#maybe I am wrong though and it does actually need to be that resource intensive

[holydramon]

game developers need to develop their games and optimize them in ways so people with shitty laptops can play them. please.

[benevolentbirdgal]

“Thirteen” Tips on Writing Jewish Characters / Some  Jewish Identity Stuff Explained

So you want to write a Jewish character, but don’t want to write a caricature? Or are worried they won’t register as Jewish to readers, or something will be off or wrong? Well I, friendly (virtual) neighborhood Jewish professional, am here to help! 

Note: The Jewish community is made up of roughly 14 million people worldwide with all sorts of backgrounds, practices, life circumstances, and beliefs. I’m just one American Jew, but I’ve had exposure to Jewishness in many forms after living in 3.5 states (at several different population densities/layouts), attending Jewish day school and youth groups, doing Jewish college stuff, and landing a job at a Jewish non-profit. I’m speaking specifically in an American or Americanish context, though some of this will apply elsewhere as well. 

Let’s start with the word “Jew.” It’s not inherently a slur, but can absolutely be used as one. I am a Jew. You can call me a Jew, just not a Jew. Like most minority groups, there are slurs against us, but Jew is the proper demonym. It can be used disrespectfully as a noun, but isn’t inherently disrespectful. Think “Chava is a Jew” versus “You’re being such a Jew.” 1a. Any use of Jew as a verb by gentiles (non-Jews) is not okay. Your Jewish characters should be horrified by someone telling them they “Jewed down the price.” 1b. Any use of Jewess by gentiles is not okay and your Jewish character should not be cool with it.  1c. Many Jews would actively prefer to be called such because that’s what we are and “Jewish person” is stepping away from our Jewishness. But I get that not everybody is going to be comfortable calling us Jews. That’s okay, and “Jewish person/people” or “X is Jewish” is TOTALLY ACCEPTABLE.  1d. With that said, Jewish people refers to ourselves as Jews. If Sarah is Jewish but is squicked about referring to herself as a Jew, your Jewish readers will immediately know she’s written by a gentile.  1e. Actual slurs against Jews is a post for another time (did you know K*ke literally means circle?). 

Your Jewish-American character likely does not speak Hebrew, Yiddish, Ladino, or any other Judeo-Language (languages that are a mix of Hebrew and at least one other language, typically written in the Hebrew abjad). Three notes on this, however: 2a. If your character is an immigrant or the child of an immigrant, they might speak the Judeo-language of the old country. The most common will be Israeli-Americans speaking Hebrew, but families still speaking Yiddish, Ladino, Judeo-Arabic, and other families do still exist. The children of Jewish immigrants might also speak another language that isn’t a Jewish one, like Russian or Spanish.  2b. If they are in a VERY religious Ashkenazi community, they might speak Yiddish at home and in the community.  2c. Odds are decent, however, that your American Jew can read but not understand Hebrew. If your character went to Jewish Day School or Yeshiva, they definitely read Hebrew, and will have some understanding of it (but likely not fluency). 

Despite what I just said above, your Jewish-American character likely drops a lot of Yiddish words and phrases into their day-to-day speech. Which words/phrases in probably a list for another time, but the most common will be foods, family names (i.e. “Zayde” instead of Grandpa), and sassy expressions. They may incorporate some Hebrew to a lesser extent. 

There’s not just one version of kosher. There’s kosher, kosher-style, Halav Yisrael, glatt kosher, etc. Depending on your character’s level of kosher, they’ve need a hecksher (kosher mark) on any given item or only eat at kosher restaurants, although not all Jews keep kosher and many keep “kosher-style” (i.e. only eat theoretically kosher things).

Your Jewish character should be a whole character, both in general and in relation to their Jewishness. This means, among other things, that they aren’t obsessed with Israel and I/P discourse one way or the other and that while writing you remember that not all Israelis are Jews and not all Jews are Israelis. Your Jewish character is not constantly agonizing over the I/P situation, has a life outside of their Jewishness, and shouldn’t be a cardboard stand-in for your desire to discuss the middle east. 

The Jewish experience varies dramatically with geography. Jews living in Omaha, Richmond, Philly, Kansas City, Boca Raton, and New York City are all American Jews. They will have drastically different Jewish experiences. I strongly recommend doing research on the Jews in the specific place your story takes places, but generally:  6a. The closer you are to the northeast coast and NYC (except south Florida) the better and more varied your Jewish resources.  6b. NYC has the highest Jewish population of any city on the planet. Big cities like Boston, Chicago, and L.A., as well as just outside of NYC in NJ and NYS, and suburban/exburb south Florida will have lots of Jewish resources: day schools (Jewish + secular education mix), maybe Yeshivas (Jewish focus), multiple synagogues, a Jewish Community Center, Jewish dating services, social stuff, Jewish charities, and youth activities. Your character will have other Jewish friends and their gentile friends will likely know other Jews. Antisemitism is still a problem and usually takes the form of excluding Jews from activism, thinly-veiled stereotyping or excusing antisemitism from people from other oppressed groups, but it’s usually not as overt as elsewhere. Almost always safe to disclose Jewishness.  6c. Small and mid-size cities Denver, Virginia Beach, Charleston, and Harrisburg will have a JCC or Jewish federation, multiple synagogues, and maybe a Jewish day school. Your character is not the only Jew their gentile peers have met, but the bagels are meh. They will have other Jews to bond and commiserate with. Antisemitism here is mostly like that in big cities with occasional burst of overt incidents and attacks. It is generally physically safe for them to disclose Jewishness.  6d. Big towns and small cities in the south or mid-west will have maybe one synagogue - probably reform or Chabad. Your character will have to seek out Jewish spaces, but they will be easy to find. They will not be everybody’s First Jew, but it will be unusual. Antisemitism here is mostly overt - most of the antisemites your character deals with will be very obvious and many will be violent. Jews in such situations will not hide their Jewishness per se, but will be more selective in choosing to disclose it.  6e. Rural areas and small-small towns will not have a synagogue. Your character and their family may be the only Jews or there might be a small group that meets on occasion or carpools to the nearest synagogue. They will have to actively seek out the others Jews and they will be difficult to find. Disclosing their Jewishness is a serious consideration and not always safe. Odds are they are many people’s First Jew, which gets really weird real fast. Beyond the harmless ignorant-but-trying-to-learn-from-their-first-Jew types your character will interact with, there’s also violent and overt antisemitism here.  6f. If your character is in college, they will likely have a Chabad and/or a Hillel on campus if they are at a large school or a school with a significant Jewish population. 

Related: when Jews meet each other for the first time, a game of “Jewish geography” ensues as they try and trace people they know in the other person’s state/city/community. 

Jews come in all shapes, colors, sizes, genders, sexualities, politics, and religious beliefs. There are all sorts of Jewish people with tons of different intersecting identities. Don’t box yourself in to writing one kind of Jew. Just research a ton on the particular subsection of the Jewish community your character is a part of - a Mizrachi-Jewish Persian-American bisexual woman is going to have a different experience than a straight Ethiopian-American Jewish man who is going to have different experience from a queer Ashkenazi-Jewish-American girl with non-Jewish family.  8a. Jews with Ashkenazi (eastern/northern European) ancestry and customs are the biggest group in the U.S., but by no means the only group or representative of every Jew. Sephardi (Spanish/southern European/north Africa), and Mizrachi (north Africa and the middle east) are the next biggest groups. It would not be unusual for your character to have Polish-Jewish, Iraqi-Jewish, Moroccan-Jewish, or Russian Jewish ancestry or a mix.  8b. Each of these groups have their own customs, Judeo-languages, local holidays, and local historic tragedies. Generally, historic Sephardi communities were linked between themselves, historic Ashkenazi communities were linked between themselves, and historic Mizarchi communities were linked between themselves. The three had some, but limited contact. Additionally, all three major groups have subdivisions within them.  8c. There are also smaller groups that don’t fall within the three traditional categories, like the Ethiopian Jews, the Cochin Jews (India), Chinese Jews, Gruzim (Georgian), and more. Most of these smaller groups were not in contact with the wider Jewish world.  8d. All Jewish groups start from the same base texts (the written Torah), and the majority include the oral Torah as well. Local interpretations and traditions develop, these are referred to as minhag(im) (customs). For example, the biblical commandment is to not boil a baby goat in its mother’s milk. Some communities extend this to mean no chicken and milk, others reason that chickens don’t produce milk so the mixture is acceptable. Both are equally valid interpretations rooted in tradition, but they are different.  8e. Marrying between Jewish subgroups in the U.S. is super common and outside of extreme or really intense groups is not frowned upon. Traditionally, the father’s minhagim are followed, i.e. a Syrian-Jewish father and a Spanish-Jewish mother would follow the Syrian-Jewish minhagim with their children. Many modern couples choose the mother’s traditions or mix them up, but that’s the traditional route. 

Unless they are VERY religious, your character’s family is unlikely to be particularly wound up about them being LGBTQ the way a comparably Christian family might, at least not because they’re Jewish. Samuel’s Jewish mother is likely unconcerned he likes boys and is much more empathetic than he must marry a Jewish boy and raise any kids Jewish. 

