30 something just trying to make the monies so she can feed the kitties, ride the ponies and read ALL the books. While most things I personally post will be SFW, most reblogs most def WILL NOT so MDNI please.
Computa, find me the JohnPricexReader fic where he gets a call that his wife was just involved in a home invasion (shot that man dead 🙂↕️) so he stops everything and rushes home to his wife and two small children. He Ofcourse brings them to the base where the team is like “???? You’re married????? With two kids????”
-👹
beep boop bop
I feel like I literally just read this fic spec but I cannot remember where
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So you know how Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz all enlisted when they were practically kids? I cannot stop thinking about how that means the military basically raised them, like they know how to dismantle a rifle blindfolded, patch a sucking chest wound, and conduct recon in hostile territory, but put them in a normal house, in a normal neighborhood, in a normal environment and suddenly it’s game over.
Which is fine, whatever- until they get assigned to go undercover in some suburban cul de sac and have to act like normal civilians. That’s when the cracks start to show.
Because they’re bad at it. Really bad. By Day Three you have already decided that the four men across the street are either undercover agents, aliens trying out human cosplay, or the weirdest polycule of gay men on the eastern seaboard. Because how the fuck do four fully grown men collectively fail to figure out how to operate a lawn mower or light a grill without a column of flame visible to the ISS?
Or: A comprehensive log of why your home insurance premium is about to skyrocket.
The Civilian's Field Guide to Task Force 141 pt. ???
The Stalker Incident
@insomnis-noctis: “Can we get a opposite version. Where the reader is incompetent when it comes to fighting. And the 141 are absolutely losing it and wonder if this is how you felt because to them it's common sense and second nature like how shopping and living normally is to us.” 🫡
You didn’t want to bother them.
That was the thing. You’d spent weeks-weeks- teaching four grown men how to operate a lawn mower, buy groceries, and cook pasta without summoning Satan himself. They were clearly… something. You weren’t sure what. Possibly escapees from a corporate retreat gone catastrophically wrong? A wellness cult that got kicked out of the compound? Ex-circus performers adjusting to life with the full use of gravity?
Whatever they were, you’d established yourself as the Competent One(TM). The person who had their life together. The responsible neighbor who knew things like “how garbage disposals work” and “why you can’t microwave aluminum foil.”
So when you started noticing… weird stuff… you definitely weren’t going to run to them like some damsel in a Lifetime movie.
You could handle this.
Probably.
Maybe.
It started small. A car you didn’t recognize parked across the street. Same car, three days in a row. Then your trash bin moved from where you’d left it out from under your window almost like someone had been peaking in. Then you could’ve sworn someone had been on your porch- the flower pot was shifted like half an inch to the left.
“You’re being paranoid,” you told yourself, reorganizing your spice cabinet at 2am because sleep was a distant memory. “It’s nothing. You’re fine. Everything’s fine. This is fine. Why do I own three containers of oregano? When did I buy- focus. You’re spiraling.”
Then came the letter.
Not in your mailbox, but on your windshield. Tucked under the wiper blade like the world’s creepiest parking ticket.
‘You look nice in blue. You should wear it more often.’
You’d been wearing blue yesterday.
You stood in your driveway, staring at the note, having what could only be described as a complete psychological collapse in real time.
“It’s probably… a marketing thing?” you said out loud to absolutely no one. “Like… targeted advertising? Very targeted. Very specific. Very illegal? Probably super illegal actually. That’s gotta violate privacy laws or something. Can I report this to- ”
Your phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: You didn’t wave back today. That wasn’t very friendly.
You stopped breathing. Forgot how breathing worked entirely. Was this something you needed lungs for?
Your phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: Sleep well :)
The smiley face somehow made it so much worse.
By the next week, you’d convinced yourself you were having a legitimate mental breakdown and that you were inventing problems the way influencers invent morning routines.
Sure, your mailbox had been opened when you knew you’d closed it. Sure, there were footprints in your garden that weren’t yours (and you didn’t have a gardener because you were broke). Sure, there were things inside your house that had been moved around from their original location when you came back from work. Sure, you’d gotten several more texts from the unknown number, each one slightly more specific about your daily routine like he was taking detailed notes.
But maybe you’d just forgotten about the mailbox? Maybe the footprints were from a very lost mailman? Maybe you’d absentmindedly moved your things. Maybe the texts were… a wrong number? A very persistent, weirdly well-informed, possibly psychic wrong number?
