtyard swings open, and this time, Rafe looks like he might almost consider waiting for them on the other side.

Almost. 

Sam’s only confirmation is a single, readying nod, and Nathan considers how his life might’ve changed had he not waited the extra 0.002 seconds to nod back.

⋆⋆⋆

“I need you—” Their hands go out to the folding-chair-throned crowd. Still, Her hands: soft, inspired at her chest. His: balled in fists within stubble-laned, criss-cross-apple-sauced arms.

⋆⋆⋆

When Nathan finally braces his feet against the rolling Panamanian sands, he swears they’ve been hurled straight into a tsunami. He practically chokes on his own breath, his own heartbeat, the horrid, banging sound of alarm caused by his own stupid fucking ‘partner’. 

He told Sam. He fucking told him not to trust him.

⋆⋆⋆

“By me—” Nate and Sam point to their left side. 

⋆⋆⋆

“I don’t see the lighthouse.” Nathan gasps when the Caribbean sun blinds too bright for him to even know which way is up. 

“Right now, let’s just get away from the guards!” 

Rafe mutters with a crook of his jaw, the sound of a double dozen boots on concrete already pounding down the stairs behind them, and it’s only Sam’s urging hand that tells him where to throw his body next. 

⋆⋆⋆

“Beside me—” Nate and Sam point to their right side.

“To guide me—” Nate clamps one tiny, clammy palm into Sam’s. Sam ushers him two steps to the left.

Get it? Because he’s guiding him, so—

⋆⋆⋆

So, when Sam’s palm pulls free— a jolt of panic searing awful and electric through his chest— the only thing Nathan tells himself is to keep running toward wherever Sam last told him to.

“Nathan, down this way!” 

Chest heaves, chest heaves, chest rattles, chest chokes, chest breaks. Failing laser precision upon the blue smudge of a uniform racing through the milling hoards of screeching, panicked prisoners. 

⋆⋆⋆

“To hold me—” Sam wraps his little arms around himself with a simple sway. Nate mimics.

Get it? Because—

⋆⋆⋆

He tries to pretend he doesn’t see the dots of red light attempting to scrape up and over his back with every lunge.

⋆⋆⋆

“To scold me—”

Sam waggles a single finger, eyebrows scrunched into his forehead. Nate mirrors.

⋆⋆⋆

“The fire escape.” His brother seems to manifest from nothing. That voice he trusts when all and utter reality slips from beneath him. “Nathan, get me up there!” 

⋆⋆⋆

“'Cause when I'm bad—” Nate’s almost maybe pretty sure he hears Sam sing along out of the corner of his earlobe, opting for a simple finger wave and a fist on his hip in exchange for Sam’s index-wriggling devil horns. “I'm so, so bad—” 

He thinks The Man’s nostrils flare, but it’s hard to tell with music so good.

⋆⋆⋆

Without another word, he curtails his body into position, hands cupped, folded together like an origami swan a thousand times before… before Sam’s boot is stamping itself between, and his body launches high with a simple flex of Nathan’s arm. 

Yet just as he reaches for the plummeting ladder—

“Let’s go!” Rafe’s shoulder collides, and the sickly rodent of a man has disappeared over the roof before Nathan can even grumble back a measly:

“Yeah… after you.” 

⋆⋆⋆

But none of it matters now.

“So, let’s dance—”

Nothing can stop him now.

“The last dance—”

⋆⋆⋆

Nathan throws his body in after them, every limb, mind, soul of his sucked up into a gnashing wind tunnel, a hundred invisible hands urging, shoving, begging, hungering him off the nearest ledge. 

He can see the lighthouse in the distance. There is hope, he screams. There is hope, he pleads.

⋆⋆⋆

“Let’s dance—”

And now there’s no doubt in his mind that Sam is singing right along with, because there’s no other reason Nate’s cheeks would hurt so much from smiling. Because there never was before.

And to Nate Morgan, that’s just logic.

“The last dance—”

Plain and simple.

⋆⋆⋆

Even as he leaps after Sam and Rafe for the next awning, and his entire world crumbles in after him.

⋆⋆⋆

But still Nate knows he’ll survive, because this—

“Let’s dance, this last dance—”

This was always Nate’s favorite part. 

⋆⋆⋆

“Seriously?” Nathan guffaws when he’s not met alone on the other side of a forming dust cloud. Unfortunately, the crowd of fist-armed guards surrounding provides no such comedic relief. 

One, bald-headed and brutish, swings his bulk up to bat.

“Alright then.” 

But it’s okay, because—

⋆⋆⋆

“TONIGHT—!” 

It hurts when the big note pulls loose from Nate and Sam’s teeny, tiny throats. 

But that’s how Nate knows he’s singing it right.

⋆⋆⋆

Because he wasn’t doing it alone.

“NATHAN!” A baritone voice bellows from above. 

And like a god, the one and only, the irreplaceable, the unbreakable, the football-field-forehead wonder Samuel Drake descends from the heavens—

And knocks this guy’s fucking teeth in. 

⋆⋆⋆

It always hurts at first when you’re doing it right.

And that’s why Nate doesn’t mind it much, the weird feeling in his tummy, when He, broad arms still so cruelly criss-cross-apple-sauced at what Nates spent almost six whole (half) days preparing for, glares at his little blue boa with the sparkle tinsel in-between the way he does now. Which doesn’t make sense.

He had fought heart and soul for the little blue boa with the sparkle tinsel in-between.

⋆⋆⋆

“Let’s clean house.” 

Sam brandishes his (wow, excellent) entrance line like a knight’s sword, and brute force commander-in-chief goes stark white. A ghost before Sam’s fist even needs to make him one. 

And now Nathan Drake knows. He knows he’ll live. He knows his fear, his panic, his uncertainty mean shit.

Because no one on the entire planet, in the history of the world, would smile the way Samuel Drake does now unless he knew he was going to live.

And unless he knew he was going to enjoy it. 

⋆⋆⋆

Their dance transforms into a manic skirmish. A test of faith of tennis shoe. Nate thinks he’s doing the right moves. He’s pretty sure. He swears he practiced. But the notes come so rich and tasty and vanilla-y and chocolate-y that he forgets his body altogether.

Luckily, he remembers everything actually im-porp-tant.

The trill of Sam’s laughter means he must be doing the same.

⋆⋆⋆

Sam’s jaw goes crooked, but every grin stays intact when a suckerpunch hits him squarely in the stubble-smacked face. So Nathan makes quick, ravenous correction, a twin of white teeth upon his face as he kicks this dickhead even more squarely in the crotch.

The trill of Sam’s wheezing laughter means Nate must actually be doing the choreography correctly this time.

⋆⋆⋆

Again, The Man’s nostrils flare. Which only makes Nate want to dance harder.

⋆⋆⋆

But his brother’s joint jeering is cut short with a lassoed elbow around his neck, clawing fingers fruitless against sun-and-stick-poke-tattoo-scraped skin. Nathan already knows there’s no point in playing Superman.

“You should really work on your flirtin’.” Sam chokes between half-won breaths, a smirk deliciously sour upon his tongue. “We high-class ladies prefer to take things a little slow-uh.”

And with what he already knows must be fifteen more quips in the making, Sam bends over double and sends the grunting chicken over his shoulder and stumbling backwards into the nearest shithole.

Nathan instinctively cheers when he’s too far to fistbump.

⋆⋆⋆

Nate in-stink-tiv-lee reaches for Sam’s outstretched hands when he’s too far to prop-er-lee touch, his stubby fingers already spread in most starry starbursts for the long note. Nate always loved those big starry starbursts for the little long note. Twin giggles race and flutter forth, like a swarm of butterflies when they finally catch palms to swing their bodies in sync. Sam leans back— hard— and Nate squeals in painful delight when it forces them both spinning faster.

Something about Ken— Kinny—-

Kenny en-er-gee. Kin-nee-nee en-er-gee—

The Man leans over to Her and whispers something. A something that makes Her look pointy and mean at him back.

⋆⋆⋆

The next numbskull steps up, attempts for a roundhouse, but the whirling sand drives his stupid body into a stumble, and every ounce of perfect-practiced teamwork comes roaring to the surface. A niche dance bred into their bones. Or perhaps just their easily-bruised knuckles.

Sam and Nathan rush forward in sync: a sprint that turns into a lunge, a lunge that morphs into a grapple, a grapple that ignites into the guard’s body slamming back-first into the ground. It all happens so fast, Nathan doesn’t even have a line prepared by the time Sam is already firing out a ringing:

“Looks like our favorite war-dicks needed a little solitary confinement, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Nathan nods, breathlessly, stupidly replies.