There are so many Jewish holidays, and they are not all celebrated the same or with the same intensity. Probably enough material for its own post, but the ones most likely celebrated by your character: 10a. Shabbat and/or Havdalah. Shabbat starts Friday nights with candles, wine/grape juice and challah bread, Havdalah ends Shabbat with a braided candle, wine, and aromatic spices. Shabbat dinner is usually a meat meal and it is common to invite guests or eat with friends and family (in normal times).  10b. The “High Holidays” - Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. Jewish students often skip school for these. Yom Kippur is a 25 hour fast with services all day, Rosh HaShanah has services in the evening and morning.  10c. Passover - arguably the most important holiday. Celebrated with two sometimes agonizingly long Seders (ritual meals), family gatherings, and abstaining from leavened bread for 7/8 days.  10d. Hanukkah - Not actually that spiritually important, but culturally important for American Jews. Typically celebrated with candle lighting, presents, visits to family members, and greasy food. 

There’s a lot of wine involved in Jewish ritual, so it’s unlikely your character’s Jewish family are teetotalers. 

Jewish families tend to be very intense, loud, opinioned, caring, and involved, compared to many other assimilated American families. Shabbat dinner is not quiet. Dissent is a Jewish value - differing opinions are allowed (and expected in many circles), as is the ability to argue/defend competently. 

Jewishness can mean ethnic identity, cultural identity, and/or religion. There are several major denominations religiously, although that needs to be its own post in detail. The noteworthy movements at this point are Orthodox (further subdivided into Ultraorthodox and Modern Orthodox), Conservative (middle of the road, no relation to conservative politics), Reform, and Reconstructionist (both very “choose your own/your community’s adventure).

Probably will write more parts in the future, but this is heinously long already! Hope this is helpful!

[kumqu4t]

In (Gold) Sickness and In Health

Pairing: Human Female!Reader/Thorin

Request: @anjhope1 requested a human reader with Thorin for the prompt: “I’m done. We’re done.”

Brief Summary: After the Battle of the Five Armies and Thorin’s actions under the Gold Sickness, you wonder if things between you and Thorin will ever be repaired.

Warnings: Violence and injuries

A/N: Gold sick Thorin is a gold mine (pun intended) for angst. Thanks to @anjhope1 for being so so patient and kind!!! I’ve never really written anything other than headcannons and I really enjoyed this!! I have a long list of fic ideas that I hope to write after school ends and this really got the ball rolling! :D

 @fromthedeskoftheraven (who inspired me to actually start writing <333)

 —————————————

 “Thorin?” You called into the seemingly empty castle. Your voice echoed hauntingly. No response. You turned the corner and ventured into the treasury, though a part of you hoped you would not find him there. It was the only place he ever seemed to be, and not for good reason. You followed the sound of digging and hushed whispers. There you found Thorin talking to himself in furious murmurs, his voice tinged with hysteria. He seemed to be digging through the millions of glimmering treasures, bringing each item close to his face for a thorough inspection, and then scoffing angrily and throwing it over his shoulder at the discovery that it was not, in fact, the Arkenstone. You approached him quietly, gnawing on your bottom lip worriedly. You were soon only a few steps behind him, his back to you, yet he made no notice of you.

“Thorin?” He didn’t even flinch. You, about fed up with all of this, put your hand on one of his shoulders and lightly shook it. He whirled around instantly, a mad expression on his face that only eased slightly when he saw you.

 “Ah, (Y/n). How have you been?” He asked absentmindedly, his gaze still stuck on the gem in his hand. 

“Well, I’ve been better I suppose. Things are not looking good out there Thorin. I worry.” You made sure to keep your voice as non-confrontational as possible, because if you were being honest, you were a bit afraid of Thorin at the moment. You weren’t sure if you even recognized the dwarf in front of you. He finally raised his eyes to look at you. His lips curved into a slightly mad smile, one that showed altogether too many teeth. “You have nothing to worry about, my love. Once I have the Arkenstone, everything will be taken care of. The world will finally put itself to rights.” His eyes seemed to reflect the very gold covering the floor. You frowned at this response. 

“Thorin, I know finding the Arkenstone is important to you, but I don’t know if it is the… greatest concern at the moment. The people of Laketown need our assistance, and there is talk of an orcish army heading our way.” Thorin’s head snapped up, and he took an intimidating step forward. You were almost nose to nose.

“Finding the Arkenstone is my one and only concern, as it should be yours,” he snarled. “Are you not on my side? Do you not want to see me as King?” You took a tentative step back. 

“Of course I’m on your side, Thorin. I only want what is best for you.” Your voice turned stern. “But a King should be generous and fair, should know when to help others. 

“A King,” he growled, “is measured only by the amount of wealth he has. If I don’t have the Arkenstone, I have nothing but these pathetic jewels.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your stomach churned at hearing the words he spoke. This was not Thorin. The man you knew and loved, who once spoke so passionately of honor and loyalty. Your sadness and grief were soon overpowered by anger. Not only does he speak such horrid, greedy words, but he would dare be so dismissive and uncaring towards his own beloved? 

“You have nothing?” You asked in disbelief, your voice hard. “What about me? Your wife, remember? What do I mean to you? We have spent almost no time with each other since Laketown, I am surprised you even remember my name,” you said bitterly. Thorin’s eyes seemed to lighten a few shades. But it was still not your Thorin. And his next words only proved that. 

“I have not forgotten about you amralime. I will have you. Seated on a throne next to mine. Adorned in precious jewels and fine cloths. My most prized possession.” 

You suddenly lost all of your fear. Fists clenched tight at your sides, you spat out, “I am not a thing to be had! I am my own person.” 

“You are my wife!” He roared back, “You will do as I say, and you will like it!” Your lip curled in disgust and dismay at this.

“Is that really what you think marriage means?!” Your tone, while still angry, held a hint of desperation, as if you were hoping Thorin would apologize for whatever sick joke this seemed to be. But alas, that did not happen. He only stayed silent, his eyes unfocused. Whatever clarity they had gained earlier had once again vanished. 

The harsh silence created a lump in your throat. You swallowed once, and in a shaky voice said, “Well, then. I am afraid I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know who I am looking at. Who even are you? This is not the Thorin I know and love, not the Thorin I married!” 

His mouth opened in outrage, prepared to no doubt yell back, but you continued before he could get a word in. “You know what? I can’t do this anymore,” you started. You grabbed your marriage bead- elegantly and thoughtfully crafted by Thorin, and once so tenderly braided into your hair- and harshly ripped it out. You definitely pulled out quite a few hairs along with it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment. 

You curled your shaking hand around the small bead, and spoke. “I’m done. We’re done.” In a fit of intense anger and disappointment, you chucked your bead straight at Thorin’s head. You instantly ran as fast as you could in the opposite direction, fearing his reaction. You figured he did not see that coming, and was frozen in shock and confusion for a moment.

As you sprinted down the vast empty hallways, you heard Thorin’s enraged roar in the distance. You ran and ran and ran. You quickly gathered your belongings when you passed the room you had been staying in, and made your way out of the mountain. You said goodbye to none of the company. You ran and you didn’t look back. You squinted your eyes, trying to find your way in what was left of the daylight. 

Tears ran in rivers down your face, and they didn’t stop. Not when you found Bard in Laketown. Not when you reunited with Bilbo and approved his plan. Not when you came across a small room to spend the night in. 

You slid down the wall of the room, sobs tearing at your throat, as you looked at the split pieces of hair that once secured your marriage bead. How could everything have gone so wrong so fast? Smaug was dead. The mountain was reclaimed. Everything was supposed to be back to normal. You were supposed to be living happily in Erebor with Thorin. 

But you weren’t.

You screamed into the night, “Why? Why?” Why did things have to happen like this? Why did Thorin have to be struck with the Gold Sickness after everything he had been through? Why did you two not gain happiness and peace? Did you not deserve that? 

There was no answer. The universe was silent. 

You were not only angry with Thorin. You were angry at yourself. Were you a coward for reacting the way you did? Did you give up too easily, running right when things got hard? Maybe you were a coward, but you simply couldn’t stand to see Thorin like that any longer. It made you sick to your stomach and tore at your heart. 

With a wet laugh, you thought back to your wedding, which took place only about a month earlier. It is odd how things can change so much in so little time. That day had been the happiest of your life. Now here you were, at your lowest, with not even your husband to comfort you. 

The company had been staying in Laketown for the time being. After a much needed relaxing night (free of the stress of orc attacks), you awoke blearily to Thorin’s smiling face. His rough hands tenderly cradled your face.

“Will you marry me?” He asked it in such a soft tone, and you were still so tired, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a strange, albeit wonderful, dream. After clarification that it was not, in fact, a dream, and a discussion with Thorin, you two decided to get married that very night. After all, you two were each other’s Ones. Why should you not? You were crazy in love, and you two hadn’t known contentment like you did during this resting period of the quest. There was also the lingering fear that one, or both of you wouldn’t survive for much longer. 