“You’re being ridiculous,” you muttered, making coffee with shaking hands at 6pm because you’d given up on sleep entirely. Sleep was for people who weren’t being stalked. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re fine. Everything’s- ”
Knock. Knock. KNOCK.
You screamed. An honest-to-god, Oscar-worthy horror-movie scream. Threw your coffee mug and everything. It shattered against the wall in a beautiful arc of ceramic shrapnel and caffeine.
Another knock.
“Uh, you good in there?” Soap’s voice called through the door, muffled but concerned. “We heard a crash! And also screaming! Significant amounts of screaming!”
You sagged against the counter. Took a breath. Questioned every life choice. Opened the door.
All four of them stood on your porch in varying states of… were they wearing matching black tactical gear? No, that couldn’t be right. You were sleep deprived. You were hallucinating. This was a psychotic break.
“Hey,” you said, voice definitely twelve octaves too high. “What’s up? Everything okay? Do you need help with something? Did you break another appliance? Is the house on fire?”
“Are you alright?” Price asked, and his voice had gone all weird and serious and dad like. “You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine! Great! Perfect! Thriving! Living my best life! Why?”
“You’ve been checking your windows a lot,” Gaz said casually. Too casually. Like he was commenting on the weather and not admitting to watching your house.
“Have I? I haven’t noticed. I don’t- how would you even- why do you know that about me?!”
“We’re observant,” Ghost said from behind his mask, which still wasn’t a normal thing to wear, but you’d given up on that battle approximately three weeks ago.
“That’s- that’s a little- that’s actually extremely concerning- ”
“There’s been a silver Toyota Camry parked on this street for a week,” Soap interrupted, pulling out a literal notepad like he’d been documenting this. “2019 model. Doesn’t belong to anyone in the neighborhood. We checked.”
You felt your blood run cold. “You che- how do you know that?”
“We pay attention,” Price said, like this was normal.
“TO WHAT?! CAR REGISTRATIONS?! LICENSE PLATES?! WHY DO YOU UAVE ACCESS TO A CAR REGISTRATION DATABASE?!”
They exchanged glances. The kind of glances that made you wonder, not for the first time, what exactly these four men did for a living and whether it was legal.
They looked at you and said in perfect unison. “Consulting.”
‘Consulting’ your entire ass.
“Is someone bothering you?” Price asked, and the way he said it made you forget how to form complete sentences.
“I- no- it’s nothing- it’s probably- ”
“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Soap said, and he wasn’t smiling anymore, which was somehow more terrifying than Ghost’s usual vibe.
“You’re checking your locks multiple times,” Ghost observed. Like that was a completely normal thing to notice about your neighbor. “Three times last night. Four times the night before. You’ve stopped going outside after dark. You park in different spots every day now. Yesterday you parked two blocks away and walked back.”
“HOW DO YOU KNOW ALL OF THIS?!”
“You’ve stopped taking the trash out at night,” Gaz added, like you hadn’t just screamed. “You used to take it out Tuesday and Friday evenings. Now you wait until morning. You’ve started checking under your car before you get in. And you’ve been checking your backseat.”
“Oh my god why do you know what about me!?”
“You’re scared,” Gaz said quietly, ignoring your very reasonable question entirely.
And something about the way he said it- not judging, not pitying, just stating an observable fact like a scientist- made everything crack wide open.
“I’m being stalked,” you heard yourself say, and wow, words were just happening now without your permission. “I think. Maybe. I don’t know. Someone’s been… texting me? And there’s a car. And someone moved my stuff. And I know I sound completely insane- l
“You don’t,” Price said firmly, like he was stating a universal truth.
“- but I can’t prove anything and the police won’t care about some texts and a moved flower pot and I’m probably just being paranoid and- ”
“Show us the texts,” Ghost said, holding out his hand like this was a totally normal request.
“What?”
“The texts. Show us.”
With shaking hands, you pulled out your phone and handed it over.
They gathered around it like it was the fucking Rosetta Stone. Like they were archaeologists discovering ancient civilization secrets and not reading creepy messages from a stalker.
The silence stretched for way too long.
“When did these start?” Price asked, voice deadly calm in a way that made you wonder if maybe “consultant” was code for “hitman” or “mob enforcer” or “guy who makes problems disappear.”
“A week ago?”
“And the car?”
“Same day.”
More silence. They were all looking at each other. Having some kind of silent conversation with just their eyes like they had telepathy or a hive mind.
It was deeply unsettling.
