A Tumblr based repository of my fanfiction. My main archive is on Archive Of Our Own, under username darali_starscream. Subscribe to me there for real-time updates. Links will be added here as I find time to post my backfile.
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Supernatural
Series: Holler Me Home, in progress
Series Masterlist
A Strange Detour -- complete
Belonging To A Screwed Situation -- complete
Stops Along The Way, exit 1 -- complete
Calculate And Pray -- complete
Stops Along The Way, exit 2 -- complete
Finding The Groove -- complete
Stops Along The Way, exit 3 -- complete
Regarding The Road Ahead -- complete
Stops Along The Way, exit 4 -- complete
Ablaze With Hope And Free, part a -- complete
Ablaze With Hope And Free, part b -- complete
Have A Drink On Me -- complete
Stops Along The Way, exit 5 -- complete
Company's Coming -- in progress
Series: Supernatural B-Sides, in progress
Series Masterlist
We're Counting On You, Lord -- complete
Artificial Lullabye -- complete
I'll Gitcha Fixed -- complete
Full Of Broken Thoughts -- complete
Make It Do (Or Do Without) -- complete
Stairwell Drums -- complete
Slow And Sultry Beats -- complete
Series: Professional, complete
Series Masterlist
Calling A Professional, part a -- complete
Calling A Professional, part b -- complete
In Soviet Russia, Professional Calls You -- complete
The Professional -- complete
Series: Switching Up, complete
Series Masterlist
The Patches Didn't Work -- complete
Lipstick On Your Belt Buckle -- complete
Series: House Rules At The HQ, in progress
Series Masterlist
The Personal Improvement Plan -- complete
Relax And Float Downstream -- complete
After Closing -- complete
Hosing Off The Muck -- complete
Two Big Beds -- complete
Chaptered Fics
Double Booked, in progress
Chapter Index
Chapter 11, and its podfic read by Sandra of @talltalesandbedtimestories
The Days Of High Adventure, in progress
Chapter Index
Singular Fics
Snow Bound -- complete
Crazy Ways Are Evident-- complete, podfic by Sandra of @talltalesandbedtimestories
God Save The Queen, And Her Handmaids
A Moosey Fate -- complete
Overdone -- complete
Not My Fault -- complete
A Borrowed Life -- complete
Ambush! -- complete, podfic by Sandra of @talltalesandbedtimestories
The Ways Of Childhood -- complete, podfic by Sandra of @talltalesandbedtimestories
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The Boys
Series: Vices And Indulgences, in progress
Series Masterlist
Training Films -- complete
Housekeeping -- complete
The Three'O'Clock Slump -- complete
Singular Fics
As It All Burns -- complete
Of Constant Sorrow -- complete
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Big Sky
Walk Right In, It's Around The Back -- complete
Shoplifter -- complete
An Errand And A Favor -- complete
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Big Sky/Werewolf The Apocalypse
Weeping Into Our Beers -- complete
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Buffy The Vampire Slayer/Welcome To Night Vale
Dangerous Librarians -- complete
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Countdown
A Touch In Passing -- complete
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The Pitt
Banging My Heart On Some Mad Bugger's Wall -- complete, updates every other day
See chapter index for synopsis, author's notes, and full list of tags.
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Chapter Sixteen, I've Got Amazing Powers Of Observation
Thanksgiving had been a regular working day for both of us. Robby had to work and I was needed for staff coverage. I don't have any particular emotional attachment to the holiday anyway. He did ask me if I was planning on visiting my mother or my sister, and the shortness of my "No," clued him in that I didn't want to talk about it. I took the call from Mom at work, made my manners, and on my lunch break I sat at my desk and snapped an entire package of pencils.
It's cheaper than breaking dishes.
The following Monday, my lack of multicultural education bit me. Again. I looked up when Hanukkah fell and almost dropped dead of a heart attack when I saw I had three shopping days. "I don't even know what's appropriate to get!" I damn near wailed.
"The way Robby feels about you, you could probably get him a flat tire and a warm beer and he'll love it," Baran told me.
"Very funny." Baran was lingering after a meeting in my office, in which me and a few department heads had a brainstorming session with my web development team in India. The subject was the redesign of PTMC's Patient Portal system. Robby had kept the snide remarks to a minimum, for which I was grateful. The Patient Portal idea had captured the suits' collective imagination, and when something's inevitable it's best to seize it and make it your own before somebody else can fuck it up.
Course that approach does have downsides. The Virtual Boy comes to mind . . . you know what kids? Ask your parents.