After your affirmative response to Thorin’s question, tears of joy were shed by both of you. That day was full of warm, fuzzy feelings (and frantic planning by Dori and Balin, who despite being quite pleased with the decision, were extremely frazzled with the short amount of time left to prepare). You didn’t have an expensive, ornate dress (you borrowed one of Sigrid’s). There wasn’t a huge crowd. Just the company (plus Sigrid, Tilda, and Bain- Sigrid and Tilda because they wanted to experience the romantic declaration of love and commitment, and Bain because, in his words, his sisters “forced him to come”). 

But it was perfect. It was all you could have wanted. Kíli, ever the jokester, insisted on being the “flower girl.” Fíli was the bead bearer (like a ring bearer, but with beads, because you and Thorin wanted to do it the dwarrow way). Balin was the justice of the peace. Bombur made a wonderful cake, especially considering the lack of resources.

It was a magical day. Your wildest dream had finally become a reality.

You remembered the vows from your wedding. You remembered the promise you made on that day. ‘For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.’ You couldn’t help but snort at the unfortunate irony of that. 

You wondered what Thorin was thinking right now. Was the gold sickness still plaguing his mind? Or was he too thinking back to your wedding day, to the broken promises left between you two? 

You crawled into bed and tried to calm your thoughts, to no avail. You laid your head on the flat pillow, feeling oddly numb. You let your eyes flutter shut, a lone tear escaping to trail down your now puffy face. 

No sleep was had that night. 

 ———————————————

 Around you, the battlefield raged. You had arisen early in the morning, for the orcish army was no longer just a rumor, but a promise. A promise of war. The knowledge of the bloodshed the future held electrified you, helping you to use your fear and anger to aid your fight. You wielded your sword with ferocity and confidence, a scowl on your face as you quickly swiped at the blood that dribbled down the side of your face. Your head swiveled at every sound as you frantically looked to see if you recognized any faces around you. 

You plunged your sword into an approaching orc, making a face at the horrid squelch it produced as you pulled out your blade. You ran across the battlefield, swiftly killing any orcs that dared get in your way.

What you saw in the far distance, through squinted eyes, made your heart drop into your stomach. 

You saw Thorin, fighting Azog on the ice. 

You watched as the pale orc fell off of the chunk of ice he stood on, and into the murky abyss. You prayed to all of the Valar that he was dead. But fate was not on your side. You watched in horror as a knife plunged upwards from below the ice and impaled Thorin’s right foot. 

You heard his guttural roar of pain, and your body moved into action. You ran as fast as you could, your chest and legs burning. But you were still too far away. Everything now seemed to be happening in slow motion. You could still hear the echo of Thorin’s cry in your head. 

Suddenly, Azog jumped out of the water and landed on his feet. Thorin was on his back blocking each strike from Azog to the best of his ability. All that you heard was the sharp clang of metal against metal and your own blood roaring in your ears. 

You felt something harden within you. You were no longer afraid. You had only one job, and that was to save Thorin. Azog’s blade was now only inches away from Thorin’s chest. Thorin grit his teeth and gasped deeply, using every bit of his strength in an effort to block the attack. 

You were sprinting straight towards Azog’s back. You had absolutely no plan. Common sense and battle strategy had officially left the building. Yet your rage towards Azog, who had already taken so much from Thorin, fueled your fight. 

You propelled yourself up, in a strange burst of strength, and clawed your way up Azog’s back, clinging to him. He grunted and twisted his head around. But before he could do anything more, you drove your sword into his back with all of your might. 

Azog’s roar seemed to shake the very ground he stood on. Your hands, slick with sweat, burned as they tightly grasped the hilt of your sword. Your heart sped up as you tried to pull your weapon out to strike once again, but it was stuck. Azog turned, his face now pulled into a sickly sneer, and he slashed at your shoulder with his sword. You hissed in pain, and jerked yourself away. You saw Thorin breathing deeply and attempting to get up out of the corner of your eye. 

Go, you screamed at him in your head. Go, my love. Leave and get to safety. 

Seeing Thorin in pain, thanks to Azog, filled you with a boiling rage. It filled you up from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head- a fiery, molten lava swirling inside of you. 

Your lips twisted into a ferocious snarl as your hands tightened on the hilt of your sword. You twisted the sword further into Azog’s wound, plunging it deeper into his mangled flesh. As you twisted one last time, you pulled it out with a hard gasp. Azog’s stinking, black blood splattered your neck and arms.

You still clung to the pale orc’s back and shoulders, your nails digging into his scarred skin. He thrashed and blindly slashed at you, but you held tight still. You kept your mind sharp, blocking and ducking to avoid his stabs. Reaching your hand into your bloodstained tunic, you hurriedly patted yourself down, frantically searching, until your hand was greeted by your hidden blade. 

You grabbed the hilt of the sharp knife and whipped it out. You positioned yourself so that your feet were pressing into Azog’s back. You drew your arm back and threw the blade, with masterful precision, into the back of Azog’s neck. He roared once again, his head spasming, and made to grab you. 

Unfortunately, this time, you were unable to avoid his grasp. His sharp nails dug into your neck as he grabbed you and pulled your body off of his back. He held you in front of him with only his right hand, the blade at the end of his metal arm pointed at your throat. You felt the pressure building on your throat, and a low buzzing noise started to take over. The blade dug painfully into your flesh, and you felt it begin to break the skin. All of your previous confidence had vanished. You were now at the mercy of the pale orc. 

Azog gave a sickening smile, his pointed teeth glistening with blood. He issued a raspy chuckle that chilled you to your core. Time seemed to slow down once again as he drove the blade of his arm into your side. You gave a sharp intake of breath, as if you could not fathom what was happening, before you let loose an ear-splitting yell of pain. Your voice crumbled and cracked as you screamed until your vocal cords were weak. In the back of your subconscious, you registered a voice, desperately screaming your name. You struggled uselessly, trying to escape the pain. The blade felt hot, as if your insides were being lit on fire and seared open. You wondered for a moment why he did not completely skewer you, and quickly rid himself of your bothersome presence, until it hit you. He wanted your death to be agonizing. Slow and painful. You felt the blade being slowly pushed deeper in, creating a sickening puncturing sensation, and you could do nothing. It must have been almost halfway through you at this point. He tightened his other hand around your throat, and you saw spots floating at the edges of your line of vision. 

You were dancing at the edge of oblivion, barely holding onto consciousness, when you felt your hand which dangled at your side, still clutching your sword. A glimmer of hope sparked inside you. With a guttural cry of pain, you used your last bit of strength. Your arm elongated at your side and rose before you swiftly cleaved Azog’s head from his shoulders. Your face was promptly sprayed with his blood and innards, before his hold on your neck loosened, his grasp slack. His severed head hit the ground with a satisfying klunk, his eyes glazed over. His body collapsed to the ground with a loud thud, bringing you down with him. 

You gave a low groan of pain at the impact. Azog’s arm, still impaled in the side of your torso, left the two of you attached. You slowly took your sword, whimpering softly at the painful stretching the motion caused, and sawed off the small bit of flesh that attatched the metalwork to his body. You were left sitting on the ice, a blade sticking out of you, as a ringing filled your ears. You heard your name being called, and a blurry figure made its way into your field of vision. You squinted your eyes, trying to see who it was. Once your vision cleared, you breathed a shaky sigh of relief.

Thorin was here. 

He hobbled over to you, his wounded foot dragging behind him. He lowered himself to the ice slowly. He looked at you with such sorrow as he scooted closer and cupped your face. His warm hands grounded you to reality. You felt every callous on them as he softly ran his fingers along the sides of your face, his touch only a whisper. 

“Ghivashel,” he started, his voice cracking. “I-

“No,” you interrupted, your voice hoarse from the abuse it had endured. You gave a pathetic cough and said once more in a slightly stronger voice, “No. Not right now.”

Tears ran down his face, their clean tracks a stark contrast to the dirtied skin it ran down. “I am so sorry. So very sorry. I cannot even begin to apologize for all I have-“

You reached forward and put your finger against Thorin’s lips. You gave a soft smile. “I know,” you replied. You brushed his hair out of his face gently. “We have much to discuss. Many things have been left unsaid.” You gazed into his warm blue eyes, “But right now, just be here. Be here with me, my love.”

Thorin’s lips quivered slightly as he gave a sad smile of agreement. He gently positioned you so that your head was resting in his lap. You gazed up into his face. The soft cloth of his tunic tickled the back of your neck. The warmth of his body was much more comforting compared to the harsh cold of the ice you both lie on. The pain would have been almost unbearable, but Thorin’s presence was like a balm to both your soul and body. He took on a tinge of panic as his eyes locked onto the blade sticking out of your side. Knowing he should not simply pull the weapon out, he quickly tore fabric from his body and wrapped your side with it, securing the sword into place, so it wouldn’t move and cause more damage. You reached out and grasped his hand, your fingers shaking slightly as they ran over his bloodied knuckles. 