Great line. Great fucking line.

⋆⋆⋆

Nate’s pretty sure he sees The Man say a word that starts with an ‘eff’. 

A word that makes him have to open his mouth all the way.

⋆⋆⋆

And he sparkles. Sam goddamn sparkles when he says it. 

“Rafe! Great to see ya!” But Nathan’s not too sure he isn’t imagining the way Rafe’s gaze seethes when Sam manages to latch eyelines upon the rooftop-ed horizon. “Kick that ladder down for us!”

The weak-willed kick on steel is most certainly reluctant. Still, Sam and Nathan jump on in a heartbeat, even when Rafe’s form has disappeared by the time they even touch the first rung. They meet the roof. And there, in the distance, the lighthouse. 

There is hope, he screams. There is hope, he pleads.

“He’s going to leave without us, isn’t he?” Yet you’d never think it, the way Nathan grumbles and gasps between sprints.

Fortunately, Sam is even quicker on the rebound, a grin so evident upon his lip that Nathan doesn’t even need to twist his head to see it racing beside him.

“Not if we’re quicker.” 

Now, Nathan knows they’ll live to see tomorrow. Because nobody but the most alive people Nathan’s ever known smile the way Samuel Drake smiles now. 

⋆⋆⋆

Now, it’ll take Nathan nearly a decade and a half to realize it’s the first time he sees it, but far from the last—

The first time he saw the look of a woman ready to kill a man.

Because nobody but the most deadly people Nathan’s seen on TV, the evil TV times when he axe-dent-lee sneaks glances on his way to the toilet, glare at someone the way She glares at Him now.

But maybe She was just pass-ee-nate about how good him and Sammy’s dancing is.

Nate most ser-taint-lee was.

⋆⋆⋆

Nathan Drake knows. He knows everything. 

He knows Nathan and Samuel will live to see tomorrow.

Samuel and Nathan will live to see tomorrow.

⋆⋆⋆

Because they’re good.

Sam and Nate are good. 

It’s what She must be saying out of the corner of her pink, pretty, pursed mouth back to Him. The Sidewalk-Slasher is steered, rattles with a single hopping sandal. But her eyes never stray from them, because she wants to watch every move.

Gosh, Nate wants Her to watch every move. 

He made them for Her.

⋆⋆⋆

“They’re everywhere.” Nathan’s jaw croaks, aches, unhinges and begs, ears filled with more whizzing bullets than words. 

The fire in every pinched muscle has long gone blue, where pain becomes so painful that it twists back onto the other side as numbness. Still, Nathan runs. There’s no other option now.

But maybe there was never another option before.

“We’ll be fine, just keep going!” Sam yells just out of periphery. 

If only someone would tell Nathan’s legs that. 

He doesn’t realize he’s slowing down until Sam’s palm collides with his back, a desperate shove, an uncharacteristic rattle of his voice. A bright yellow “X” chalked on the pavement. Nate only knows because Sam is the one who always told him where to move next.

“Nathan… GO!”

⋆⋆⋆

But still her face, haloed by billowing clouds of brunette, is the most boo-tee-full shade of pink as she replies with something Nate can’t quite hear. She’s singing the lyrics, she’s saying what an eggs-see-lent box step that was, she’s telling him some hundred-aire relative died and now they can finally afford to put Nate in those YMCA dance classes he begged them for, practically sprung himself a leak for. 

The ones with two zeros on the price tag when He kept saying they were only worth one.

Nate thought maybe they could be worth more than one.

Nate wanted to matter more than one.

⋆⋆⋆

The lighthouse. The lighthouse. The lighthouse. 

So close Nathan can taste the burning sulfur on his tongue. Can taste the stench of sea. Of salt, of a hundred million buzzing lightbulbs, of collapsing brick, of wet sand beneath blistered toesies. Nathan Drake can taste blood in his mouth. He can taste the taste of freedom. 

“On me! Get to the wall!” Rafe bellows a few feet ahead, pointing where roof meets air, where nothing meets nothing, and where untouched foliage signals home free on the other side. “NOW!”

And the pain in his lungs, in his legs, in his ears, in his heart is so good. The pain means he’s doing it right. The pain means he’s earned it. The pain means he’s paid his dues. The pain means he’s going to live. 

“Sam?!” Nathan’s voice quivers.

“Just keep goin’!” Sam responds, some distant wind. “I’m-right-behind-ya!” 

⋆⋆⋆

And the dance blooms into a creature so boo-tee-full, so eck-squick-sick, so every word in every language that Nate doesn’t know yet but can’t wait to learn, and will be able to make so many new friends when he does, make his wildest dreams come try and maybe even one day be as in-telly-jent as Her, that there’s no doubt in his mind that the reason Her and His faces are so red from screaming now is because they know that Nate Morgan was born to be a dancer. 

He throws himself back to back with his brother, an itty bitty fist makeshifting for a proper microphone, and for the first time in his entire six years of life, Sam is the one who follows him. Another itty bitty fist when Mommy’s vitamins are too expensive to afford the plastic ones at the department store that echo when you talk into them.

His face hurts from smiling. His body hurts from smiling. Everything hurts from smiling. 

He loves her music. He loves her hair. He loves the pavement. He loves his brother. He loves that Sam finally trusted him enough to carry the boombox. He loves that there’s new words he doesn’t know yet. Nate loves to dance.

Nate loves to live.

⋆⋆⋆

But it’s nothing short of suicide: the way Nathan catapults his bruised body off the roof and into the nothingness beyond— before both hands latch hard to the nearest pipe and leverage himself back onto the opposite ledge. Home fucking free. But Nathan Drake isn’t a coward. He doesn’t forsake the way Rafe does. 

“SAM!” He bellows back as loud as his haggard lungs will allow, Sam’s face twisting towards him from the other side. “C’mon! I’ll pull you up!” 

And it’s just the adrenaline that makes Sam’s face look so small, so soft, so wet, so crumpled, eyebrows knitted into the middle of his glossy forehead, face whipping back and forth between him and the sea of bullets behind. 

And “S” comes before “N” in the alphabet. So Samuel comes after Nathan. 

And Sam jumps. And Sam is jumping. And Sam is falling.

Sam is falling hard.

And Nathan is catching, saving, him where it actually fucking matters.

“I-gotcha-I-gotcha—” Thus he proves in rapid spurts, arm burning with the weight as Sam launches his slick palm into Nathan’s grasp. One hand in another. Sweat and grime and dumb fucking luck, the dumb fucking luck they had always had, the dumb fucking luck they had earned because everything else always went to shit, all that he was, all that Sam gave him, meeting sweat and grime and—

Something else entirely.

⋆⋆⋆

The final note positively rips out of Nate’s itty bitty, teeny tiny, soul-engulfed chest, everything bad, everything evil in the world dead and gone under dang good music, the kind his mommy gifted him through the dying midnight radio, and bright blue sparkle tinsel. Because Sam said he’d have finally enough allowance saved up for a proper yellow one on Monday.

And he can’t see anything but goodness. He won’t ever again. 

His eyes are squeezed too tight to see anything else.

⋆⋆⋆

BANG!

It’s bright and pretty like tinsel, actually. A rhythmic rattle like the drums in a good song, too. Familiar. 

The spray of bullets is. 

⋆⋆⋆

BANG!

And Nate didn’t mean to kick the boombox when he jumped like that. He really didn’t.

It was just this little cartwheel into a high kick he had been practicing. His favorite move. That’s all. He had worked so hard on it. It was the best part of the song.

He thought She would understand.

⋆⋆⋆

Sam is smiling when he coughs up blood. Which Nathan doesn’t understand.

⋆⋆⋆

He doesn’t understand.

The look in The Man’s eyes is searing. Steaming and stinky like burnt coffee. Like the volume of their voices when She can’t get up in the morning so He didn’t get his brekkie in time for work. And so He gets mad. And so He turns into someone else.

But this time, the look is on Nate. It’s at Nate, all for Nate, only for Nate. It’s at Nate for kicking the boombox. Because it’s skipping a little. Just a little, he swears. But the Man never liked it when the music skipped. Liked it even less than Sam liked the color purple.

Nate’s stomach feels rumbly.

It was just a little— Just a little— He swears— He didn’t mean to—

Sam rushes in so fast, The Man is barely sitting up from his chair before his focus on Nate is dashed for something else entirely. 