"The man just got back from a three-month vacation-- it's not like I can surprise him with a riverboat cruise or a trip to Disneyland," I whined. “I looked up some stuff online and . . . look, I’ve gotten Christmas tree ornaments for Christmas before and nothing says, ‘I swung by the Walgreens on my way over,’ louder.”
That got me a laugh. “I think you’re overthinking it,” Baran said, chortling, “and working yourself into a panic spiral in the process.”
“Thank you, Doctor Science,” I said dryly.
Baran thought a moment, going deep that way she has. “The rule is,” she said, tapping a fingernail against her coffee cup, “to get someone something they like that they wouldn’t usually get for themselves.” At my You’re Not Helping scowl, she amplified, “Robby isn’t observant. I don’t think he goes to synagogue.”
“Not that he’s told me,” I said, frowning. Come to think of it, that’s an important data point to have.
“So forget themed gifts and just worry about treating him. Think about things he likes and go from there.”
“Well . . .” I thought out loud, looking down at the Engineer. This is a problem to solve just like anything else, he seemed to say from over his toolbox. “He likes his bike. He likes baseball. He likes his work.”
Baran grinned. “And he likes you. That’s plenty to work with.”
---
"Honey I promise," Robby said as he plucked the condiment basket out of my fridge, "I can buy you all the mustard you will ever need."
"Just put it back Robby," I said shortly, stung. Like I need a reminder that normal people don't save their extra ketchup packets. Hey-- when you're living on brown rice and ramen meal you learn to love anything free and flavorful. I've wept over honey mustard.
"Okay, okay, okay," Robby soothed, setting the basket back in the fridge. Giving me a weird look as he kept collecting sandwich ingredients.
I scowled over my phone. God I hate the holidays. If there's a gift-giving gene, my family does not have it. Whenever we try to do something thoughtful and considered, well . . . don't ask about that time Kayla and I pooled our money to buy Mom and Dave a weekend in Chicago. We've finally settled into a sort of neutral pattern of giving each other the same sets of things every year-- Chanel perfume for Mom, a Golf Zone gift card for Dave, a deposit into Dad's commissary account, a renewal of Kayla's membership to the LA Zoo and Botanical Gardens. It's also coming up on time to visit the uncles. Should I bring Robby? No, I thought as he added a little heap of potato chips to each plate. Not quite there yet. Maybe in the spring, when we could take a few days. Hang out on the beach, maybe swing by Detroit and take in a Tigers game--
Inspiration struck. Finally.
I pulled up Google and went to work.
---
Day One was a workday. It was a challenge, sneaking down into The Pitt without Robby noticing. I finally gave up and called Dana to run interference for me. When I told her why she just said, “Leave it to me honey.”
I ducked into a custodial closet, sticking my head out just enough to see the charge desk and the door to the ambulance bay. I saw Robby, leaned over a terminal as he discussed something with one of the residents. I saw Dana walking back, always in haste but never in a hurry. Then I saw . . . oh holy hell.
“Hey fruitcake,” cooed one of the emergency department’s Public Enemies Number One. Myra or Myrna-- Myrna, that’s her name. She was scooting along in a wheelchair, and she was stark fucking naked.
Robby glanced over and did a double-take so hard he damn near fell over.
“Think about ditching that little girlfriend of yours? How good’s her head? Betcha I can do better.” I shit you not I could hear the slimy sound of her tongue slathering over her lips.
“Myrna for God’s sake--!” Robby yelled, taking two running steps towards a cart loaded with blankets. He threw one over the wheelchair, taking a moment to glare at his department with eyes that spoke eloquently of doom. I smacked a hand over my mouth, wheezing laughter. The poor man was stoplight red as he wheeled the blanket-covered cackling demon to an exam room and slammed the door.
My phone chimed with a text from Dana. Go.
Work fast, Cousins. I ran for the locker room. Top one, second from the left. The envelope with Robby’s name slipped through the gap between the doors. Crossing my fingers that it’d landed inside the right locker, I hightailed it.
I texted Dana, Mission accomplished.
---
“Robby the last time I held one of these was in high school," I protested, peering up at him from under the brim of my plastic helmet. "In fact, I’m pretty sure I skipped class that day.”
“No time like the present.” Underneath his helmet, Robby was grinning. A full-on ear-to-ear thing. He hadn’t stopped since he’d come to pick me up. Though kidnap might be a better word. “Now show me your stance.” I did. “Here-- elbow up, weight back a little more. The motion should start at your toes, follow up through your knees, hips, back, torso, and arms.” Robby’s hands traveled up my body, pushing on me to demonstrate the kinetic action. I kind of accidently-on-purpose leaned back into him. Chuckling, he obliged me with a hug.