“Has he approached you directly?” Gaz asked, and it sounded like an interrogation question. Like a cop question. Like a “we’re building a case” question.
“No, just… the note on my car. And the texts. So many texts.”
“Does he know where you work?” Soap asked with the intensity of someone conducting an FBI investigation and not a friendly neighborhood chat about your potential murder.
“I… I don’t know. Maybe? He knew I was wearing blue, so he must’ve seen me- oh god, he’s been watching me, hasn’t he? He’s been actually watching me!”
“Okay,” Price said, in the same tone of voice he used while they were setting up the Halloween decorations. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re staying with us tonight.”
“I’m not- ”
“Not asking,” he said, in a tone that suggested this was not up for debate, discussion, or democratic vote. “Grab whatever you need. You’re not staying here alone.”
“That’s insane! I can’t just- I have work tomorrow and- ”
“You can and you will,” Ghost said, and somehow made it sound both threatening and comforting, like a very dangerous security blanket.
“We’ll handle this,” Gaz added, cracking his knuckles in a way that seemed practiced.
“Handle what?! There’s nothing to handle! It’s just some texts! Some weird texts from a probably harmless person who’s just- ”
All four of them looked at you like you’d just said something adorable and catastrophically stupid.
“Pack a bag,” Price said. “Now.”
“I- ”
“Now.”
You packed a bag because honestly, you were too tired and scared and caffeinated to argue.
Twenty minutes later, you were sitting in their weirdly immaculate living room (seriously, who lives like this? Who has hospital corners on their throw pillows?), clutching a cup of tea that Soap had made (surprisingly good, which was somehow more suspicious), while all four of them stood around your phone like they were examining evidence at a crime scene.
Which, okay, maybe they were?
“He’s been watching her for at least a week,” Ghost said, scrolling through your phone.
“Probably longer,” Gaz corrected, leaning over his shoulder. “These texts reference things from before the car showed up. He mentions her coffee routine from nine days ago.”
“So he’s escalating,” Price said, like this was a technical term.
ESCALATING?!
“Definitely escalating,” Soap agreed, nodding like they were discussing a particularly tricky soufflé recipe and not your potential kidnapping/murder.
“The note on the car was a test,” Ghost continued, like something out of a scene from Law and Order. “He’s gauging her reaction. Seeing if she’ll reach out to authorities.”
“She didn’t,” Gaz observed.
“Because I didn’t think it was that serious!” you interjected, because apparently you were just part of the forensic analysis now.
They all looked at you with identical expressions of “oh sweetie no.”
“Okay,” you said loudly, standing up because sitting down felt too passive for this situation. “What exactly do you four do for a living? And don’t say consulting!”
They looked at each other.
“Consulting,” Price said.
“Business consulting,” Gaz added.
“Corporate consulting,” Soap tried, which was somehow even less convincing.
“…Consultation,” Ghost finished, which wasn’t even a job.
“That’s not a real answer! Those are just synonyms!”
“It’s the answer you’re getting,” Price said, which was somehow worse than no answer.
“Are you in the mob?”
“What? No!”
“The mafia?”
“There’s a difference?”
“ARE YOU ASSASSINS?!”
“Why would you think we’re assassins?” Gaz asked, looking genuinely baffled and slightly offended.
“BECAUSE YOU’RE ACTING LIKE ASSASSINS! YOU’RE DOING ASSASSIN THINGS!”
“We’re not assassins,” Ghost said, and then added: “Assassins have better operational security than this.”
“THAT’S NOT REASSURING! THAT’S THE OPPOSITE OF REASSURING!”
“Look,” Price said, holding up his hands like he was trying to calm a spooked horse. “We’re just… people who are good at solving problems.”
“What kind of problems?!”
“The kind you currently have,” Soap said, gesturing at your phone like it was Exhibit A.
“By doing WHAT, exactly?!”
Another round of significant glances. They were having another silent conversation. You were going to develop a complex about this.
“We’re going to have a conversation with your new friend,” Ghost finally said, which sounded extremely ominous.
“That sounds like a threat!”
“It’s not a threat,” Price said. “It’s a promise.”
“THAT’S WORSE! THAT’S SO MUCH WORSE! PROMISES ARE BINDING!”
“Do you want help or not?” Gaz asked, which was frankly a fair question.
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked at all four of them- these weird men who couldn’t operate a microwave but apparently ran a surveillance network on your entire street like it was a military operation.
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” you said quietly.