⋆⋆⋆

“Sam?” Nathan asks when he doesn’t understand. “Sam?”

He doesn’t understand. 

The Panamanian sun spotlights them in a halo of light, and Sam silently pleads with little green flakes in his big, brown eyes. Guess Nathan never really looked in his brother’s eyes long enough to notice them before.

He wishes he had noticed them before.

⋆⋆⋆

And Nate bemoans in horror when Sam abruptly picks the giant boombox up over his head and smashes it hard to the crumbling cement below. 

It doesn’t make any sense.

SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! 

It doesn’t make any sense. 

A million little shards of plastic and glass scatter in a blinding ray over the pavement. And Sam’s little eyebrows are pinched in the middle of his forehead. They’re pinched so hard that Nate is afraid the skin between his eyes is going to tear and tear until it snaps in half, and his face is going to bleed out all over their chalk.

He imagines the blood.

⋆⋆⋆

“SAM!” 

Nathan cries when Sam’s body drops instantaneously, taking every force of will he has to hold fast to the five fingers God left. He gasps, shoulder screams in fruitless force when he’s not strong enough to hold him to the ledge. His brother: no help but a stone, an anvil, a taxidermied elephant, a hundred million useless comparisons that could only ever be used to describe a dead weight. He doesn’t understand. 

He doesn’t understand. He was going to live. They were going to live.

Sam told him they were going to live.

“Hold on! Please-hold-on-Sam! Give-me-your-other-arm—!” Nathan cries and wails and bellows down below. He can’t see, there’s too many tears. He was useless when he sprung a leak. The Man always said it was useless when he sprung a— “Come-on-reach!”

But there is only sweat and grime to meet his own now. Any luck was only His to carry.

“No— SAM—!”

The better brother. 

And so, the better brother slips from his fingers—

And the body bangs hard into unfathomable darkness below. 

A body with a name.

⋆⋆⋆

SLAP! 

Dad’s hand collides with Sam’s cheek, and Nate’s stomach binds in knots, just like the cat’s cradles at daycare he’s always too stupid, stupid, stupid to ever do right. 

“SAM! C’mon, man! That was expensive!”

And it doesn’t make sense. None of it makes any sense at all.

Why would a person hit someone who already knew what they did was wrong? Sam was smarter than that. Sam was the smartest person in the whole world. Dad knew that. Dad invented that. 

Why would you hit something so small like that?

“Sorry.” Sammy says stiffly, a big, nasty, red splotch of skin staring back.

Nate doesn’t understand.

“Who knows how long it’s gonna take for your mother and I to be able to spring for a new one, bud.” He replies, voice quiet, husky and heavy with diss-uh-point-mint, fingers reaching up to pinch the thick bridge of his nose. “That wasn’t very fair to your brother, was it?”

Sammy looks down at his little untied tenny shoes.

“I said, ‘That wasn’t very fair to Nathan now, was it?’”

Nate feels like he’s gonna frew-up. Nate didn’t say that. 

Sammy swallows. For a moment, he says nothing. 

“...No.” 

“That’s right.” He nods satisfiedly, a bittersweet pucker at the corner of his mouth. A forlorn sigh as he kicks a loose chunk of speaker into the pile. Exchanges a thinky sort of look with Her. “Guess we’re gonna need to take that out of your allowance for a while, bud. That sounds fair, right?”

The yellow boa. But– But– But– Sam had been saving—

Sammy swallows harder this time. For a moment, he says nothing at all. 

“...Okay.”

And Sam is the biggest, tallest, most bright, most alive creature Nate has known in five. whole. years. of ex–ee-stance. He is. He is. Until the very second Dad’s words decide he’s bigger than him, and Sammy deserves to be smaller. And none of it makes sense. 

Only things that make sense are supposed to happen.

Nate’s hand slowly wobbles up to his own cheek, a careful caress where Sam got hit. He tries to imagine feeling it. Like maybe that’ll take some of the pain away.

He imagines super duper hard. 

“Let’s get this cleaned up, yeah? Go grab the broom from the garage.” Dad’s voice: too soft for how red Sam’s face is. Or maybe his face is just too small to hold all the color He had to give. “Samuel? Now.”

But when Sam obeys, he holds his hands over his face too high for Nate to be able to tell. 

And so, Nate imagines. Nate imagines. Nate imagines so hard he thinks his head’s going to ex-plobe. 

⋆⋆⋆

“We gotta move!” Yet Rafe’s desperate attempts at safety, a rousing shake of his shoulder, yield no alternative reality.

“No-no-he’s-still-down-there.’ Nathan imagines, Nathan pretends, Nathan screeches and grovels and begs and plays like they used to do when they were kids. When God still allowed them the mercy to be stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“C’mon, the boat’s just beyond the wall.” Nothing but noise past the gunfire, useless drivel beyond the screams.

“I can’t— I-can’t-leave-him-behind.” It’s not an excuse, he promises. 

He promises. He swears.

It’s just the honest truth. 

But a pointless mystery: whether the colors melting and merging and molting before his eyes are tears, snot, drool, or blood. Like there’s no use for any sense other than touch, the rest of his body: useless without another half. His teeth chatter from the cold. Everything hurts. 

He peers down into the dark. 

He peers super duper hard.

He begs the darkness for movement. A flinch, a thrash. Life was supposed to be kind enough to let him fight for it first. Sam always fought for it first. It couldn’t be his Sam if he didn’t get to fight for it first.

And Nathan Drake hasn’t prayed in twelve whole years. 

But today he prays to God to just let him see the body first.

⋆⋆⋆

Un-fort-tinny-lee, Nate was only ever good at imagining things that were real.

Smack.

The first slap is a quaint, curry-us sort of thing. A bad puppy on his tush for chewing the morning slippers. His cheek is warm from the dance, but his fingers oddly ice cold. Little nubs and peels of skin from scratching scabs or picking gravel from the playground against the soft brush of blush. But no other thinks cross his head. He looks down at the pads of his fing-ees. Sees no red like Sam’s when he retreats.

But, no—

No, that’s not right, though. It’s supposed to hurt when you’re doing it right. 

So, this time Nate reels his hand back a little. Just a little.

So Mommy won’t think he went bad and stole her makeup.

Smack. 

This time, Nate gasps a little. The cold makes him jump, but the sting itself makes him whimper. He catches his own eye in the mistaken crossfire, and Nate squeaks in sudden pain, a groan oozing out the tail end. A single tear leaking from the soon-swollen corner. He didn’t notice the think-less chews during class made his nails all stubby and sharp like that.

But most luckily for him, when Nate pulls back, he sees exactly the red he wanted. 

A single, crescent-shaped slice of blood from a lone hangnail off his double-jointed thumb. No more than the width of a fingernail. A little pet of a thing. Alive and buzzing in a smear off his thumbprint, twenty— no, thirty— times brighter than Sam’s red. 

Which makes sense.

SMACK. — Again, just because Nate did it in the wrong place the first time.

Dad made them for him.

⋆⋆⋆

It shouldn’t have been for him. 

It was for anyone else but him. 

His brother was alive. His brother deserved to be alive. His brother was born to be alive.

Oh God, the body, the body, please, just let him see—

“Nate, your brother is dead.” But the only God Nathan knows is the one he met at the orphanage. The one that punishes, not because he wants, not because he needs. “Either come with me, or join him.” 

The one who kills just because He can.

The body, the body, he hasn’t seen the body yet, he’s still down there, he could still be down there, Sam might still be—

“We just—” Nate tries.

“Have it your way.” But his tries don’t matter. They never did.

His voice, his voice, just one last word, one last sentence, he never got to say—

⋆⋆⋆

“Fathers can be a little funny sometimes, huh?”

Yet her voice is gentle, textured and crisp like little patters of fallen rain when at last She speaks. She poises one leg folded over another, over folds and folds of yellow sundress, one sandaled foot, hopping madly as it attempts to steer the wave-ward Sidewalk-Slasher straight again. But her face… calm as an ocean breeze. Freckles to be mistaken for sea glass along her shore.

Nate noticed that they liked to ask questions a lot. Sam said it was just a thing smart people did. It mostly just made Nate feel dumber.

“Funny.” He echoes softly. 

She nods. He mimics. 

Repeats the lyrics so he’s sure he understands them. 

“That was very nice, Nate.” But her teeth seem to sort of hug each other when she says it. Her cheeks: now since softened to a tender shade of pink. “You looked like you were having a lot of fun.”

“Birfday.” He says simply, because He slapped the ‘happy’ off onto the cement somewhere.