“Get a room,” floated over from the cage next door, punctuated with the harsh crack! of someone using a real wooden bat.
Leaning down, Robby promised, “Later,” his breath a hot puff on my neck.
I turned my head and kissed him. “Happy Hanukkah.”
---
Day Two I kept it simple and showed up at his place with a bottle of warming massage oil.
Found out Robby purrs if you pet him just right.
---
Day Three I got pictures from Dana and Dennis of a small bouquet of blue and white roses on the charge desk, a little brown teddy bear wearing a set of scrubs sitting beside the vase. I also got a text from Robby-- you're fucking adorable, you know that?
---
Day Four I stumbled through his door at five-thirty in the morning, with coffee and babka. Turns out Robby's a stone chocoholic.
---
Day Five we went to a holiday screening of The Princess Bride. Neither of us had watched that movie in years. I forgot how much fun it is. On the way back to my apartment we exchanged trivia and threw out quotes. "We should go as Buttercup and Wesley next Halloween," I suggested.
"Oh totally," Robby agreed. "Or as Mr. and Mrs. Miracle Max."
The mental image made me laugh. "If you look really close you can see Cary Elwes trying desperately not to laugh when he's lying there mostly dead."
I parked Cutesy in her usual spot and got out her dropcloth. "You wanna gimme a hand with this?"
Robby grinned. "As you wish."
---
Day Six required some recon, a little productive dishonesty, and some muscle.
“This isn’t fair,” Robby whined.
“Tough shit, you have any idea how far booked in advance my guy is?” Jack was my number two on this mission and he was not taking No for an answer. I opened the door and Jack basically dragged Robby through by the scruff of the neck. “Benny? Got a live one for ya!”
I take back everything I’ve ever said about facial hair maintenance being a layup compared to makeup. Straight razor shining chrome in his hand, Benny the Barber went after Robby’s face like he was pruning a bonsai tree, cutting each stray bristle from three or four different angles to ensure it thought twice about growing out of place ever again. With silver scissors and tiny comb in hand he carefully sculpted Robby’s beard, every stray wave and whisker accounted for and made good. When I looked up from my phone and saw Robby sitting up and examining himself in the mirror, he really did look renewed.
And fucking sexy. Hard to say which one of us blushed harder when Jack whistled.
---
Day Seven, I snuck out of work early and told Robby to present himself on his doorstep in a tie.
It's funny. I've lived in this fucking town going on three years and eating out to me still meant hitting a drive-thru. I'd asked around for where to take a date and it was Priyanka who suggested Eleven. With a warning to bring my checkbook. She wasn't kidding. Looking up the menu online-- it wasn't sticker shock, we're talking sticker coma.
But . . . a pampered Robby was just so fucking adorable. Every gift met with that same wow, for me? bashful smile. Besides, he looked so handsome with his freshly barbered beard and dressed nice. So sue me, I wanted to show him off. Walking arm in arm seeing and being seen. Look Ma, I bagged a doctor.
Robby's jaw dropped-- it literally dropped-- when he saw where we were going. "Nikki no," he said.
"No what?" I asked.
"No you don't need to keep doing this, this is too much."
"Don't you know its rude to ask about the price of gifts?"
"Hanukkah gifts aren't supposed to break the bank," Robby rebutted. "Jack let slip how much his barber charges for the full service."
"Narc," I muttered. Not that he needs the full service. Jack’s got the kind of attitude that makes disheveled look good. “If you’d rather not we can go somewhere else,” I said. “But I made reservations, and fuck it, I’m spoiling my boyfriend.”
“You don’t need to spoil me,” Robby said. “I was ruined the first time I saw you.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.” Robby paused at the crosswalk, his overcoat-clad arm going around my back. “I took my truck that day because it was raining, and as I was getting out I heard someone singing. And I mean really belting it out. I even recognized the song.”
“Revelations,” I said, feeling myself turning red. Shit, I remembered that day. Coming from the overchilled dungeon of the IT department, the humid warmth of a rainy spring morning had felt like a blessing from Heaven. After a long night of frustrating busywork it was sing or burst.
“Yeah.” The back of one gloved finger outlined my cheek. "I looked up and there you were. You had your earbuds in and you were dancing out the door. I watched you get in your car and burn rubber out of the garage."
"And that ruined you." That had not been a good hair day. Hell it hadn't been a good anything day.