“No one’s going to get hurt,” Price promised, which was either very reassuring or a complete lie.
“Except maybe him,” Soap muttered.
“MacTavish!”
“What?! I’m just saying! He’s been stalking her for days!”
“You can’t just- you can’t just beat up some random stalker!”
“Who said anything about beating him up?” Ghost asked innocently, which was not innocent at all.
“We’re just going to talk to him,” Gaz said, emphasizing ‘talk’ in a way that suggested talking was a full-contact sport.
“With words,” Soap added.
“Very persuasive words,” Price finished.
“Extremely persuasive words,” Ghost contributed.
You looked between all of them. “I feel like I’m having a stroke.”
“You’re not,” Ghost said. “You’re just underprepared for this situation. We’re not. Let us handle it.”
“How are you prepared for this?! You’re business consultants! You didn’t know how to use a can opener last week!”
“Very hands on business consulting,” Price said.
“We consult… aggressively,” Gaz tried, which sounded like a parody of a LinkedIn profile.
“With extreme prejudice,” Ghost added.
“That’s a military term! Thats’s a targeted killing term!”
They all froze.
Like you’d just said the password.
Like you’d just unlocked a secret.
“Is it?” Soap asked with the innocence of a cherub, which was undermined by literally everything about him.
“YES!”
“Huh. Must’ve picked it up somewhere.”
“WHERE?!”
“Television?” Gaz suggested weakly.
“Probably television,” Price agreed, nodding like this was plausible.
“Definitely television,” Ghost said. “We watch a lot of television. Very educational.”
“NCIS,” Soap added. “Great show. Very realistic.”
You stared at them. They stared back with expressions of profound innocence that didn’t match their faces at all.
“I’m too tired for this,” you muttered, sitting back down because your legs were giving up.
“Exactly,” Price said, like he’d won an argument. “Which is why you’re going to stay here, get some rest, and let us handle this.”
“All of you?” you asked, suddenly panicking about being left alone in their weirdly clean house while someone was stalking you. “You’re all going?”
“Someone needs to stay with you,” Price said. Then looked at Ghost. “You’re on guard duty.”
Guard duty.
GUARD. DUTY.
“What kind of business consultants say ‘guard duty’?!” you half shrieked, voice cracking, ignoring the way you felt relieved that you wouldn’t be alone after all.
“The security kind!” Soap said quickly, too quickly, suspiciously quickly.
“We consult on… security,” Gaz added, scrambling.
“Business security,” Price emphasized, like adding ‘business’ made it legitimate.
“For businesses,” Ghost contributed unhelpfully.
“I hate all of you.”
“That’s fair,” Price said, checking his watch (which looked expensive and tactical). “We’ll be back in an hour.”
And then three of them just… left. Walked out the door like they were going to get groceries and not confront your stalker with “persuasive words” and “extreme prejudice.”
You turned to Ghost, who had settled into a chair with the posture of someone prepared to sit there for several hours without moving, blinking, or acknowledging human biological needs.
“This is insane,” you said. “You guys are insane.”
“Little bit,” he agreed.
“What are they going to do?”
“Have a chat.”
“That’s not an answer!”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
You sat there in silence for a moment, your brain trying desperately to process the last thirty minutes of your life and failing spectacularly.
“Thank you,” you finally said quietly. “For… noticing. And caring. Even if you’re all deeply weird about it.”
Ghost tilted his head. “We’re weird?”
“You ran a surveillance operation on my house.”
“That’s just being neighborly.”
“No it’s not! Neighbors borrow sugar! They don’t build dossiers!”
“Agree to disagree.”
Your phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Where did you go? Come home. I’m worried about you.
You felt your stomach drop into your feet, possibly into the floor below your feet.
Ghost, seeing your reaction, held out his hand. You gave him the phone.
He read the message. Then, very calmly, with the confidence of someone who’d done this exact thing before, probably multiple times, possibly in several countries, typed out a response:
‘Wrong number. Suggest you delete this contact and move on. Have a nice life.’
“That’s not going to- ” you started.
Unknown Number: Who is this?
Ghost smiled behind his mask. You could tell because his eyes crinkled in a way that was somehow more terrifying than comforting.
‘Her security consultant. And you’ve just been flagged as a liability.’
“SECURITY CONSULTANT?!”
“It’s not a lie,” he said, still typing like he was composing a very important work email.
Unknown Number: This is none of your business.
‘Made it my business. Leave her alone before I make you.’