“Birthday.” She corrects with a warm, wide grin. 

But she is so boo-tee-full, and she has these little wrinkles at the corners of her mouth because she smiles so much, rep-ee-teet-shin like the sharp carves that turn into the shape of a goat on ancient mess-oh-potato-um pottery, that he doesn’t really mind needing core-eck-shin. She is pottery, that’s what she is. Only she holds life instead of water.

So he replies with a matching grin, so he can one day make his lines big enough to hold all the life she has. He doesn’t quite. But he tries. God, does he try. His feet ring and writhe and buzz beneath countless velcro straps, his teeth: a mess of stinging squares from how hard he fights to bare them, and his cheek—

Matters little. Because just as Her hand reaches out to touch—

“Nathan, what did—?” 

Nate is rushing past, great leaps across the dancefloor, their joint battlefield, to Sammy, who marches gloomily from the castle dungeon, a swinging broadsword in his hand.

At least, that’s what he looks like to Nate. And so it must be so.

“Tank you.” Nate wetly garbles against Sam’s crumpled t-shirt as soon as he’s pulled him into a prop-er-lee lung-crushing hug, the bristles of the garage broom licking at his ankles like tadpoles from a curious tidepool wave. 

“Why?” Sam asks.

But Nate knows Sam is too smart to need the answer.

⋆⋆⋆

It should’ve taken him, instead.

And Nathan wonders, ever so briefly, that if he said the words aloud, begged the whizzing bullets, asked for the only thing he wanted, could ever want again, that the universe would make it come true. And Sam would be here instead of him, sobbing like a weak, pathetic, scared little crybaby over a fallen hula hoop. 

But that doesn’t make sense. And only the things that make sense are allowed to happen. 

Sam never cried the way Nate did. 

Maybe that’s precisely why Nathan Drake only drags a sleeve across his weeping eye once, rattles out a single, ragged sniffle, before he finally stops trying altogether— and follows Rafe right off the cliffs of Panama.

⋆⋆⋆

Someone smarter, someone older, someone more alive than Nate could ever be on his own would know why Samuel Morgan hugs him back in place of an answer.

⋆⋆⋆

And Nathan Drake was finally old enough, smart enough, and— fuck God— alive enough to know the only answer, the only future people like them could ever afford: was to leave his own brother for dead.

★★★

[earhartsease]

got very confused hearing someone in a US show say "mimeograph" because we'd always assumed (only seeing it written down) it was like mime-o-graph (as in a mime imitating stuff) but they said it mimmy-o-graph

so we looked up the etymology of mimeograph and turns out it's from the ancient greek mimeothai (pronounced mimmy-o-thigh) which means "to imitate", and is indeed also the origin of the word mime

and where we're going with this is that it would be completely legit to pronounce mimes as mimmies

[moonwatchuniverse]

Rolex watches during the Apollo program USAF MajGeneral Michael Collins got his bachelor degree at the USMA West Point in 1952 and went on to become a NASA astronaut, flying on Gemini X and as Apollo 11 Command Module Pilot onboard CSM “Columbia” in July 1969. Michael Collins had been wearing a Rolex wristwatch since at least 1964 as he wore his Rolex Turn-O-Graph during Gemini geology training, Apollo centrifuge training and public events related to the space program. Also during Apollo 11 commemorative events, Collins wore his personal Rolex Turn-O-Graph. Rolex has the most different space-flown wrist watch versions, as at least 8 were worn in space (GMT-master, GMT-master II, Datejust, Daytona 6263, Submariner, Sea Dweller, Yachtmaster and Oysterquartz). (Photo: NASA)

[soclearlytosee]

ST: TFS West End vs Broadway

hi, I have through various means been able to pull together a fairly comprehensive set of notes on the differences between TFS Broadway and TFS West End.

Unfortunately this is structured in the opposite way of what makes the most sense (which would be noting changes made for Broadway relative to the West End version, as would actually follow the play's development timeline), but I was in too deep before I realized that.

if you are also knowledgeable on this topic, feel free to get in touch about things I missed or am misrepresenting xxx

TFS Broadway transcr/pt is here, all notes about the differences in the West End version are in relation to this.

Philadelphia Experiment

USS Eldridge scene plays out almost the same but the framing is a bit different in the West End version. The experiments seem to have been ongoing. One member of the crew complains about being a “lab rat” and “taking orders from Nazi eggheads” (another crew member responds, “it’s not Nazis, moron, it’s Einstein”), and Captain Brenner scolds him. He’s more of a believer it seems, or at least doesn’t express doubt like he does in the Broadway version. 

The crew also complains about getting headaches. 

Cpt Brenner’s line and exchange with crew member about it being his son’s birthday, etc is the same.

1959 opening scene

The first scene after credits is a scene of all our teen characters getting ready for school, with Bob on the radio as the framing device. He says it’s October 1, 1959. 

Joyce is in bed with Lonnie, getting dressed for school. She’s looking for her playbook. He asks why she doesn’t cast him in the play, and she says “because you’re 25, Lonnie.” Lines that are moved later on Broadway about how Joyce used to be fun, now it’s “Act II, cue the lesbians” happen here. Lonnie discovers a letter about the Indiana State Arts Scholarship and they fight about Joyce thinking she’s better than everyone. Line that was cut from Broadway where Joyce says she thought he was different because of his whole “James Dean” thing but it turns out he’s just like everybody else.

Hopper is trying to fix his car engine, it explodes. Dialogue basically the same as Broadway convo between him and his dad at school.

Creel family arriving at the Creel House, scene is pretty much the same (but no Creel House door in the background). Henry doesn’t have his radio.

Patty is listening to the radio at the bathroom sink and reading Astounding Things. Principal Newby comes in and scolds her about reading degenerate trash, tells her to say her prayers and finish getting ready. Patty prays to Wonder Woman - “I know this isn’t technically canon, but could you just make me invisible, just for today?” Henry is also onstage (in the Creel House attic) and seems to hear her, and his voice comes through her radio. 

Virginia comes up to the attic to find Henry. He picks at his left hand, and she tells him not to scratch his scar. 

Bob dedicates a song to “a special someone” and Patty teases him about his crush on Joyce

Bob’s radio broadcast set-up is at his house, not the high school

Picture day

Walter gives Henry the tour of the school. Dialogue is basically the same, which makes the “Virgin!”/ “That isn’t true, ask Claudia” exchange with Alan make a lot more sense

I think they imply that Principal Newby's wife/Bob’s mom ran off with Ted’s dad?? Idk man

Walter to Henry, looking at his left hand: “Is that a scar?” 

Patty grabs a notebook from Henry’s locker instead of the Captain Midnight radio (it’s a black composition book) and notes that it’s written in code. “It’s like in Captain Midnight?”

Henry: “I used to have the whole set, with the code-o-graph and the spyglass” - says he lost the spyglass

“This is just my own cipher.”

Henry pretty deliberately shakes Patty’s hand with his right hand even though she reaches out with her left.

Play auditions

Bob and Karen audition before Patty. It’s really comedic, Karen kisses him aggressively

When Sue asks for volunteers to read with Patty for John, Karen raises her hand clearly still wanting to make out. Bi queen Karen?  

In their conversation after auditions, it’s actually Bob trying to convince Patty to do the play and she still has reservations. “When you were standing up there on that stage in front of everyone, something happened to you. Something magical.”

Henry in the Void

Henry doesn’t throw up the smoke, it just shows up. 

Initially realizing he’s in the Void is a bit extended, there’s some cool stuff with the clock ticking and Henry’s voice echoing

Church

Claudia doesn’t bring Prancer’s body to church. Instead, she passes out flyers

Claudia: “I know who it was. It was satanic witches!” vs on Broadway she is the one to say "the devil has come to Hawkins"

Walter notes that the movie they saw at the drive-in was A Bucket of Blood

Hopper and Bob talk about the case instead of Hopper and Henry.

No mention of the devil in Patty and Henry’s conversation, nor an exorcism

Dream sequence is pretty different, it's about Patty getting to sing what she wants instead of finding her mom. Patty sings the “Dream A Little Dream Of Me” solo instead of her mom. Background dancers are our cast from Hawkins (still wearing the clothes they wore to church), not showgirls. Patty wears a Wonder Woman/“Miss Mystery” costume.

Scene ends with Patty saying, “Henry, I’ll do the play if you do” and Henry responding “See you in rehearsals” while they do their little fist salute at each other.