Robby nodded. "Yes it did." Tipping my chin up, he bent his head for a kiss. A lingering thing that pulled the strength out of my legs. "Ruined." Another kiss.
I lost track of the kisses after two. "Come on," I said against his lips, "we're gonna be late." I poked him in the chest. "You're gonna get pampered and you are going to like it. Comprende?"
Chuckling, Robby said, "Comprendo."
Dinner was expensive, and worth every fucking penny. We walked back to Robby's a little dizzy with wine and even drunker on each other.
Out of respect and to avoid intruding on a private moment I was ready to go start changing for bed while Robby lit the menorah, but Robby asked me to stay.
It's funny. I hadn't set foot in a church in almost twenty years but watching the careful way Robby moved, I could feel the opening of the Eucharist on my lips-- blessed be God, et cetera et cetera et cetera. As he created a sacred space, bringing light against the dark. I kept myself quiet and still. I was an outsider, and I knew it. Invited as a guest, not as a participant.
I could feel my brain trying to apply that to other aspects of Robby's life. Places where I simply wasn't invited. Dammit, I thought as I listed to Robby sing blessings to God, at what point was I going to quit getting fucking greedy? Robby's a guarded man, one who required trust and patience. There's not any rush, I told myself. No rush at all.
---
Day Eight was a workday. I stuffed Robby's last present in his backpack as he was getting dressed. "Get a move on Captain," I said, "remember you told Jack you'd be early for handoff."
"Yes ma'am," he said with just the right pinch of snide, lifting his first cup of the day.
"Salute me when you say that." Without pausing in his sip Robby flipped me off.
It was below freezing so we took Robby's truck and parted with a kiss. Once I got settled behind my desk, I sent Robby a text:
Me: Go to the men's room.
Me: Check your backpack.
Me: Put on what's inside.
Me: Send me a picture.
Hoping I'd caught him before the daily circus really got rolling, I put my phone down and opened my e-mail.
Not five minutes later, my phone rang.
"I'm going to kill you."
"I take it you got your present?" I asked, all sweetness. "Did I get the size right?"
"I'm not wearing these while I'm working! Are you outta your fucking mind?"
"I seem to recall someone insisting I wear a fucking thong not so long ago," I said. "Suffer." And hung up.
A few minutes later, I got a picture. Robby, from about the bellybutton on down, pants around his knees and loins wrapped in boxer shorts of the softest black silk I'd been able to find. He'd be feeling that on his body all day. My gift. My hands. On his body. Underneath his scrubs.
As I watched, Robby added a text.
Robby: i hate you so much right now
Robby: plotting your death
Grinning, I shot back:
Me: I regret nothing. Have a good day!
---
"Did you have a good day today?" I asked as Robby climbed into the truck.
"You are dead, woman," Robby growled without looking at me. I started laughing. "You are deceased. You are no more. You have ceased to be.” Legitimately bent over cackling, laughing so hard I was making funny piggy noises. “You are a stiff. Bereft of life. You rest in peace." He started the truck, hands wrapping around the wheel and wringing. "You are pushing up daises. You have kicked the bucket. You have run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible! This," he pointed, "is an ex-Nikki!”
I tried to stop laughing. When Robby’s on a rant, he can be fucking hilarious. “We're quoting the Dead Parrot Sketch now?" I wheezed.
"I had Dana asking if I was running a temperature. McKay asked if we had a fight or something." Robby spluttered a moment and finally spat out, "Some comedian slipped this in my fucking pocket!!!"
I gawked at the blister pack. Contents, one little blue pill.
"Oh my God," I groaned, amusement collapsing. The joke has officially gone too far. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to embarrass you in front of your staff." Part Two of the day's present burned in my hand. "Suppose there's no point in giving you this."
Snatching it from my hand, Robby flipped the folded pages open. He did a double-take.
I nodded.
Flinging the pages onto the dashboard, Robby dropped the truck in gear and burned rubber pulling out. Yelping, I grabbed for the Oh Shit handle. "Motherfucker! Be careful!"
"Shut up and hang on." Fishtailing a little on an icy patch, Robby got us onto James Street. "We need to get home immediately and fuck."
I gulped. "Yes Doctor."
---
We were up late that night. Really late. The best of it, for me, was in the shower. Robby seated on the fold-down bench with me straddling his lap, rocking back and forth as hot water rained down on us. I could feel him, all of him. Raw. No barriers between us, thanks to my negative STI panel and the Nexplanon implant in my forearm.