“Thorin,” you rasped. “You are here.”

“Aye,” he replied softly, his eyes glistening in the light. 

“My bead,” you begged. Thorin looked confused for a moment, before understanding lit up his eyes. He pulled out your marriage bead, that you had thrown at him not long ago, from inside his tunic. He had evidently kept it on himself. He took your hair into his hands, and quickly wove a small braid into your hair, placing the bead at the end of it. He moved aside his own hair, showing you his marriage bead that still lie in his own braid. You gave a watery smile as you clutched at his hand.

After a pause, you spoke. “You are mine, and I am yours.”

“Always,” he replied, his voice strong. “My wife,” he added after a moment, the word an unspoken promise. My husband, you thought warmly. He ducked his head down to meet your own, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on your lips, his hand cradling the back of your neck. You responded in kind, deepening the kiss. You felt as if the part of yourself that had broken earlier had been sewn back together. You were whole again. You let out a soft sigh of contentment as Thorin pressed his forehead gently to rest on your own, his eyelids fluttering shut in the moment.

The King slid himself down, so that he too was laying down. Your head rested on his chest. His large hand rubbed soothing circles gently on your back as you breathed shakily in and out. You gazed out over the ice and saw eagles flying in the distance. You gave a grin of relief and squeezed Thorin’s hand. Healers were rapidly bustling about, gathering the wounded and tending to them. You had no doubt that you and Thorin would receive the help you required soon. 

But for now, you were here. And he was here. You were together at last, once again. Your hands intertwined in each other’s, your head tucked under his chin as he planted soft kisses on your head and murmured soothing words into your hair.

“My King,” you said softly, petting the soft hair of his beard as your hand ran over his jaw.

“My Queen,” he responded, his voice full of emotion, as he pulled you into one more kiss, your bodies melding closer together.

The eagles were coming. And all was well.

 ——————————————

  A/N 2: I hope you guys liked that! I am very new to writing, so I know I have lots of room for improvement, but I really enjoyed writing this. By the way, I do not picture Thorin and the reader dying at the end, but it is kind of a vague ending, so if you want to imagine that happening, no problem! (It would be quite tragically romantic, them dying in each other’s arms). Though personally, I like to imagine that they both eventually recover from their injuries and everyone lives happily ever after in Erebor with their beloved King and Queen under the mountain! :)

[thechangeling]

Hi...

So I might be neurodivergent...

How can I be sure?

Without a professional...

How much surety can I get and how?

Hi!

Fair warning this is gonna be long. I'm sorry.

Ok first of all the term neurodivirgint is pretty broad actually. It just means not neurotypical. So if you have any sort of mental disability or illness, that would make you neurodiverse if you wanted to use that label. It's not just autism and ADHD which is a common misconception.

But if you think you're autistic then I can help you. Maybe. First off, resources. There are a lot of resources here on tumblr like the actuallyautistic tag. I know it seems unprofessional to get your resources from tumblr but most well known and profession published peices are by doctors or parents if children with autism. Hot take, there is nothing any doctor can teach you about autism that I can't teach you. Or any other autistic person. We are the experts on ourselves.

I reccomend following autistic creators on tumblr and also on tiktok since that's where most of the action is. Also books written by autistic people if you're interested in that. All The Weight of Our Dreams is good. It's about living as a POC with autism but I reccomend reading it still if you're white like me because it's a good resource. Also Neurotribes which actually isn't written by an autistic author but is very well researched and includes quotes from autistics. It goes into talking about ABA and institutionalization though so if you might be triggered by that it's best to avoid. I also reccomend checking out ASAN and the autistic women's and nonbinary network.

In terms of diagnosis it depends on a lot of things. If you are an adult, getting an assessment can be tricky.It's pretty expensive if you go through a private clinic and if you go through any sort of facility connected to your local hospital then I think you can use your insurance but depending on where you live it might not cover it. If you live somewhere that does not have free healthcare then I think it might be pretty pricey. Idk I live in Canada.

The truth is I got my diagnosis when I was two years old. I was incredibly lucky and privileged enough to have my mom know someone who worked with kids with learning disabilities and got me to see a specialist for free. But the truth is this is rare. If you are a girl or basically anyone who is not a cisgender boy you will have a harder time getting a diagnosis due to stigma. Also if you aren't white.

If you are a minor you need your parents consent to get you an assessment. I would advice you to look up the process in your country and local area to figure out how things work. Usually you need your family doctor to refer you to a psychiatrist who will refer you to a specialist.

Yes I'm sorry I know this is complicated. This is why most people just self diagnose instead. There's nothing wrong with self diagnosis especially if you are anything other then a white cis boy. The system is stacked against you. They don't wanna believe you're autistic because you don't fit their narrative. If you genuinely have done a ton of research and you believe that you are autistic then you probably are. I believe you.

If you do want to proceed with getting a diagnosis though, be warned that the process is pretty long and invasive. I had to get reassessed when I was 17 for college so I could get a college IEP. (Individual Education Plan) and that was pretty stressful.

You can't get educational accommodations without a diagnosis though, or disability cheques from the government. However if you get a diagnosis you can't get married depending on where you live. It's complicated.

In terms of ADHD basically the same rules apply for information. Tumblr, tiktok, tags, creators, find info etc. There are more resources written about ADHD by people with ADHD because no one lets autistics self advocate! I am actually self diagnosed with ADHD so I can't talk you through the diagnosis process. There is still the same stigma surrounding women, nonbinary people, trans men and POC though but it's lessened a bit more then autism.

If you wanna talk to someone who has a diagnosis then @doitforthecarstairs is good (I think they have a diagnosis. Forgive me if I'm remembering wrong)

If you can't figure out whether you have autism or ADHD or both then honestly you are not alone. There is a lot of cross over. Basically the one main difference is hyperfixations vs. Special interest. Focusing on one thing very intensely for like a week then getting bored and moving on is hyperfixating. You might still like the thing afterwords but you arent focusing on it so intensely anymore. This is binge watching a show in like 12 hours, no stopping and no breaks. If you can tear through ten episodes without even flinching, you are probably neurodiverse.

Special interests are long term hyperfixations that can last for years. It's basically a hardcore obsession with something that you love, and all you want to do is talk about that thing and all you ever do is think about that thing. You usually end up with a special interest that matches your personality pretty well.

Sorry I know this is a long post. Hopefully it helps.

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip - Part 11: Anger

“Sit. The fuck. Down. And don’t. Fucking. Move.”

Seolhyun is hesitant at first, but she slowly moves toward one of the leather chairs, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes as she does so, although you could tell that she did so just to keep up her front. She clearly wasn’t betting on Momo calling her on her bluff.

“Sit and watch how a real girl fucks,” Momo says, every word a dagger, her eyes and glare boring holes into Seolhyun, who suddenly looked a lot less confident than she was when she walked into the room.

“You,” Momo says as she faces you, her eyes burning with intensity, “come here and fuck me.”

“Momo, I want you and Choa to speak to the convention organizers. Tell them we want to reschedule our presentation to Thursday afternoon. That will give us two days to come up with something to present.”

 The two women still look shellshocked as you exit the convention auditorium and gather in the main hall, but they nonetheless give small nods of understanding.

 “Mina, I want you to look into the legal ramifications of what they’ve done. Look into any possibility for patent infringement or intellectual property theft, and whether they’ve violated some law or regulation.”

 The young woman is composed, as always, and gives you an affirmative nod. She clearly had antifreeze running through her veins, being the only one of your team that didn’t look outwardly furious, or shocked, or both.

 “Seolhyun, speak to your people back in Seoul. I need to know how the hell they stole your tech from under our noses. Look for any evidence of an external hack or an internal database download or anything of that sort. Figure out how they did this without anyone in your goddamn company realizing it.”

 Your last sentence carried a little more edge than you were intending, but you know the fierce look of anger on Seolhyun’s face is directly mostly at Tzuyu and Sana, and not at you.

 “Those two will pay for this,” she says, her tone sharp.

 “They will. But let’s do this right. I’ll get on the phone with head office back home and figure out what our next moves will be. Let’s all concentrate on getting these things done, then let’s take the rest of the day off to rest, recharge, and burn off our anger. I want everyone with a clear head when we meet tomorrow morning to tackle this.”

 Choa, Mina, and Seolhyun all head off to take on the duties assigned to them, each with a mixture of lingering shock, determination, and anger painted on their respective faces. Following the stunt that Tzuyu and Sana had just pulled, you felt you needed to give them something constructive to focus on instead of letting themselves fall victim to anger or despair. Momo remains, and as the others leave, she draws you close into a hug. Your arms wrap around her frame, which suddenly felt very small against you.

 “I’m both sad and angry,” she says softly.

 “I know,” you say, unable to find more comforting words. You stroke the back of her head gently with your right hand, your left arm squeezing her tightly against you.

 “Why would she do that to us?”