“Oh my god.” You whispered, looking at him with wide eyes. “You’re threatening him. You’re actively threatening him in real time.”
“I’m consulting him. Aggressively.”
Unknown Number: You can’t threaten me. I’ll call the police.
Ghost actually laughed. Actually laughed. A full, genuine laugh that sounded rusty, like he didn’t do it often.
‘Please do. We’d love to discuss your recent activities with them. And I’m sure they’ll be interested to know you’re breaking the terms of your parole.’
“Parole!? What parole?!”
Ghost tilted his head slightly, still looking at the phone. “The parole he’s on for the 2019 stalking incident. Condition 4B specifically prohibits contact with new individuals in a manner consistent with previous behavior patterns.”
You stared at him. “How do you- that can’t be public record. That’s not- you can’t just know that!”
“Can’t I?” Ghost said mildly.
“NO! Parole conditions aren’t- those are in restricted databases! Government databases! You’d need- ” You stopped. Stared harder. “Oh my god. How did you access a government database?!”
“I didn’t say I accessed anything.”
“You just quoted his parole conditions! Specific conditions! With numbers and letters!”
“Did I?” Ghost looked at you innocently. “Maybe he told me.”
“You’ve never spoken to him!”
“Maybe it was a lucky guess.”
“That’s not a lucky guess! That’s classified information!”
“Is it?” Ghost asked, turning back to your phone as it buzzed.
Unknown Number: How do you know about that?
Ghost’s eyes crinkled again. He showed you the screen. “See? He just confirmed it. Very helpful of him.”
“You! You just-!”
“Consulted a database. Possibly. Allegedly. Can’t prove anything.”
“GHOST!”
“Would you like more tea?” he asked pleasantly, standing up. “You look stressed.”
“I LOOK STRESSED BECAUSE MY NEIGHBOR JUST COMMITTED A FEDERAL CRIME!”
“Allegedly,” he corrected. “And only if someone could prove I accessed something I shouldn’t have. Which they can’t. Because I’m very good at consulting.”
“THAT’S NOT WHAT CONSULTING MEANS!”
He turned off your phone and handed it back.
“You just- did you just- did you just- ”
“Handle it? Yes.”
“By THREATENING him!?”
“We’re very thorough consultants.”
“CONSULTANTS DON’T THREATEN PEOPLE!”
“The good ones do.”
You stared at him. He stared back, completely calm, like you were discussing the weather and not casually breaking the law.
“I’m going to google you,” you threatened. “All of you. Right now. I’m going to find out what you actually do.”
“Good luck with that,” he said pleasantly, which was somehow ominous.
“What does that mean?!”
“Nothing. Now about that tea?”
“I- yes. Yes, I would like more tea because I’m having a crisis.”
“Understandable,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen. “Chamomile or English Breakfast?”
“CHAMOMILE. I NEED TO BE SEDATED.”
“Excellent choice.”
***
Fifty three minutes later (you were counting, you were absolutely counting), Price, Soap, and Gaz came back.
You jumped up from the couch where you’d been spiraling into an anxiety pretzel. “What happened?! Did you find him?! Did you kill him?! Are you going to jail?! Am I going to jail as an accomplice?! Do I need a lawyer?! Are you my lawyers?!”
“Nobody’s going to jail,” Soap said, sounding slightly disappointed about something, which was concerning.
“We had a very productive consultation,” Gaz added with a straight face that belonged in a poker tournament.
Price smiled warmly which was terrifying. “You won’t be getting any more texts. Or letters. Or visits. Or any form of contact whatsoever.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we provided him with a comprehensive breakdown of why that would be inadvisable,” he said simply, like this was a powerpoint presentation.
“Which was…?”
“Better you don’t ask,” all four of them said in perfect unison.
Like they’d practiced it.
Like they’d rehearsed this exact scenario.
“I’m asking! I’m definitely asking! What did you do?!”
They exchanged glances.
“We showed him some statistics,” Gaz said carefully, too carefully.
“No,” Price said firmly, looking genuinely offended. “We simply presented data that demonstrated why his current course of action would lead to undesirable outcomes.”
“For him,” Ghost added helpfully.
“OH MY GOD.”
“We were very professional about it,” Gaz assured you, which was not assuring.
Professional hitmen are also professional!”
“We’re not hitmen,” Price said, looking actually offended now.
“Then what are you?!”
Silence.
Profound silence.
The kind of silence that speaks volumes.