Picking up my hand, Robby wove our fingers together. He pulled our hands to his lips and started kissing. Back of my hand, up my arm, across my collarbones and up my neck. His wet beard scraped delightfully against my heat sensitized skin. I ran my fingers into his hair and pulled him close, resting his head over my heart. I could feel the metal of his Star of David pendent, warm from the heat of the water and of our bodies. Robby's arms wrapped around my back, holding me to him. The muscles in his arm bulged, he was holding me so tight. The urgency in my body balanced up against a deep need to just exist suspended within this moment. With him.
I almost said it then, as urgency tipped the scale and Robby's hands guided me to rock faster, ride him harder. I didn't. Misuse had made the words feel cheap in my mouth. I wanted them to matter. Not as something said in passion, something that could be written off. Instead, I tugged at his hair until his eyes rose and met mine, and said his name like an incantation. Or the amen after a prayer. Michael.
---
"Michael," I breathed.
The gray-haired man in the leather jacket grinned. "Santa Claus has arrived!" he said, accepting Robby's brohug with a delighted laugh. "Merry Christmas!"
Stunned doesn't cover it. Flabbergasted might do it.
"Come on! Come here." With a big wave of his hand, Robby beckoned me over. "Try it on!"
'It' was a motorcycle.
Smaller than Robby's, and in pretty sorry disrepair. The chrome was dull and flowered with rust. The body was nothing by gray primer paint. The saddle's vinyl was cracked. And that's just what I could see, not knowing anything about motorcycles.
"Robby, I can't-- I don't know how to ride--"
"Yeah he told me," Santa Claus said, still smiling. "I figure to have her road-ready by the time the snow melts. Robby and me'll teach you. I can tell by your car you like feeling the road." He patted the gas tank, a big silver ring chiming on the steel.
"Nikki Cousins, meet my good friend Duke Randall," Robby introduced. "He helped me fix up the Bonnie. We were looking for a new project--"
"I know a guy at a junkyard up in New Castle, owes me a couple favors--"
"Made a few calls--"
"Twisted a few arms--"
"Ba-duh-bing, here we are!" Taking my hand, Robby laid it on the handlebar. "Come on! Sit! See how she feels!"
"Robby I can't accept this!" The bike itself had to cost a few grand, plus the money it would need to get it in rideable shape.
"Of course you can," Robby brushed me off.
"She's a Kawasaki Eliminator, about three hundred pounds, 125 cc engine so she won’t break your back. She's perfect until you get a little experience, then you can upgrade to something more powerful," Duke said, his breath steaming in the icy December air.
Robby's smile was fading. "'Scuse us a second Duke," he said, pulling me a few steps away.
I was shaking. Like, trembling. Stupid. Wasn't I just wondering about areas of Robby's life I didn't feel like a participant in? Here he was, extending a deliberate invitation to something that meant a lot to him, and I was being weird. About the most generous, thoughtful gift I've ever received in my life.
"Hey, c'mere." Robby wrapped me in a hug, pressing me against his chest. "What's the matter?"
"It's just too much," I said against his winter coat.
"If you're worried about whether or not I can afford it, that's my problem. Look at me." Robby's hand cupped my cheek and turned my face up. "Like Duke said, we're been looking for a new repair project. I think you'll really enjoy riding. Duke's a great teacher, and an Eliminator's a good bike for beginners."
"Robby--"
"Shah," he said, putting a gloved finger over my lips. "You got to spoil me, I get to spoil you. It's not fair otherwise." I shook my head, feeling my resistance weaken all the same. "Just sit on her, see how she feels. Okay?"
"Okay," I nodded, because Robby's a hard man to say no to.
Waiting patiently through this whole exchange, Duke stood at the bike's back and held on. Robby got around front, locking the front wheel between his knees. "Just swing your leg, up and over--" my leg came down on the Kawasaki's other side, "and sit." Cold vinyl pressed between my legs.
"Your feet flat on the ground?" Duke asked. I nodded. "Good, now lift your foot, set it on the peg-- just like that," he said as I lifted my right foot. "Now the other one."
The shaking ran through my whole body as my feet left the ground. On their own, my hands went around the handles. It felt natural. Tailored to me. I could actually imagine myself riding the damn thing. Flying through the world even more intimately than when I drive Cutesy with her top down.
I swore when I felt the bike move under me.
"Easy there," Duke said at my right hand. "Just seeing how she rolls. We gotcha."