Dialogue with Virginia and Henry after she sees him is extended: “If you’re with another child, you must always be supervised.” “It’s not forever, Henry, it’s just until we figure out how to get you better. For now, I think it’s best that you wait before making any new friends.” Virginia wipes Henry’s bloody nose with her handkerchief like Brenner does in Act II.

Hopper and Bob digging up Prancer

I think they just reference Karen’s bird singular when I’m pretty confident that on Broadway it’s “Karen’s birds” (either of these could be me mishearing : ) )

Bob’s camera gets broken and Hopper says he'll buy him a new one with the reward money.

Play rehearsal

Hopper interviews Ted first, they kinda imply Ted is cheating on Karen or at least going out without her and doesn't want her to know

Hopper’s conversation with Henry starts out with Hopper treating Henry seriously as a suspect but he eventually concludes “you don’t really have the upper body strength, do you?” No offer to collaborate on the investigation. “Anyone ever tell you your kind of a creepy guy?” still end of their interaction

Henry's bathroom vision with Mind Flayer Patty escalates lot more quickly. “I thought you were going to tell me your big secret. About the cat. The one you killed. I know about all of them. I know there’s going to be more.”

Henry puts his hands on Mind Flayer Patty’s shoulders and recoils, clutches at his left hand.

No Demogorgon face puppet on Patty

Patty’s dialogue before they kiss is a little different: “What if the thing you hate about yourself isn’t a curse, it’s a blessing? What if it’s not a mistake? What if it’s a miracle?” Henry also isn’t as inconsolable, they are both standing up for the kiss.

Melvald’s

They actually explain the underage drinking lol. Joyce to Hopper: “He’s just going to let you serve yourself alcohol? How does that work?”, Hopper says they’re afraid he’ll get them in trouble with his dad if they don't let him drink 

Some dialogue between Patty and Henry was cut from Broadway that implies Henry has some form of telepathy

PATTY: Do you think this is what normal people feel like? All the time? HENRY: I know it’s not. She’s depressed. He’s nervous. She thinks he’s an idiot. He’s scared of her. They’re all bored. PATTY: How do you know that? HENRY: Truly? PATTY: Yeah. HENRY: I can hear them. In my head. PATTY: Really? HENRY: Yeah. All the time. PATTY: Well what am I thinking? HENRY: Right now? You’re thinking about your mom. You’re always thinking about your mom.

Handy Talky sex jokes are different

Instead of accusing Hopper of actually caring about the investigation, Joyce is the one to bring up the reward money - “you want the reward money!” and Hopper tells her she also has skin in this game because if someone in the play is killing the animals, the play could be shut down and she’ll lose her shot at the scholarship. (I don’t know how he knows about the scholarship in this version since that info is dropped when Joyce and Lonnie are talking in his bedroom lol)

No “there’s big feelings, we’re sharing” lines

Henry and Virginia in the attic

After Virginia leaves, Henry creepily sings “Tonight You Belong to Me” and has a conversation with Alice that was cut for Broadway

ALICE: Where’s Henry? HENRY: I’m right here. ALICE: You’re not Henry. You’re not him. HENRY: What?

D.A.D. investigation

Hopper calls Joyce shrill 🙁 Their dialogue is pretty different here, no mention of balling. 

“You’re not my type.” “What type am I?” “This is exactly what I’m talking about. Bob, what’s the word I’m looking for?” “Kind?” “Bossy” “Courageous” “Stubborn” “Happy” (??? from Bob, IDK) “Shrill” “I’ve dated(?) girls like you. Always looking for trouble. Always spoiling for a fight. Combative! That’s the word, thanks Bob.” Joyce comes back that Hopper is a self-aggrandizing, egomaniac, meathead, “a phase girls go through to find out the truth that all men are just scared little boys”

No “I kind of have a thing about blood” from Hopper, he’s just upset Joyce and Bob aren’t taking him seriously about his injury

Victor has dialogue that “there are kids in there, I have to get the kids out” when he’s in his WWII flashback

Patty and Henry in the attic

Henry about the Creel House: “I know it’s weird. We left Nevada in kind of a rush. This is the first place we could get.”

Patty: “It’s freezing up here,” Henry: “I like it cold.”

Henry in the Void when Patty’s mom turns into a Mind Flayer vision: “It’s coming for you! It wants you!"

Vines connecting into Henry’s back and restraining Patty and Principal Newby that aren’t there on Broadway iirc

Pretty different dialogue between Patty and Henry. She doesn’t go into the Void 

PATTY: “It’s not real. It’s not real, it’s the nightmare! But it doesn’t have to be. you can make it a nice dream, remember? You just have to close your eyes and imagine it. Henry, what do you see?” HENRY: I see you, Patty. Outside Melvald’s. When we got thrown out for kissing. It started to snow. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. PATTY: What is? HENRY: You are. It all is. I just wish I could stop it all. Right here.

Henry starts seizing, Patty tells him she loves him. “You have to say it!” Henry tells her he loves her too.

Vines go limp, releasing all of them (and I assume dropping Principal Newby through the floor)

No “save the boy” line from Principal Newby to Bob

Patty still runs off after this, Henry tries to scream after her that he knows where her mother is.

Virginia, Henry, and Brenner

On Broadway, Virginia is standing next to Henry’s bed holding a teddy bear while singing “Tonight You Belong to Me”. In the West End, she’s sitting on the bed and Henry’s head is in her lap.

Henry Nevada Backstory

“Henry is 7” opens the birthday party footage instead of 8. Birthday party footage otherwise the same, and text fairly similar, including mention of the possible GSW. I'm not sure if they give any kind of timeline on his disappearance considering some dialogue Brenner has later (implying that incident was 10 months prior to the events of the play)

Projection ends on aerial footage of Hawkins moving from the Creel House to HNL. A sign says the Hawkins High musical has been cancelled

Hawkins National Lab

No mention of the wound on Henry’s left hand

Brenner measures Henry’s pupil dilation (I think? Shines a light into each eye and then rattles off some numbers) after Henry kills the rodent. Henry then collapses into his arms as opposed to jumping into a hug. Brenner doesn’t wipe the blood off Henry’s face.

Joyce and Hopper at the police station

This is a totally different scene. Hopper: “I talked to the Hawkins Power and Light nerds, they have no record of any power surges.” 

Hopper: “Joyce, this is a bad idea.” Joyce: “‘Joyce, this is a bad idea,’ do you know how many times I’ve heard that? I should have a tattoo on my ass at this point.”

Hopper hasn’t talked to his dad yet, Joyce insists on going to the police. Their Mexico conversation happens at the station, Hopper admits he’s fixed his already car. The almost kiss is interrupted by the secretary calling for Joyce that Chief Hopper is waiting for them. Joyce then says, “Send me a postcard. Look, this is bigger than us! Hopper, I can’t let Victor get away with it.. This isn’t the end, this is the beginning. I’m going in there. Are you coming with me or not?”

Joyce brings out her library books to make their case to Chief Hopper. “We think he brought back a device, from the war. A handy-talkie.”

Chief Hopper basically calls Joyce a whore - “I’m surprised you even have the time. Because as I understand it, you’re already juggling half the boys in town” ooookay

Hopper: “I think you’re the joke. I think you’re just a scared little boy. And I’m not going to sit here and take it.” Hopper and his dad go at it. Hopper is the one to say they need to a confession

Lonnie is passed out at the station, Joyce sees him on their way out but runs off

Hospital

Patty tells Bob that she can’t tell him what happened because “he’s listening, he’s always listening” as the lights flicker 

Patty leaves to sit with Victor when Joyce and Hopper arrive with food. The dialogue in this scene is pretty different. Bob: “What if he comes for Patty next?”

Hopper: “We need proof, we need a confession. I can get Victor to confess…we need to lure him where no one will be able to hear. The quarry, maybe?”

Bob says they should do the play with Henry as the lead, lure Victor to them that way and set up a recording device in the changing rooms and set up the fake scene where he’s being interrogated by the Chief of Police

Bob: “Then Hopper is the hero. Easy peasy!”

Bob goes into Victor’s room to ask Patty to do the play. They argue and Principal Newby sits up. Bob exits to get help, and Patty and Principal Newby have their conversation. “I thought another baby - you - would save my marriage - but she left and I punished you for it my whole life. But you don’t know the secret. What we did. That’s been rotting in me. And this thing, it’s like it could smell it.” 

Patty asks, “Henry?” And Principal Newby says no - “The boy stopped it. It was killing me Patty. If the boy hadn’t fought it, it would have won.” “What would have won.”