“Consultants,” they all said together, in perfect harmony, like a barbershop quartet of suspicious activity.
“I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND! I’M LOSING IT RIGHT NOW! IT’S HAPPENING!”
“You really need to sleep,” Soap said sympathetically, like you were being unreasonable. “You’ve had a rough few days.”
“I’ve had a rough few days?! You just- you just- implied murder to a stalker!”
“Didn’t imply murder,” Gaz corrected. “Implied consequences.”
“WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE?!”
“Semantics,” Ghost hummed.
“That’s not better!”
“Look,” Price said gently, like he was talking to someone who was about to have a breakdown (accurate, you were absolutely about to have a breakdown). “You’re safe. That’s what matters. He’s not going to bother you again. Ever.”
“And if he does,” Ghost added, returning with tea, “he has our contact information now.”
“You gave him your contact information?!”
“For follow up consultations,” Soap explained, like this was normal business practice. “It’s good customer service.”
“This isn’t customer service! This is- this is vigilante justice!”
“Please don’t,” Ghost said, handing you more tea. “The neighbors already think we’re weird.”
“The neighbors are right! The neighbors are absolutely right!”
“That’s fair,” Soap agreed cheerfully, like you’d complimented his shirt.
You stared at all of them. These absolute lunatics who’d learned to mow a lawn several weeks ago. Who bought four gallons of milk and thought that was normal. Who couldn’t cook pasta without causing what could only be described as an “incident.”
These men who’d just solved your stalker problem in under an hour using methods you were terrified to examine too closely.
“I don’t know whether to thank you or report you to… someone,” you admitted.
“Thank us,” Ghost suggested. “Much less paperwork.”
“Did you… do anything actually illegal?”
They exchanged glances again. You were developing a complex about the glances.
“Define illegal,” Soap said, which was not the answer you wanted.
“Oh my god.”
“We had a conversation,” Price said firmly, like he was testifying under oath. “A very thorough, very detailed conversation about boundaries, consequences, and why continuing to contact you would be a poor life choice. Possibly his worst life choice.”
“We may have also consulted his employer,” Gaz added casually, like this was an afterthought.
“His employer?!”
“Turns out his boss is very interested to know that he’s been using company resources for personal surveillance,” Soap said brightly, like he was sharing good news.
“And the company vehicle,” Gaz added.
“During work hours,” Ghost finished.
“HOW DID YOU- you know what, I don’t want to know.”
“Probably for the best,” Ghost agreed.
You should’ve been horrified. You should’ve been calling the police on them. You should’ve been questioning every life choice that led to this moment, possibly going back to birth.
Instead, you burst into tears.
Like, full ugly crying. The kind with snot.
“Whoa- hey- it’s okay- ” Soap immediately panicked, looking at the others with wide eyes like they’d just triggered a bomb.
“Did we- did we do something wrong?” Gaz asked, looking terrified in a way that was almost funny considering what they’d just done.
“Should we not have-?” Price started, looking genuinely distressed, like he’d failed a mission.
“No,” you sobbed. “I was so scared- I thought he was going to- I didn’t know what to do! Thank you!”
“Oh,” Ghost said quietly. “She’s relieved.”
“I COULDN’T SLEEP!” you wailed, and wow, you were really going for it now. “I thought I was going crazy and I was worried everyone would tell me I was overreacting-”
Price pulled you into a hug without hesitation. Just… straight up hugged you like he did this all the time and was good at it.
Which was weird because you’d seen him high five Soap last week and somehow make it look awkward, so clearly physical contact wasn’t his strong suit, but here he was, hugging you like a dad, and-
Were you crying harder now? You were definitely crying harder now.
“You’re safe,” he said quietly, and he sounded so certain about it. Like it was a fact of the universe. “That’s done. It’s over. He won’t bother you again.”
“You’re staying here tonight anyway,” Soap added, patting your shoulder awkwardly. “Just in case. For observation.”
“We’ll maintain a watch rotation,” Gaz said, then quickly added when you looked up, “I mean- we’ll keep an eye out. Neighborly vigilance. Normal neighbor stuff.”
“Watch rotation?!”
“He means we’ll check the windows sometimes,” Price said quickly, shooting Gaz a look that could kill.
“Yes. Sometimes. Occasionally. Randomly. Not on a schedule or anything,” Gaz said unconvincingly, like he was reading from a bad script.
“You’re all so bad at this,” you hiccupped.
“Bad at what?” Ghost asked innocently, which was rich coming from him.