 “I don’t know, Momo,” you say, speaking truthfully, “I don’t know…”

 ---

 It is almost midnight when you finally return to your hotel room after several hours of phone calls, video calls, and face to face meetings with your team and the conference organizers. The understandably surprised and upset conference organizers eventually came around, however, and you were able to delay JYP Inc.’s presentation to Thursday, buying some time to find something to actually present.

 JYP himself was understandably furious at the afternoon’s turn of events, but he was also supportive during your phone call with him, refraining from laying any blame at your team’s feet and instead ensuring that you had the full backing of the company and access to the entirety of its resources.

 “Do whatever it takes to make sure they pay for this,” he said, his usually cheery voice possessing an edge that you’d not heard until then, “you have free reign to do as you see fit. I trust you. Make them regret ever thinking they could mess with JYP Inc.”

 Confident that you had your boss’s full backing, you decided to call it a night and get as much sleep as possible before tackling the problem head on tomorrow.

 You are staring out the window at the blinking, bright lights of Taiwan’s downtown district, seeking the solutions to your problem amidst the tall buildings of glass and steel, in much the same way that you did in Tokyo and Seoul. You’d always found something calming in watching a downtown skyline.

 “You always get this look on your face,” Momo says softly as she approaches you at the window, “when you stare outside the window. It’s like you’re meditating with your eyes open.”

 “I guess I am, in a way. It’s comforting to know that there are so many other people out there, each fighting their own battle, just like we are,” you reply, accepting the glass of whiskey Momo passes to you. She had raided the hotel room’s mini bar, outrageous markup prices be damned. You both needed a drink after today’s events.

 Momo nods as she weighs your words over in her head, taking a sip of the strong whiskey as she does so. She lets out a hard breath, the way people do when the liquor hits the right spot.

 “That’s good stuff,” she says, licking her lips and swirling the amber liquid around in her glass, staring intently at it as though the solutions to your company’s dilemna were to be found at the bottom.

 You turn your gaze to her, and you are struck by the beauty of her soft features highlighted in the blue and red neon lights outside your window. She had spent some long hours trying to convince the convention organizers to completely revamp their schedule to accommodate your rescheduling request, and you were proud of her for managing to accomplish that difficult task.

 You are about to give voice to your thoughts, but you are interrupted by your phone vibrating in your pocket. Given the day’s events you knew you had to check it, in case it was something urgent.

 KimSeolhyun says: What are you doing?

 You say: Resting in my hotel room. You?

 KimSeolhyun says: I’m coming over. Be ready, I’m horny as fuck.

 You say: Momo’s here.

 KimSeolhyun says: Are you fucking?

 You say: No lol.

 KimSeolhyun says: Good. Then she can watch or leave, I don’t give a shit. Rough day. Need a fuck. Remember that deal we made.  I’m on the way.

 “Head office?” Momo asks.

 “No,” you say, readying yourself for Momo’s reaction, “it’s Seolhyun.”

 Momo rolls her eyes and lets out a snort that could only be understood as disapproval. She had not gotten over her dislike for Seolhyun over what happened in Seoul, and the awkwardness and tension between them was evident every time they were in the same room.

 “I’ll turn her away,” you say, raising your phone to type a reply.

 “No,” Momo interrupts, “you can have her. I’ll go find Choa and have a drink somewhere.”

 “You’re not pissed?”

 “I hate her guts, but even I have to admit she’s pretty goddamn hot. I’d fuck her if I had a dick. Or even if I didn’t. Either way, go have your fun.”

 “What did I do to deserve you?” you ask with a smile, meaning every word.

 “I dunno,” Momo says with a grin, “just make sure you tell me all about it afterward. I wanna know if she fucks as good as she looks.”

 The young woman downs the rest of her whiskey in a single gulp.

 “...and make sure you save some energy for me later.”

 Momo winks before turning and grabbing her hoodie from a nearby chair, and again, you find yourself thankful to whatever gods may be that this woman was in your life.

 She is only halfway to the door when there is a knock - Seolhyun certainly didn’t waste any time. Deciding it would be best if you answered it and not Momo, you walk past her and open the door.

 Seolhyun is wearing a neutral look on her face, but it deepens into a look of annoyance when she realizes Momo is still there. The young woman walks nonchalantly into the room, taking off her black leather jacket and throwing it onto the leather couch. Momo gives Seolhyun a glare as she passes and moves towards the door.

 “Maybe you should stick around,” Seolhyun says, her tone confrontational, “maybe you’ll learn something.”

 You’d seen Momo angry before; you’d even seen her infuriated. But that was only in a work environment, often when something went wrong with a project or when the office printer had chosen that particular time to jam. But you had never seen a look of fury on her face the way you did at that moment.

 The Japanese girl turns sharply and goes face to face with Seolhyun until their noses are inches apart. Seolhyun apparently wasn’t anticipating Momo to react the way she did, given the look of surprise and hesitation on her face. When Momo speaks, every syllable is laced with venom.

 “Sit. The fuck. Down. And don’t. Fucking. Move.”

 Seolhyun is hesitant at first, but she slowly moves toward one of the leather chairs, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes as she does so, although you could tell that she did so just to keep up her front. She clearly wasn’t betting on Momo calling her on her bluff.

 “Sit and watch how a real girl fucks,” Momo says, every word a dagger, her eyes and glare boring holes into Seolhyun, who suddenly looked a lot less confident than she was when she walked into the room.

 “You,” Momo says as she faces you, her eyes burning with intensity, “come here and fuck me.”

 You down your whiskey in one gulp, leave the glass on the coffee table, and step towards Momo, but she meets you halfway, and before you know it your bodies are crashing together, arms wrapping around familiar torsos, your mouths meeting and tongues seeking their counterparts in that wonderful moment when lust takes over - but this lust is different; it is fueled not insignificantly by anger, frustration, and the desire to vent it all out through physical, sexual means.

 For a moment you forget Seolhyun is there, sitting not even five feet away. But as Momo breaks your kiss to dive into your neck, your eyes open slightly, enough to see the blank expression on the young Korean woman’s face turn into one of intense concentration, her eyes enraptured and surprised by what was about to happen in front of her.

 Momo, for her part, seems to have forgotten entirely that there is another woman in the room, moving quickly from your neck to your chest, taking advantage of the fact that you were wearing a button up shirt. Her slim fingers work quickly on its buttons, following the trail of steadily revealed skin with soft kisses down the front of your chest, until finally she is on her knees in front of you.

 She works your belt, pants button and zipper quickly, hooking fingers into your boxers as soon as they are visible, dragging your pants and underwear down until they are at your knees. She turns, shoots the shocked Seolhyun a “watch this and learn” look, and dives into your crotch, her small pink tongue immediately finding the base of your quickly hardening cock and licking upward, slowly, until she reaches the tip.

 Your shaft hardens quicker than you ever thought was possible. It had been a hard, difficult day, and the thought of fucking Momo in order to vent some of your frustration was more than enough to get you ready, but having Seolhyun there, seeing Momo put her in her place - it all formed a heady mix of intense pleasure.

 Before you know it Momo has taken the entirety of your shaft into her mouth, your cock wrapped by her warm, wet cavern and the dextrous muscle of her tongue that is pressing against the underside of your shaft. As she withdraws your shaft, she swirls her tongue around the head; she had had many months to know what you wanted when it came to blowing you, and she knew full well that she was shooting spikes of intense pleasure up your spine with every lick and suck.

 In your peripheral vision you catch movement from Seolhyun, and you turn your head to watch her squirming and moving her thighs, trying and failing to keep up the impression that she wasn’t at all intensely aroused by what was going on in front of her. But as Momo’s hand joins her mouth in pleasuring you, pumping up and down on the base of your shaft in tandem with her mouth, you let a soft gasp escape your lips - one that seems to impact Seolhyun as well, a brief look of pleasure washing over her beautiful face, her mouth opening ever so slightly, as though some small measure of the pleasure Momo was imposing on your body had carried over to her.

 You involuntarily bring your left hand to Momo’s face, seeking to touch her, seeking any kind of physical contact with the young woman on her knees pleasuring you. You want to do the same with your right hand, want to bring both your hands to her head and rock your hips and fuck her face - but you know Momo wants to show off, wants to ensure Seolhyun sees how good she is. And so you leave your right arm where it is, ensuring the older Korean girl has a perfect view of your hard shaft as it plunges in and out of Momo’s mouth, slathered and glistening with her saliva.

 “Fuck that’s good,” you say, the words spilling out of your mouth before you even realize your brain has formed them. Momo responds by letting your hard shaft pop out of her mouth, holding it against her lips, her pink tongue darting out to lick the underside of your head, taking delight in watching the pleasure twist your face as she stimulates what she knows is the most sensitive part of your cock.

 The Japanese girl takes advantage of the fact that you are paralyzed by pleasure and stands up, bringing both her hands to your shoulders, pushing you down slightly onto the leather couch. You take a moment to rid yourself of your bothersome pants and boxers, and you do so quickly enough to ensure you don’t miss what you know is going to happen next; for her part, Momo waits patiently while you undress before she follows your lead.