Principal Newby draws “the it” with blood from his eyes: “I can’t explain it, I have to show you.” He draws the s2 Mind Flayer (it's very similar to Will's charcoal drawing from s3).

Wall of monitors

Brenner’s dad died as a result of the Eldridge incident, so he explains what happened as images show up on the monitors. 

“On October 28, they tested it. It was my 15th birthday.” An audio recording from the opening scene plays. 

Brenner: “The entire crew was lost save for my father who was horribly wounded. Now, I was allowed to see him once before he died and he told me what really happened. The ship became momentarily invisible because it was gone, gone to a dimension beyond our own.” Henry says “that’s impossible.” Brenner responds, “That is what everyone said. They told me my father was dying, that it was the morphine talking. The funniest thing they said was that his body kept rejecting the blood transfusions. They couldn’t figure it out, but I knew. Something changed. He changed. After he died, I dedicated my life to Project Rainbow. I joined the research team at the Department of Defense at their base in Nevada."

Brenner: “We had access to special materials. And then one night about ten months ago, one of our scientists broke out our facility carrying something very, very dangerous. His remains were found two days later. Near a cave system. There was no trace of what transpired...We had nothing. Almost nothing.” Lab guy wearing hazmat suit comes out, holding a box. “Just the tiniest hint that someone else had gotten there first. Have you ever seen a container like this before? The scientist who escaped was carrying (???). Don’t you want to know what’s in it?”

They put the electrode headpiece on Henry and open the box. It contains Henry’s lost Captain Midnight spyglass. That revelation is what causes Henry to start to seize.

“What happened when you opened the box, Henry? What did you see?”

No gate opens, what looks like Dimension X appears on the monitors. The monitors crack and Henry falls to the floor. Brenner wipes the foam and blood from Henry’s face. He says, “can you get me back there?” Brenner: “Yes, I can get you back there. Henry, you want to hear(?) a big secret? And that big secret is hiding in a little part of your brain called the amygdala. Now we just need to make contact. We just need to say hello. Is that something you want? Together we can open a door back to that other place. A gate, if you will. We can do it, Henry. You and me, together. Father and son.”

Patty and Henry in the Void

Patty reaches out to Henry without Bob, Joyce, and Hopper, or the radio. “I don’t know how to find you, so you’re going to have to find me.” She puts on a blindfold. “Talk to me, Henry. Find me.” No mention of Captain Midnight. She enters the Void.

Henry: “We don’t have long. It’s not safe for you here.”

It felt clearer to me here that they’re looking at Henry’s nervous system, and the synapse-y Mind Flayer projection in the background is in his amygdala.

Discussion about Henry needing to fight it. Henry says he’s tired of hating himself and everyone else. He wonders if this is where he belongs.

Henry still shares Principal Newby’s secret, but it’s that Patty wasn’t abandoned, but was taken from her mother because she was young and declared unfit - not that she was born because Principal Newby had an affair with a student.

Patty cries, says doesn’t want to be alone again. Henry tells her to run from him and she says she can’t. She gets up and holds hospital bed Henry’s hand. “Where would I go? I’m the girl from nowhere, however(?) I can’t give up. Don’t fight for yourself, just fight for me.” Something about there being monsters, but that doesn’t mean they’re all bad. She wants to find her mom and for Henry to come with her. “We can fight the monsters, we can find the good in this world. Me and you, Henry.”

No back and forth between the lab attendants in this version. The thread with one lab attendant having a conscience about all this/going against Brenner is not present.

Inmate 58361

Lab attendant pleading with Henry is a bit different: “I just work here, kid. I just follow orders. I have a daughter at home and (???)” 

Dark of the Moon opening night

Less backstage chaos business overall. Karen’s new costume is a “sexy Halloween costume” version of the original instead of the almost naked cauldron skirt/spider nipples. Alan and Karen bicker, I think about double standards about Alan’s unitard costume.

Bob apologizes to Patty: “I should have protected you. Especially from dad.”

No “incest is edgy” jokes about Patty and Bob.

Lonnie is the one that gets mistakenly grabbed for Hopper’s interrogation instead of Victor. Lonnie confesses that he stole baby Jesus from the Nativity.

No Aisle F, Seat 12 vs Aisle 12, Seat F mix-up, Lonnie just says they were giving away tickets at the door. “I’m trying to get back together with my girl, she’s the director.” He doesn’t seem to know Hopper?

Creel murders

No scene with Alice before dinner, Henry just enters the Void right away. Dialogue between Virginia and Alice is a bit different, Alice says, “I just want things to go back to normal.”

Some extended dialogue from Virginia when she’s talking to Brenner: “I tried to be a good mother to him. I tried everything. I just don’t know if what happened to him made him that way, or if deep down he’s always been like that(?)”

Big Mind Flayer is maybe just a projection or at least a much less elaborate prop, no big puppet for the Brits :(

Blackout at the play

Scene transition doesn’t involve Patty’s Barbara Allen “not the baby!” dialogue, and no prop baby for Joyce and Bob’s conversation

Slightly different dialogue from Henry to Joyce: “What are you going to do, rewrite the ending?” You make all these plans. You think you have control. But it is bullshit. Don’t you see? I do. It used to be that I could just hear the voices. But now I can see them. Now I can see everything.”

Joyce: “No, okay, I know that you feel like you don’t belong, all right I don’t either, but things can change. God, I mean, you? You have changed so much since your first audition and Hawkins has been changed too.”

No “You will” from Henry to Joyce after she says “I don’t understand.” Otherwise the scene is the same.

Some more pointed dialogue from Brenner to Patty on the catwalk, “What about you? I never would have found him without you. How did you get him to attack your father like that? What did you do to him?”

Brenner doesn’t call Henry an “it”: “Patricia, he’s a weapon, and he’s the property of the United States government.” 

Brenner: “He’s a killer, Patty, and he needs to kill. And he needs me. Not you. Me.”

Brenner keeps telling Henry, “do not fight, connect”

Patty does not take a breath before the blackout that ends the scene

Epilogue

Hopper just asks Joyce “How’s Lonnie?” no jokily pretending to not know his name like on Broadway

Bob’s dedication to Patty is: “Wherever she is, I hope she’s tuning in. Wonder Woman, this one’s for you.”

I believe the song that plays over Patty meeting her mom is different, and there aren’t any showgirls backstage with Patty’s mom / they don’t sing together.

When Patty and her mom hug, the “STAGE DOOR” sign flickers. Patty’s mom asks what is that, and Patty responds it’s nothing, probably bad wiring

[mothdust23]

⟢Mundanity (PART 1)⟣

CW: A LOT of gender dysphoria, dolls, Becoming, toxic masculinity, looong post

..You are a girl.

Well, you wished you were. But boys can't be girls, and you're a boy.

The feelings stuck, either way. As you clumsily pawed at your phone to shut off the alarm, dragged yourself out of bed, turned on the shower while trying your hardest to avoid looking at your body..

Distracting yourself with hotter water, filling the room with steam.

Don't take too long in there, only girls do that. Get out, dry off, brush your teeth. Stare at the man in the mirror. Avoid meeting his eyes. Consider shaving....it wouldn't matter.

T shirt, jeans, dress shoes. Muted colors every time. Wallet, keys, contact lenses.

Traffic's slow today.

Drive through downtown. Briefly see a shop you've never seen before.

Arrive at work, spend too long looking at the secretary. She notices. HR will probably find out. You didn't mean to, she just looks pretty. Despite yourself, you're jealous. You remember to smirk and whistle. Boys do that. You have to do that, naturally.

Sit down. Type. Copy, paste, research, graph, calculate. Soul crushing work. Zone out making far less than you deserve.

Email from the boss. Invitation to an office party. You know you won't attend.

More work. Briefly entertain the idea of working overtime.

...yeah, no.

Clock out, drive home.

...

Sit at the kitchen table, looking at your hand.It's the wrong shape.

A strange feeling compels you. Something you saw on your drive to work..

You get up, grab your keys, your jacket. Glance at the car, then the darkening sky.

..Fresh air is nice.

Stroll down the street. You ate at that restaurant once. It gave you food poisoning. Wave to the guy working the night shift in the corner store. He's probably confused about why you aren't taking your car. You are too. The store is far away, but you need to do this.

You need to do this.

You need to do this.

The sun's going down. You can see stars appearing in the sky. Cars appear less and less, and the city goes quiet. Part of you says that something here is wrong.

Another part wants to see that store. It's louder. It sounds like the part that wishes it could be a girl.