"Yeah," Robby agreed from my left. Together they had ahold of the steering rack, guiding the bike towards the giant pole barn with Pittsburgh Truck'n'Trailer painted over the two gigantic front doors. I could see a Peterbilt big rig inside, crusty with road grime and with a couple of guys in dirty dungarees deep in its guts. The smell of rancid motor oil and decomposing tires and sawdust hit my nose and unstuck me in time. For a second I was back in the garage outside Jonesville, trapped and bored because Dad didn't consider minding his daughters something he should have to deal with when he was working on his truck.
I shook it off, as Robby and Duke wheeled the Kawasaki to a sectioned-off spot in the back of the garage. I could see another motorcycle there, a Harley-Davidson with a screaming eagle painted on the gas tank. "She rolls all right," Duke said, bringing the bike to a stop. "Kickstand by your left foot."
I heeled it down. Robby backed off enough to let me dismount, one arm extended behind my back to catch me in case I lost my balance. “How’s she feel?”
“Good,” I said. “It feels good.” It did. Heady. Dangerous. Potentially awesome. Like when I first got Cutesy and took a drive through Hell treating speed limits like helpful suggestions. Cutesy never put a tire wrong. It was freedom, when so much of my life felt like fucking containment.
Huh. Maybe Robby understood me better than I gave him credit for, I thought as I watched the men kibitz over the Kawasaki. “So what do you say?” Robby asked, pulling me close. “Wanna be my old lady?”
I laughed. “Only if you’ll be my main man.”
“Done,” he said, stealing a kiss.
---
AN: Author is not Jewish and apologizes for any cultural insensitivities. If the fluffiness has been boring you, don't worry, we'll be back to our regularly scheduled angst shortly.
mature content warnings on text posts of nothing but letters on a screen. . . remember when you were allowed to post like an adult and not be shamed or silenced for it
there is no acceptable explanation for this post being given a mature content warning outside of saying that you are an adult baby on the cyber nanny website!
[Image ID: The Destiel confession meme edited so that Dean answers 'JK Rowling posted upskirt photos of a woman on Twitter' to Cas 'I love you'. /End ID]
No one doing this should be allowed to call themselves a feminist.
The wealthy author escalated a social media spat that resulted in posting a photo from a 2023 event at the Institute of Economic Affairs in
Let's not beat around the bush: Children's author JK Rowling sexually harassed someone. In some jurisdictions, this would count as sexual abuse. JK Rowling has committed a sex crime against a woman and fell back on the old rape apologist standby of "she was asking for it".
surprisingly forward-thinking of jim henson and co. to make a female character in the 70's that's allowed to be loud-mouthed and violent and kind of overwhelmingly romantic and even a huge bitch at times and not have a moment where any character asks her to change
going through all the muppet movies in a row made me realize that like. miss piggy was made in the 70's. and it's so rare even today to have a character like her. she's loud, she's selfish, she's funny, she's extremely vain, she's obsessed with romance, she's violent, she's kind of annoying, and there's not a single moment in any of these films where she's asked to tone down any of these personality traits. i am not joking when i say that miss piggy might be one of the best treated female characters ever written
I think people should be able to exist in public without worrying about being recorded and posted online, even if they're being "weird", and I also think that if you see someone recording you without your consent then you should be able to legally spray paint their camera lens.
I'm usually lukewarm on "fandom + text posts" but the thing about M*A*S*H is that Hawkeye literally just talks like that. The posts will work for the other characters but so often I will see a post pinned on a screencap of Hawkeye and I can so clearly envision him saying the whole thing, with only minor edits for slang/cadence, if any in the first place. I don't know how to explain it if you haven't seen the show, but I know if you have you'll understand intuitively. Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce was born to be a tumblrina and instead he was stuck in Korea a hundred years ago.
it really is kind of interesting how attached people are to the idea of the improvised line and the genuine reaction in film. nearly every single famous moment or line has some sort of claim floating around that it wasn't in the script and was either made up on the spot by an actor or was sprung as a surprise on the actors to get their 'real' reaction. you know, sometimes people do come up with good lines in advance and write them down, and sometimes people can pretend to be have a convincing emotional response on screen
"Not dating or having sex isn't even a source of discrimination in real life-" How many rights and benefits are tied up in marriage contracts though? How much of our economic and societal structure is built with the clear expectation that people couple up and support each other? Where's the security nets and affordable options for people who will never have a partner/spouse to take care of them? How many people save serious commitment only for people they have a romantic and sexual relationship with? How many people will unquestionably prioritize their sexual and romantic relationship above all other social connections in their lives? And where does that leave the people who don't want that at all, ever?