“Whatever it is you’re pretending you don’t do!”
“We’re business consultants,” Soap said.
“With a focus on security,” Gaz added.
“For businesses,” Price emphasized.
“That need consulting,” Ghost finished.
“And occasionally aggressive problem solving,” Soap added.
“SOAP!”
“What?! It’s true!”
“I hate you all,” you said, but you were smiling now, because apparently you’d reached some kind of emotional breakthrough or mental break. Hard to tell which.
“That’s fair,” Price said, still hugging you like you were his actual child. “Want some dinner?”
“You’re going to cook?”
“God no,” he said immediately. “We were thinking of ordering pizza.”
“Oh thank god. Yes. Pizza. Please. So much pizza.”
Later, after the pizza had arrived (and you’d watched them arrange the slices on plates, which was definitely normal behavior and not at all suspicious), you sat on their couch with a blanket and asked:
“How did you know something was wrong? Really?”
“You stopped correcting us,” Price said immediately, like he’d been waiting for this question.
“What?”
“You came over Tuesday to help with the keurig machine,” Soap explained. “And you just… helped. Didn’t make a single sarcastic comment. Didn’t call us idiots. Nothing.”
“And you always make sarcastic comments,” Gaz added. “It’s like your signature thing. Your brand.”
“That’s when we knew something was off,” Ghost finished. “You’re mean to us. Affectionately mean. When you suddenly weren’t, we conducted an assessment of the situation.”
“Conducted an assessment?!”
“Checked on you,” Price corrected quickly. “We checked on you. Like normal neighbors. Who care. Normally.”
“Normal neighbors don’t ‘conduct assessments’!”
“Agree to disagree,” Ghost said, taking a bite of pizza.
“We paid attention,” Gaz said. “That’s all. You looked scared. You were checking your locks constantly- three times, then four times, then five. You stopped walking to your car normally- you were checking under it, around it, inside it before getting in.”
“Most people wouldn’t notice that,” you said quietly.
“We’re not most people,” Soap said, then quickly added, “We’re very attentive consultants. With excellent observational skills. For consulting.”
“Please stop saying consultants like it means something.”
“It does mean something,” Price said.
“What?!”
“…Consulting.”
“I’M GOING TO SCREAM AGAIN!”
You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself and looked at all of them- these absolute weirdos who’d somehow become your chaotic guardian angels.
“So,” Price said after a moment, “next week. Still up for teaching us to cook?”
“You’re still going to need my help with that?”
All four of them looked at you.
“We tried to make rice yesterday,” Soap admitted, like he was confessing to a crime.
“And?”
“Burned it.”
“How?! It’s rice! Rice is literally just rice and water!”
“We think the pot might be compromised,” Gaz said seriously, like they were discussing a security breach.
“THE POT ISN’T- ” You stopped. Took a breath. “You know what? Yes. Next week. Cooking lessons. But in exchange- ”
“Yes?” Price asked, leaning forward slightly.
“You’re going to tell me what you actually do for a living.”
Silence.
Long silence.
Uncomfortable silence.
“We’re consultants- ” Soap started.
“The truth,” you interrupted, shaking your phone at them. “Or I’m googling all of you. Right now. I’ll do it.”
More silence.
“There’s nothing to google,” Ghost finally said, which was somehow worse than admitting to crimes.
“What does that mean?!”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
You stared at him. He stared back.
“Oh my god,” you whispered. “You’re in witness protection.”
“What? No!”
“You’re spies!”
“Not spies!” Gaz said quickly, too quickly, defensively quickly.
“Corporate espionage!”
“Why do you keep guessing crimes?!” Soap demanded, looking genuinely distressed.
“BECAUSE YOU’RE ALL DEEPLY SUSPICIOUS! YOU’RE ACTING LIKE CRIMINALS!”
“We’re just private individuals,” Price said carefully, like he was choosing each word with extreme precision, “who value our privacy. And also happen to be very good at… problem solving. Aggressive problem solving. Sometimes involving statistics.”
“That’s not an answer!”
“It’s the answer you’re getting,” he said firmly. “For now.”
You looked at all of them- these men who’d saved you, protected you, and were now stonewalling you with the efficiency of a government agency with something to hide.
“Fine,” you said. “But I’m watching you now.”
“We’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Ghost said.
“That’s not the reassurance you think it is!”