..Usually, you're better at ignoring it, but it currently seems to live on a higher priority than common sense.

Your worry grows, your legs keep moving. When was the last time you heard a car? What time is it? You check your phone. Battery's dead. It was fully charged when you left. You keep walking.

..Arrival. The store is the only one open. Light spills out of its windows, enough for you to look up and read the sign.

[The Fairy Ring]

..Weird name.

..You stand outside, in the cold. You can't see anything but light through the windows.

...you feel scared, but.. there's a fluttering feeling in your chest.

⟢<(O)>⟣

As you open the door, a pleasant scent and a burst of warmth rushes over you. Cinnamon and a fireplace.. despite never having a fireplace, nostalgia and comfort fill you. Despite never coming here before, you feel oddly safe. Gancing around, you notice the varied stock- racks of clothes, strange glittering trinkets, pointed hats and a row of long objects- broomsticks, walking sticks, umbrellas, even a few metal sticks that remind you of space-age antennae. Masks, candles, blades - or at least their scabbards.. An entire wall of the store is covered in hung up keys of all different kinds, like the kind one would find on a clockwork toy.. You push the door further open, trying to look closer, but an odd noise distracts you. A bell attached to the door rings softly, and you turn your head as a stifled "eep!" can be heard behind the front desk.

"T-this one will be right with you!"

Someone(?) gets up from behind the counter, holding a screwdriver and magnifying glass. Their gender is hard to discern, which isn't helped by the metallic lustre to their skin and hair - a cosplayer, perhaps? Quite a work ethic for a night shift... you feel yourself open your mouth, stepping into the shop.

"Uh, hello.. I'm just here to look around."

"Awa, that's what they all say at first.. can this one help you find anything in particular?"

Their movements are oddly stiff. A brief wave of uncanniness washes over you, but you steel yourself.

"This one..?"

They(?) laugh, stepping out from behind the counter with the arm of a tiny doll, broken at elbow-

"No, THIS one! You are that one, and-" the person(???) gestures to themself, "this one is this one! You're very new to this, aren't you?"

Already regretting your investigation, you pretend to peruse the trinkets as you look at the door.

"Something like that. Is this a cult?"

This only causes more laughter, a comfortingly human sound considering the cashier's... odd nature.

"No, silly, this is The Fairy Ring! The premier shop for and of entities of all kinds, run by our gracious hosts! We do not meddle with such.. improper things. We only deal with helping entities find true joy and acceptance!"

A wave of revulsion passes through you as you pass by the rows of keys.

"...is this a fucking sex shop?"

"Why ever would you think that?" it says, frowning. It looks genuinely upset at this. For some reason, knowing that makes you feel terribly guilty. "This shop is for entities of all ages, and this one cares not for such base things!"

"Well, you're clearly doing some sorta freaky cosplay thing, and there's all sorts of weird junk here. I wouldn't be surprised if your store attracted all sorts of freaks and creeps." you feel guilty speaking, knowing this is horribly rude, but... you have a reputation to uphold, right? You can't think any of this.. admittedly cool stuff, IS cool, because then you'd be a freak too. You have a cushy job and social life, you can't afford to be one... the cashier, however, blushes bright red and tears up.

"T-this one lacks permission to kick you out, but.. you are on thin ice, mister! You have no... no right to say such things.. you should apologize!"

The cashier looks down.. and then back up, lost in thought.. before wiping off its tears and grinning..

"In fact, you WILL apologize to this one!"

This struck you as odd. Not the statement, although it was very strange, but you suddenly sucking in your breath, newfound guilt bubbling to the surface when you usually keep it so well hidden, and you blurting out a quick "I'msorry-" to the stranger. Normally, you wouldn't be caught dead saying sorry to anyone, let alone a stranger, but..

These are strange times, aren't they? And it felt nice to say sorry.. you felt good inside, like a weight was lifted.

..how.. long have you been standing there, smiling and cradling your cheek?

Too long, you decide. You lower your hand, unfamiliar warmth filling your face.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what? This one did nothing!"

"You told me to say sorry, and- I.. did, but.." you peter off, realizing how absurd what you're saying is. You're in control of your own mind. Nothing can change that. You.

Right..?

You sigh and pick up a little packet of novelty tea, staring at it.

"This.. uh.. hobby shop. Doesn't get many guests, does it.."

"Oh, not yet! We've recently moved to a new location, but this one is sure more customers will come!"

"Really? All of this stuff is uh.. very specific. I can't really see anything I need, to be honest."

You turn around and the cashier is inches from you, staring you in the eyes. Up close, their skin looks even more artifical, and you catch a glimpse of their name tag - "Penny".

"OH- you startled me. Why are you uh.."

You step back, discomfort growing. This shop, everything about it feels wrong. The floors aren't dusty enough. All the glass is spotless.

"This one probably should have told you sooner, but you may take one item, free of charge!"

It smiles. You feel uncomfortable.

"..uhh.. ok, I'll be leaving then-" you mutter, not wanting to stay any longer than you have to.

"Oh, you misunderstand! You must! You have little choice."

..You only then notice the ball joints connecting Penny's limbs and neck. Like a doll's.

Terror fills you.

"I- n-no, please, I can't- g-get away from me!!"

"Awa, fine.. this one was excited to help you Become, but if you wish to find something on your own.."

"..what? What do you mean, Become..? What ARE you?

"Oh, right, you are new to this! This one is a doll, this shop is made of magic, and you are to choose an item! It will dictate what you will Become."

"N-no thanks, I.. i.. i.."

The door stays open ajar. You look at it, then at the too-clean shop, full of things you cannot help but feel interest in. Is it really possible to have a second chance at life..?

"I.. tell me more." you hear yourself say, defeated. You can't think of a reasonable excuse. "Is magic.. actually real?"

"Well, haha, this one sure hopes it is! It wouldn't prefer to be powered by nothing, instead!"

Penny raises its blouse, causing you to look away and wince.

"Come on, look! It is not what you think!"

You reluctantly stare, before gasping and stepping back. Open hydraulics, visible through a glass torso, and dozens of tiny fibre optic cables, flashing like fairy lights. It's a work of art, in the shape of a person. Penny lifts its blouse further, and hundreds of cables converge on a single point, a little pinpoint of light so blinding it reminds you of looking into the sun.

"You.. you're.. beautiful.. what.. what are you..?"

"This one is a doll! It thought it made that clear. Do you believe in magic now, or should this one call its witch?"

"No, no, I- wait, aren't witches like.. evil hags?"

"Awa.. no, no, that is incorrect! Most witches are very kindly, in fact.. including this one's witch! She took it in when it was still human!"

"Still.. human..? Wait, so-"

...so you could look like that. It's starting to sink in. You don't have to be a boy.

..you sit down at one of the chairs for sale, putting your head in your hands.

"This one sees you need more time. Do not worry, you may find what you want to be at your own pace!"

Penny puts its shirt back on, walking back to the register and going back under the desk to fix the little doll. You eventually get up, stretching (how long were you sitting there, perfectly still..?) and wandering about the shop. Running your hand across rows of keys, staring into the face of ornate masks..

A bell rings. You recognize it as the doorbell and catch a glimpse of a pointed, wide brimmed hat. Part of you wants to hide - out of embarrassment, or something similar. You're a boy standing next to dresses, you don't belong here.

"Miss Brooke! This one is happy to see you in our new location! Do you need anything?"

"Oh, just a few odds and ends. You wouldn't happen to have any new dolls to adopt, would you?"

"Well, no, but.."

..Wait, dresses. You turn away from the conversation, spying rows of mannequins with dresses, masks, and hats. You- you can wear them if it's so you can hide. That's why you want to wear them. Totally.

Hurrying and pulling items off shelves, you assume your new disguise next to the other mannequins, trying not to shake from how nice it felt to wear clothes like this.

..what is wrong with you?

you just need to pose like the mannequins.. and stay still.

Pose... just pretend the clothes fit.. just.. stay Still.

Stay.. Still.

A woman in a pretty hat walks by you and smirks. There was something important about her. You.. were hiding from her?

Stay Still.

Stay..

...

St.. i..

You jolt awake, pulling off the mask and hat. It's light now, like it's morning.

"How.. how long was I.."