 Slowly, knowing two pairs of eyes were glued onto her body, she undoes the buttons of her grey blazer, sliding it down her shoulders until it falls into a pool of cloth at her feet. She is wearing grey shorts beneath it, but those don’t last long either, her fingers equally as adept at undoing her own clothes as they are at undoing yours. She is wearing a simple black bra and a black thong beneath - neither is overly scandalous, the thong even being relatively conservative as far as thongs go - but she is nonetheless ridiculously sexy, every inch and curve of her body radiating lust, and desire, and sex.

 In a final gesture of seduction, she reaches behind her head with her right hand and undoes whatever ridiculous contraption is keeping her hair up - she had gotten a new haircut before leaving for Taiwan, and while a part of you missed the medium length brown hair she used to have, there is no denying that the short black hair that tumbles down to her neck only increases the raw lust she projects into the room. It amazed you to see what a simple haircut could do to a woman’s raw sexiness.

 As if staring at her toned, perfectly proportioned curves were not enough, she takes it one step further, turning around so her back is facing you, before bending over and removing her thong - the full, round cheeks of her ass and the toned, creamy skin of her thighs on full display in front of you. As the black cotton drops you catch a glimpse of pink flesh between her legs, already glistening, already begging for penetration. She tosses the flimsy piece of underwear in your lap.

 But Momo is in control here - she knows she is putting on a show, and she loves it - loves the fact that she has not one, but two people in the room wrapped around her finger, their eyes glued to her near naked body, enraptured by every movement she makes. And so when she reaches behind her and undoes her bra, she tosses it to land on Seolhyun’s lap.

 You had forgotten, as was becoming worryingly common, that Seolhyun was even there, but as the bra lands in her lap you watch the final vestiges of resistance flee from her beautiful face. Her features contort in pleasure - not unlike the look she had when you fucked her in Seoul - as though the bra landing on her lap caused a spike of pleasure to shoot up her spine and into her brain. She had broken. She belonged, as you did, to Momo now.

 Seolhyun reaches a hand to touch the bra in her lap - before her hand moves lower, to the hem of her short black dress, and underneath it. Her fingers draw the hem of her dress upward, revealing perfect, creamy skin, until her fingers graze the space between her legs. She doesn’t care anymore about maintaining her image, doesn’t care that Momo has established dominance - she needs to touch herself, the brazen display in front of her becoming too much for her to handle without seeking some sort of release for her own. Seolhyun bites her lip as her fingers work between her legs, and a wave of pleasure washes over her face, her eyes closing halfway before she forces them open again, doing her best to ensure she didn’t miss a moment of what was going on in front of her.

 There was something perverse about it - something that turned you on to see. Some not insignificant part of you enjoyed seeing the haughty, confident, occasionally arrogant young woman being driven to submission by your girlfriend. And from the look of her face as she turns around to face you again, Momo feels the same way, a self-assured smirk on her lips.

 The smirk is there only for a second, and it is replaced with a look of lust as the naked woman climbs into your lap, her mouth seeking and finding yours and engaging in a passionate kiss as her long legs place themselves around your waist. As your tongues duel, you feel her reach between your bodies to guide your shaft to her entrance, and you feel the hot wetness of her pussy against the head of your cock as she rubs it against her open lips, not penetrating - just lubricating your head, teasing herself with it.

 Then Hirai Momo pushes her hips down, impaling herself onto your cock.

 She starts slowly at first, relishing those first few thrusts into her body, savoring the feel of your hard shaft as it penetrates her body. You do the same, letting your eyes drift closed, allowing yourself to experience her body yet again, knowing you will never tire of it, never grow fatigued of being inside her. You both let a soft gasp escape your lips, Momo’s louder than yours as she gives voice to her lust.

 She is grinding her hips now, establishing a steady pace, her body stretched out and lubricated enough to allow full penetration. She grinds in a circular motion, her hips starting further back on the downstroke and then pushing her body forward on the upstroke, so that your shaft is penetrating her in a back and forward motion as well as up and down - this was a woman who knew just how to pleasure you, knew just how to drive you crazy with her body.

 Momo throws her head back as your shaft penetrates her deeper, and you tear your eyes open long enough to realize her wonderful breasts are pressed against your face, the warm skin misted with sweat as she exerts herself. You immediately press your mouth against her left breast, your tongue quickly finding her already hardened nipple, swirling it around the hard bud greedily, lustily, without any sort of thought for decorum or patience - there is only lust, only the need to devour her, devour more of this wonderful woman’s body.

 There is a sharp gasp in the room, and it takes you a moment to realize it came from Seolhyun, not Momo. With Momo’s breast still in your mouth, you open your eyes just enough to glance over at her, and you realize that she is now fingering herself with abandon, her right hand moving frantically between her legs, her left hand grasping her right breast through her dress.

 You smile wickedly, and you turn your head to ensure Seolhyun can watch as you tease Momo’s nipple, your tongue pressing against it and swirling around it in random patterns, and you know Seolhyun is imagining that you are doing the same to her.

 All the while, Momo is still throwing herself onto your shaft, over and over, her head thrown back as she lets a long string of moans escape her lips. She is cradling your head in her hands, letting herself go, letting herself fully experience the pleasure radiating from between her legs and from her breast.

 “Fuck… fuck… you’re so big, baby,” she moans.

 “You’re… so tight, Momo. Fuck… you’re so tight.”

 “You like… you like when I ride you like this? You like when I fuck myself on your cock?” Momo asks, and you realize that a part of her still wants to show off, is still aware of the Korean girl squirming in her seat not five feet away.

 “Fuck yes.”

 “Did you like… fucking my ass last week?”

 At the mention of anal sex with Momo, a moan escapes a pair of female lips - Seolhyun’s.

 “Yes… fuck… your ass was so tight, baby. Did you like when I cummed in your ass?”

 “Yes! I love when you cum in me… no matter what hole… I love feeling your cum inside me,” Momo gasps, happy that you were playing along, the both of you teasing Seolhyun with your words just as much as you were with the erotic display you were putting on for her. Even as you have this conversation, your cock continues to piston in and out of Momo’s tight, slick pussy.

 “Fuck… you’re so good, baby. So tight, so hot. Fuck… you’re the best.”

 “Am I… the best… fuck… you’ve ever had?”

 “Yes!” you answer, perhaps with more enthusiasm than you were anticipating. You had slept with your fair share of beautiful women, and one of the better ones was just a few feet away, fingering herself - but you knew, deep down, that it was true: Hirai Momo was the best of them all.

 You watch as Momo turns her head so she is facing Seolhyun. Despite the pleasure washing over her beautiful face, Momo is coherent enough to smirk slightly, biting her lip as she watches Seolhyun finger herself, knowing in that moment that she had won their little battle.

 “Good,” Momo says, turning to you again, “then fuck me like you mean it.”

 You take that as your signal to finally exert yourself instead of merely being a (eagerly willing) participant in Momo’s little show, and to that end you reach both your hands down to grasp her round ass, grasping a cheek in each palm. When Momo reaches the top of her grind, and the head of your cock is all that remains in her, you slam her back down with your hands while you thrust up with your hips, driving your shaft harder and deeper into her body than she was able to do on her own.

 Momo lets a shriek out, louder than any of her moans thus far, and it is followed up with another as you repeat the action with your next thrust. You are both truly fucking each other now, both your bodies working to throw yourselves against each other as hard as you possibly can.

 “Fuck! Fuck that’s so good!” Momo exclaims, “You’re so big inside me, baby. You’re stretching me out… so deep!”

 You grunt in reply, because that is all you can do, every other ounce of your being focused instead of driving yourself as deeply and as hard as you can inside her body.

 Momo, as always, wants more - always wants to take it to the next level. And so it surprises you when she slams herself down on your shaft and then stays there for a moment, capturing your lips and mouth in a torrid kiss before removing herself from your cock. The moment of surprise lasts only a moment before you realize she is turning around so her back is facing you, climbing back onto your lap, spreading her legs until she is crouching above your erect, glistening shaft, her feet on the couch on either side of your thighs. Then, taking another moment to line up your cockhead with her pussy, she impales herself once more, this time in a reverse cowgirl position.

 From this point of view Seolhyun has a clear view of your shaft as it plunges into Momo’s tight, drenched pussy, the Japanese girl’s legs spread wide, her entire body on display as you settle into the position and fuck her from behind in your sitting position. Momo braces herself against the back of the couch with her arms, leaning back against your chest - your arms, however, are free, and you reach quickly around her torso to grasp both her breasts, pinching her nipples before reaching your right hand down her tight, firm torso until you reach her clit, your middle finger finding and swirling around her sensitive nub.

 Seolhyun lets out a sharp gasp at the display, and you look around Momo’s bouncing body to watch as the older girl spreads her legs, now fully giving into her need for release. She has pushed her white panties to the side, her finger working urgently amidst her wet folds, already one knuckle deep inside herself as she struggles to contain the pleasure she is creating.