“Wasn’t meant to be,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
You ate your pizza in their weird, too-clean house (seriously, who has perfectly aligned coasters?), surrounded by four men who were definitely something other than business consultants, and tried not to think about how safe you felt.
Or how you were probably going to spend the next week googling “how to tell if your neighbors are in the CIA” and “what to do if your neighbors are criminals but nice about it.”
(You wouldn’t find anything. Their internet security was, as Soap would accidentally mention two weeks later, “better than most government agencies. Not that we’d know. Because we’re consultants. Who sometimes consult on cyber security. For businesses.”)
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#this is the star trek i wanna see#like when somebody asked gene roddenberry why piccard was bald#because wouldn’t they have found a cure for male pattern baldness by then?#and he was like ‘no by the 24th century no one will care’#i wanna see that attitude with disability and neurodiversity#it’s not that we’ll have a magic cure for everything#there’ll always be something new#but disabilities and neurodiversity will be celebrated and seen as part of the norm#it will be accomodated#so blind people can serve in star fleet#and so can people in wheelchairs and autistic people and people with prosthetics and people with chronic illnesses (via @hunterinabrowncoat)
This episode ends with Geordi saving the planet by using something derived from the technology found in his visor (an adaptive device that lets him sense things around him). So a disabled man literally saved the lives of an entire culture that wouldn’t have considered his life worth living, using technology they would have never deemed necessary without the presence of his unique needs.
My favorite thing about this episode is that, while the rest of the characters are taking a more Star Trek philosophical approach to this situation, calmly debating the good and bad points of this colony built upon eugenics, Geordi is just seething. Troi is having a romance with their flippin’ president, but Geordi never hesitates on his morals. He’s always aware that this world’s supposed perfection is built upon the despicable philosophy of killing people like him. He barely even bothers to hide his anger as he has to work alongside their scientists. He’s snappish and short-tempered and bitter, clearly only working with these people because lives are at stake. When he discovers the solution is based on his VISOR, he is viciously triumphant, his joy at saving the people boosted by a bitter sense of righteousness that these people were only saved because someone like him was allowed to survive.
And even though this anger and bitterness are very un-Star-Trek-like approaches to diplomacy–it works. The scientist who works alongside him is the first person who decides to jump ship and leave the colony behind. She sees the stagnation of their bland “’‘‘‘‘utopia’‘‘‘‘‘ and realizes that diversity and adaptation create a much better society. And while the other Enterprise crew members have some wishy-washy lament over how this will destroy this planet’s ‘‘‘culture’‘‘, Geordi never waffles. He has far too personal a stake in this to lose sight of the fact that peoples’ lives are more important than any high-falutin’ philosophical justifications. The episode might waffle over the Prime Directive points of this society’s decline, but Geordi’s perspective is the one showing clearly why it needs to die.
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It was stupid good. So good in fact that the bbc filmed a version and put it on dvd when it debuted. I bought that dvd after I saw the show and put it up on the Internet Archive. The audio is not great but the dancing is spectacular. Ever see a pas de deux around an anatomical dissection? You will.
Like they tried to change Reblogs and people rightfully got up in arms, this is a LOT worse. In order to have access to any sort of thing dubbed mature, and We haveALL seen what they think is mature, Everything from a black and white photo of a black woman's arm, to posts about IUD recalls, to a nude painted by a 17th century artist, to anything involving the word Trans; you have to send your personal information to a third party site that WILL get hacked, and you will be doxxed. And they can say "Oh shit, well it wasn't us who sent your name address and gender identity to Moldovan teenagers, here's a couple extra minutes in the ball pit.
That's bad enough!!!!!!!! But the entire idea of needing permission from state authorities to access anything labeled mature by our friendly AI overlords is some fucking Boll shit. Die Gedenken Sind Frie baby. This is all a reaction to people getting uppity about their lowly lowly rights and is being propped up by the same bad actors tht have made life unlivable. Fuck that shit.
"Well it's only being rolled out in Brazil and UK" Yeah, to start. "Well they're being forced to do this by laws." YOu know it's always really funny when these tech giants (Or whatever you call owning tumblr dot com) get really antsy about laws considering they pick and choose which ones they abide by.
This is a breaking point and it's going to be very interesting to see how we proceed from here.
"This week I discovered the same pattern, executed by Google. Google Chrome is reaching into users' machines and writing a 4 GB on-device AI model file to disk without asking."
Google Chrome is downloading a 4 GB Gemini Nano model onto users' machines without consent, with no opt-in, no opt-out short of enterprise t
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