[dirtyassvoiceactors]

Random bit that still cracks me up in the MNxBH e115 is when Ashton turns to Orym talking about the Nein:

A: “I feel like this is a dark mirror of our future, if we survive this, this is what we’re gonna fall apart into”

O: “We’re never gonna be that old”

While canonically Orym is already older than Beau, Jester and Veth at least, and only 3/4 years younger than Caleb and Fjord,

Like sure Ashton, Imogen and Dorian are a couple years younger than Beau(the youngest of the Nein) but Laudna, Fearne and Chet are all older than most of the Nein kkkkk

I’ve actually wrote down from all campaigns the ages of the parties(in 843pd) and was surprised how close in age the Nein and Hells are

[antheumvestige]

Originally it was just going to be a Black Sapphire spread but I couldn’t think of any other poses or scenes for him so I drew them both! Rushing a couple of doodles to fill the empty space of course.

《Yapping and design schpeals below》

Candy Apple Cookie

- During her first release I had originally thought she was a child due to her model and I was going through her wiki page to find out that her VA indicates that's she's 17-19 y/o SO I CHANGED HER UP A BIT TO FIT. I had done it originally on a sticky note in one of my notebooks a few weeks ago, which was cleaner than the one here {which I might show later?} But I just wanted to change her sleeves and top into a more uniform like attire I guess to make her appear a bit older. I should've looked back at that sticky note to see what I did before, but yk. I'll definitely be changing her skirt a bit when I decide to do an actual drawing spread for her.

Black Sapphire Cookie

- Him!! I do understand with his character that he is drawn repetitivly as a twink, which I don't hate! It's undeerstandable but I just wanted to give him a bit more meat and top surgery scars! {Possibly projecting..} I did see some cool designs and tattoos people have done for themselves and characters, and I wanted my version of him to have bat wings there reasonably. They're not drawn well in the photo since they weren't supposed to be visible through the fabric at all but I did want just a little peek of it so I remember to draw one properly if I decide to do an actual drawing spread of him digitally. {I drew him on graph paper, but I don't like the way he turned out in that spread, so I might redo it digitally to a 'newer' design I'm thinking up for him.}

[yesterdays-xkcd]

Trivia: Elaine is actually her middle name.

1337: Part 2 [Explained]

Transcript

[Cueball standing and looking down at his Cueball-like friend, who is sitting on the floor near an armchair holding a cloth to his face.]

Friend: So the greatest hacker of our era is a cookie-baking mom? Cueball: Second-greatest. Friend: Oh?

[Young Elaine with a ponytail on the floor typing at a keyboard while looking at a screen connected to a computer behind it with lots of wires and open case. The computer appears to have been pieced together and there is a screwdriver lying next to her and an open box lies behind her. Little Bobby Tables is painting with a broad brush at an easel to the left. There is a clear drawing with two parts going up and one down, but it's not easy to see what it should look like. He is holding his other hand up in the air, like he is enjoying the painting.] Cueball (narrating): Mrs. Roberts had two children. Her son, Bobby, was never much for computers, but her daughter Elaine took to them like a ring in a bell.

[The front of a car is in frame with side mirror and steering wheel visible. Mrs. Roberts is waving goodbye to her daughter who is wearing a backpack and is holding a walking stick. She is about to begin climbing a staircase built into a rocky mountain side. The first 11 step are visible. Behind the two and the stair are two distant mountain peaks, and above them two clouds.] Cueball (narrating): When Elaine turned 11, her mother sent her to train under Donald Knuth in his mountain hideaway.

[Donald Knuth is standing with a pointing stick at a chalk board with graph traversal patterns on it and two blocks of unreadable text the top may be a matrix.] Cueball (narrating): For four years she studied algorithms. Donald Knuth: Child—

[Donald Knuth whips around from the board slashing the stick like a sword. Elaine jumps, making a somersault and lands on the stick balancing with her arms out.] Donald Knuth: Why is A* search wrong in this situation? Stick: swish Elaine: Memory usage! Donald Knuth: What would you use? Elaine: Dijkstra's algorithm!

[Donald Knuth and Elaine are outside, seen from behind while they are both writing on a chalkboard with a thick line down the middle to separate their work. On both sides their writing can be seen but it is unreadable. Where there is only text visible on Donald Knuth's side there is also what appears to be a drawing or matrix at the top of Elaine's. But a similar thing could be behind Donald Knuth's head. Elaine is no longer wearing her hair in a ponytail but have long straight white hair like her mom, Mrs. Roberts. To the left there is a stump from a tree, some grass and maybe a puddle of water. Further back there is a small jagged hill and a flat horizon. To the right there are four mountain peaks and a flat high plateau towards the horizon. The frame of the panel does not include the top-left and bottom-right corners, but cuts round a rectangular section of both places.] Cueball (narrating): Until one day she bested her master Donald Knuth: So our lower bound here is O(n log n) Elaine: Nope. Got it in O(n log (log n)) Cueball (narrating): And left.

[mariacallous]

Let’s say you just searched Google to learn more about this new AI Overview feature that everyone’s talking about. If your query triggers an AI Overview—and not every query will—then you might see an AI-generated summary of this very article at the top of your results. These new AI Overviews in Google Search present users with AI-generated answers to queries that are culled from information on the web, and they’re presented in a way that gives you the answer you seek without ever requiring you to click on a web link or even learn the names of the publications that the AI used as sources.

Google has already released a nascent version of AI Overviews within something called the Search Generative Experience, but it was only available to users who opted in. However, at the company’s I/O developer conference this week, Google announced that the newly renamed AI Overviews is now receiving a wider launch; everyone in the US who uses Google to search the web or ask a question will now see AI Overviews at the top of their results—again, if their question can be answered by a summary.

Can I Turn Off AI Overviews?

What if you’d rather just see web links? Unfortunately, AI Overviews are baked into the default search results page now. You can’t opt out of seeing them in your results. While there’s no way to fully disable AI Overviews for your Google account, there are a couple of methods you can use to get a search results page filled with web links.

First, there's the manual method of selecting a special filtered view after each individual query. After landing on the search result page topped with the AI Overview, click on the More tab—it should now appear among other filter options like Images, Videos, Shopping—and click Web. You’ll see a results page just showing links to actual websites.

Second, you can install a browser extension that automatically forces this web-only view of the search results page. Developers have been hard at work since I/O; there are already options available for Chrome and Vivaldi, as well as add-ons for Firefox. Other browsers will likely get extensions soon.

What's in an AI Overview?

When can you expect your query to trigger an AI-generated summary of the results? “AI Overviews appear for complex queries,” says Mallory De Leon, a Google spokesperson. “You'll find AI Overviews in your Google Search results when our systems determine that generative AI can be especially helpful–for example, when you want to quickly understand information from a range of sources.” During my initial tests, it felt like the AI Overviews popped up almost at random for queries, and the summaries appeared for simple questions as well as more complicated asks.

According to De Leon, the AI Overview is powered by a customized version of Google’s Gemini model that’s supplemented with aspects of the company’s Search system, like the Knowledge Graph that has billions of general facts.

One of my core hesitations about this feature as it rolls out is the continued potential for AI hallucinations, more commonly known as lies. When you interact with Google’s Gemini chatbot, a disclaimer at the bottom reads: “Gemini may display inaccurate info, including about people, so double-check its responses.” There’s no such disclaimer added to the bottom of the AI Overview, which often simply reads, “Generative AI is experimental.”

When asked why there’s no mention of potential hallucinations for AI Overviews, De Leon emphasizes that Google wants to still offer high-quality search results and mentions that the company did adversarial red-teaming tests to uncover potential weak points for the feature.

“This implementation of generative AI is rooted in Search’s core quality and safety systems, with built-in guardrails to prevent low-quality or harmful information from surfacing,” she says. “AI Overviews are designed to highlight information that can be easily verified by the supporting information that we surface.”

Knowing this, you might still want to click through the webpage links to double-check that the information is actually correct. Though it’s hard to imagine many users, who are often looking for quick answers, will spend extra time reading over the source material for Google’s AI-generated answer.

Liz Reid, Google’s head of Search, recently told my colleague Lauren Goode that AI Overviews are expected to arrive for countries outside of the United States before the end of 2024, so over a billion people will likely soon encounter this new feature. As someone whose job relies on readers actually clicking links and spending time reading the articles, of course I’m apprehensive about this change—and I’m not alone.

Beyond concerns from publishers, it also remains unclear what additional impacts might trickle down to users from Google’s AI Overviews. Yes, OpenAI’s ChatGPT and other AI tools are quite popular in Silicon Valley tech circles, but this feature will likely expose billions of people, who have never used a chatbot before, to AI-generated text. Even though AI Overviews are designed to save you time, they might lead to less trustworthy results.