 Momo’s moans are increasing in volume, turning more into sharp gasps of wordless syllables as the pleasure builds steadily inside her young body. Her new position presses your cock against the sensitive front of her pussy, your hard shaft and the finger rubbing her clit bringing her to the brink.

 “I’m… I’m gonna cum, baby! I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum so hard!”

 “Fuck,” you hiss, sharply, as much out of need to vent your pleasure as it was a curse, as you wanted to prolong the pleasure, wanted to stay fucking this perfect woman for as long as possible as she continues to impale herself again and again on your cock.

 “I’m… I’m cumming!”

 Momo lets out what is almost a shout as an orgasm wracks her body, her body quivering and spasming as the pleasure courses throughout her veins, her voice becoming a chorus of moans and gasps of lust, pleasure, and finally, release. Her pussy clamps down hard on your shaft, and it takes a significant amount of effort on your part not to join her in bliss, wanting to prolong the experience as long as possible. The wetness of her juices escapes the tightness of her body, and seeps out freely around your shaft, drenching both of your crotches in slickness.

 Momo takes a solid minute to wind down from her orgasm, and her still-trembling body collapses against yours until she is sitting limply in your lap, her back pressed against your chest. She finds the strength to turn her head to meet yours, and you kiss her deeply, pressing your mouths together as deeply as you can, your tongues finding and caressing each other. Your hands roam freely around her torso, squeezing a soft breast and enjoying the feel of her firm, flat stomach beneath your palm.

 Momo is the first to break the kiss, and she leans her head back against your shoulder, panting heavily as the exertion finally hits her. Your cock is still impaled to the base inside her body, and you take the moment of inactivity to savor the feel of her warm, wet, still-pulsating pussy wrapped around your shaft. Without speaking a word, you watch as Momo lifts her head slightly to look at Seolhyun, her post-orgasm face flushed, the very picture of lust.

 When she is ready, she bends forward and slips off your shaft, eliciting a short groan from you as you leave her tightly clasping body. You watch intently as every inch of your shaft leaves her body, taking pleasure in watching her tight pussy  lips grasp your cock as though not wanting to let it go, a thick strand of her slick juices still connecting your bodies until it finally snaps when Momo stands.

 On shaky legs, Momo saunters over to where Seolhyun is sitting, the older Korean girl now a mewling, dishevelled mess, a far cry from the haughty, confident woman she was just a few minutes before when she entered the hotel room. Momo is completely naked, her skin flushed, her crotch and thighs wet with juices, both yours and hers - but she exudes supreme confidence as she bends over so her mouth is just inches from Seolhyun’s ear.

 “That’s how a real girl fucks. And if you ever talk shit to me again, I swear to god, not only will you never touch my boyfriend again - I’ll slap you all the way back to Seoul.”

 Seolhyun has stopped fingering herself, but she lets out a sharp gasp of surprise as Momo reaches down with her own finger, tracing the Korean girl’s pussy with her fingertip.

 “Now go use this pussy of yours and finish him off,” Momo says, her words equally aggressive and seductive, “Even a virgin should be able to make him cum.”

 Seolhyun wastes no time - she is so needy for pleasure, so lust-drunk on the show you and Momo put on for her, that she immediately leaves her chair and makes her way to you. She takes a moment to bend and remove her drenched cotton panties before grasping the hem of her black dress and pulling it up around her waist. Then she sits in your lap, and a second later, she drives her pussy down onto your shaft.

 Seolhyun is tight, wet, and hot. Her body, even still semi-clothed, is almost perfect in every way, and her face, perfectly sculpted and striking a perfect balance of cuteness and beauty and hotness, is contorted in pleasure as she rides you hard and fast. It only takes her half a minute to orgasm, so close is she to the brink - and a few seconds after that, you join her, your shaft pulsating as the pleasure finally overwhelms you and you send hot, warm semen shooting inside the welcoming depths of her wanton, willing body, filling Kim Seolhyun to the brink, until your juices and hers overflow out of her tightly grasping pussy lips to drip down your balls and onto the now-moist leather of the couch.

 Any other man would be totally consumed with the moaning, gorgeous Seolhyun, still mid orgasm as she writhes on your lap - but your eyes, and your thoughts, are instead on Hirai Momo, watching as she dresses herself with sweatpants and a hoodie before leaving the hotel room, winking at you and smiling slyly as she closes the door behind her, even as her boyfriend empties thick, hot semen into another woman.

 ---

 An hour has passed since Momo left, and since then you have Seolhyun again, the Korean girl feeling like she had something to prove as she rode you, her confidence having been taken down a peg by Momo. When you finally climax together when you fuck her from behind on the couch, you notice that her gaze was locked on the hotel room door, as though she were hoping Momo would come back in to watch you both.

 Now she is sitting in the same seat she was earlier, this time with a glass of whiskey in her hand. She is stark naked, her skin still flushed with the afterglow of sex, and you find her long, toned limbs and creamy skin more than a little distracting as you follow suit and collapse on the couch.

 “Goddamn that was good,” Seolhyun says, taking a short sip of her drink.

 “I’d say,” you agree.

 “As much as it pains me to say it… you’re the fucking luckiest guy on earth to be dating her.”

 “I know,” you say without looking at Seolhyun, knowing that she was speaking the truth.

 “Anyway… what are we going to do about Thursday?”

 “I don’t know,” you answer, bringing a hand to your face to massage your brow, “we’re fucked. We need some way to prove that Sana was behind the theft of your company’s data. If we can prove that, we can claim intellectual data theft, and we’d fuck them over in court. Public opinion would turn pretty hard against them after an accusation like that.”

 “I just want to know how she got all the data for our tech,” Seolhyun says, swirling her drink around, “I spoke to the techs back home and they said there wasn’t any evidence of an external hack. They looked through her activity on our local network, and they said it was pretty clean and there was nothing to indicate a large-scale transfer of data.”

 You both take a moment in silence, wondering what to do next.

 “It’s possible,” Seolhyun continues, her brows furrowed in thought, “that she got someone else to unknowingly download the data for her. Maybe by asking someone in the company to do it under the guise of project-related work.”

 “Combing through every staff member’s network activity would take forever,” you say, upset that you were unable to add anything positive to the conversation.

 “It’s also possible that she did it with some sort of hardwired device. Network hacking would attract too much attention and have a pretty big risk of being detected, tracked, or traced. It would be as simple as something she connected to someone’s personal device that could then transmit data to an external server.”

 Personal… device…

 You stand up immediately, your sudden movement shocking Seolhyun.

 “What’s up?” she asks, genuinely confused.

 “Get everyone together. I know how she stole our tech. And I can prove it.”

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 10

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 1856

Author’s Note: Had some extra time today, so I figured I’d go ahead and post. We’ve reached the end, folks. Thank you to everyone for reading, reblogging, liking, and especially all the lovely comments. A million thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​ , and @cracksinthewalls​ for helping my story shine. @thoughtslikeaminefield​ , thank you for the lovely image for the story. I hope everyone enjoyed it all as much as I do. 

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 10

“Sam looks really irritated,” Kimber whispers to Dean. The younger Winchester brother has just excused himself to the restroom, but the diner is pretty quiet, and she doesn’t want to risk Sam overhearing.

“Well, yeah,” Dean says, raising his coffee to take a deep, life-affirming slurp. He doesn’t bother to lower his tone or modulate his pitch in the slightest, and Kimber shoots him an exasperated look. “I stuck him with clean-up duty last night so I could get lucky. Not to mention, our room was the only free one at the motel, remember, so he either slept there or in his car. He’s not irritated, he’s pissed as hell and probably a little jealous.”

“But you didn’t get lucky last night,” Kimber says. 

“Went home with my high school sweetheart, got to see her unmentionables, and spent the whole night in bed with her after eating semi-homemade apple pie. I’d say I got pretty damned lucky.”

She sends an elbow his way, but he’s expecting it and leans back so she overshoots and lands across his lap. She splutters indignantly as she rights herself while he takes another calm drink of his coffee. 

“Seriously, though, he’s not pissed at you. The first few months after we left, the kid wouldn’t shut up about you. He practically worshipped you: hot, nerdy as hell, the whole package. And,��� he adds, his teasing expression mellowing to one of genuine appreciation, “you really helped him out with that AP stuff. He got into Stanford because of you.”

“Shut up,” she says, her face heating. “He got into Stanford? That was him, and you know it. I just gave him some resources he didn’t know about, that’s all.”

“And I was able to keep up with all my AP classes no matter where we moved, which was a huge deal to me,” Sam says as he slides into the booth across from them. “You guys talking about me behind my back?”

 “Always,” Dean smirks. “So, what’d you find out?”

“Does the name ‘Jim Weeks’ mean anything to you, Kimber?” 

She frowns, setting her fork down on the edge of her plate. “It does. I helped him out, god, what...eight, nine years ago? He hadn’t been hunting very long, maybe a year or two, and he was investigating some...Let me think, hang on.” She closes her eyes, mentally shifting through years of research, both hers and others’.

“Human sacrifices. There was a symbol carved into all the victims. I helped him find the source, the deity it stood for. It was one of my closed cases; that’s why I didn’t bring it up. He called me a few weeks later, said he’d taken care of everything.”

“Well, he was wrong,” Sam says, his face grave. “I found his journal in the witch’s car. Jim documented you helping him, what you found, where you worked, and then how the case wrapped up. You actually helped him take down en entire coven of witches, guess he didn’t mention that part. Then he went on hunting for another seven and a half years, but a few months ago, he started to write about feeling like someone was watching him, tailing him from case to case.”

Sam pauses, giving her a moment to take in this new information, then he continues.

“Said he was starting to have periods of time where he didn’t remember stuff, would wake up in the middle of the road, in the middle of the woods. He wrote about finding a doll in his car one morning; it, uh..looked like him. Throat was slit, red paint, all of it.” 

Sam clears his throat, flexing his fingers on the table top as he watches her carefully. Dean’s hand closes over hers under the table, and she realizes her fingers are shaking.

“Go on,” she says. She doesn’t want to hear what’s coming next, she really already knows, but she needs to hear it.

“The entries in his journal stop after that. The cover was soaked in dried blood. So...yeah. I did some checking, and Jim died a few months back. The scene was...nasty.”

“So, who was our nutbag?” Dean asks. His tone is rough as he squeezes Kimber’s fingers. 

“I looked into the county records where Jim took down the coven. I don’t think he did too much research into the actual witches themselves; the coven included a family, a mom and dad and a teenager. Jim thought he got the whole coven, but maybe the teenager wasn’t at that meeting? At any rate, the papers from around then talked about the murdered couple’s missing child, and then the kid just dropped out of mention.”

“Okay, Jim was sloppy, and the kid survived, and what...swore revenge? How’d he find Jim again?”

“I found these folded up in the front of the journal,” Sam says, smoothing a couple of newspaper articles out on the table. The edges are frayed and ragged, torn rather than cut. There are dark smears on both, smudges and stains from who knows what, and Kimber’s gorge rises higher the longer she stares down at them.

The first article dates back to the first investigation, showing a grainy photograph of police and federal officers milling around behind crime scene tape. Kimber points to a figure off to the side, suited and facing the camera almost straight on.

“That’s Jim,” she says, her voice quiet. He looks painfully young in the photograph, and her chest twinges. The caption labels him as “FBI Special Agent Gaiman.” 

She looks at the second article, which is much more recent. She notices immediately that the location is the same, the premise almost identical. “Town’s Dark Past Resurfaces After Nearly a Decade” reads the headline. She looks for Jim’s face, spotting it in the crowd once more, despite him aging considerably in the years since she met him.

“He used the same name again,” Dean says, shaking his head. “I mean, he didn’t have much choice, since it was probably the same cops on the case, but still. Probably how the witch found him. Might’ve started up the sacrifices again just to draw Jim out. Anything else in the car, Sam?”

Sam shakes his head, his mouth working as if he’s got a bad taste in his mouth. “More or less standard witch paraphernalia, a couple more knives. I didn’t see anything indicating we have anyone else to watch out for.”

Dean purses his lips, then looks to Kimber. “You doin’ okay?”

Kimber takes the question seriously, doing a quick bit of mental introspection. “Yeah, I think...I mean...Okay, so I’m still queasy, but I don’t feel like someone’s breathing down my neck anymore. I’m going to be jumpy for a while, and I am definitely not going to stop going to my Thursday night classes anytime soon. But, yeah. If I’m not completely okay at the moment, I know I’m going to be.”

“That’s my girl.” Dean leans over, pressing a kiss to Kimber’s cheek. Sam looks away, but not before Kimber catches the embarrassed smile on his face. Dean slides from the booth, strolling casually over to the register and grinning at the elderly waitress, who blushes and giggles as she takes the check from him.

“Dad wouldn’t let him call you,” Sam says quietly. Kimber’s eyes flash to Sam, startled.

“When we left. Dean wanted to. He tried to, but Dad said he couldn’t. Said you were a distraction we couldn’t afford. He absolutely forbade it. They got in a fight, the worst one I ever saw between them when we were kids, and Dad...he...well, he, uh...He put his foot down. And later, after Dad died...I think Dean was ashamed. Maybe. I dunno, but I think he didn’t feel like he could call you after all that time, felt like he’d let you down.”

Sam glances over his shoulder, and they both watch Dean lean down to whisper conspiratorially with the blushing waitress as he hands her his credit card. Dean turns back to Kimber, winking, and her last little bit of heartache flakes off and fades away.

“Maybe don’t hold it against him too much?” Sam says, his best puppy-dog face in place. Kimber has never seen such an earnest expression from a guy asking on behalf of another man before.

“So, what do we have on the docket, Sam?” Dean asks as he rejoins them. Kimber throws her arms around his neck, ignoring the twinge twinge of pain on the side of her throat, and kisses him soundly. He looks startled but pleased as she pulls away, eyes wide and cheeks ruddy. 

“What was that for? I’m just askin’ so I can do it again.”

She clears her throat against an unexpected lump. Behind Sam, the waitress at the register gives her a double thumbs up. “I was just jealous of the attention you were giving the wait staff. Figured you thought I wasn’t paying you enough attention.”

Sam coughs discreetly, his mouth twitching from the effort of smothering his smile. “I actually don’t have any cases for us. I was thinking about going back to the bunker and reorganizing some of those files I‘ve been going through. You know, I could really use your help, Dean. Our inventories could use some alphabetizing, and-”

“Hard pass,” Dean says, flashing his brother a quick, mirthless smile. 

“If you’re looking for something to do,” Kimber offers, then hesitates when Dean turns his focus to her. “Well, I mean...fall break is next week. There’s a harvest festival in town; we have a crafts fair and a big farmers market and a lot of baking competitions. It’s pretty fun. If...if you wanted to stay a little while, Dean.”

...

In the end, Dean stays nearly two weeks. They go to every single day of the festival, during which time, they pick out a new quilt for her bed and Dean makes himself actually sick at the pie tasting event. When he does finally leave, it’s with a promise to visit soon, and their phone numbers saved in each of their cells.

“I will say, I’m not overly fond of watching this car drive off,” Kimber says, hugging herself through the inadequate material of her sweater. The weather has turned genuinely cold, and she wishes she’d grabbed something heavier, but she hadn’t planned on staying outside for so long. 

For some reason, though, she just can’t let go of him long enough for him to get into the car.

Dean rubs his hands briskly up and down her arms, his eyes sad and fond as they roam over her face. Before she can stop him, he pulls off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders and kissing her forehead.

“You look damned cute in my jacket,” he says gruffly. “One more for the road?”

And if her lips are still swollen and throbbing when he puts the car into gear and pulls away from the curb, if his hair looks like he came straight from bed, neither of them minds in the least.

…

The end.

[brachiosaurus-on]

My Bad Batch commentary for S1E12. Overall I liked this episode, but there are a few things that stood out to me as conflicting with established worldbuilding. Howzer is getting much better narrative treatment than the clones in TCW. In other words, the writers seem to care about him and he’s not a redshirt. But we’re really stretching the inhibitor chips it seems.

Spoilers below the cut.

Lessu looks a lot better than in the clone wars. Love that bigger budget.

Why imprison them together? Imprisoning them separately would be more effective.

Eleni is still the best.

“Leave the thinking to me.” Punch him in the face Howzer. Were the admirals in the clone wars this rude to the clones? I don’t remember any instances of it, but didn’t many of them join the Empire?

Are they... being imprisoned in their own home? Or am I getting the sets confused. Does Cham have prison cells in his basement? Yep, Cham has prison cells in his basement. He was literally a prisoner in his own home. Why is their house the Imperial command center? Is it like a governor’s mansion? I thought in Rebels it was a generational home. I need to finish s3 of Rebels, yes I have seen s4.

I’m sorry, Orn Free Taa survived? He took a blaster to the brain. Is this just imperial propaganda?

“Don’t worry, we’re defective too” AWW. Gonky is my new favorite member of the bad batch.

“Children often overreact.” “No we don’t!” It would have been less convincing, but way funnier if Omega overreacted to that.

LMAO throwing his soldier identity in his face. I love her.

I love Hunter trying to act as if he isn’t going to do whatever Omega asks him to.

TBB is definitely not a priority for the Empire. Rampart is treating this as Crosshair’s personal vendetta

Is she gonna pull a Numa and lead them through the tunnels?

Cham not trusting him was a good decision. That could easily have been a ploy.

Awwww this is Hera’s first leadership role. You’re doing amazing sweetie.

Ok they’re doing the whole silencing opposition thing pretty well & Howzer is pointing out to the audience (younglings watching this) that it’s wrong. I like that they’re using a clone with a malfunctioning chip to do this. I can’t wait until history teachers ten years from now try to teach about fascism and hear a bunch of “OMG it’s just like in The Bad Batch!!!”

Huh, Tech is actually a pretty good pilot.

Cham get out of there before you start asking for explanations.

What is the refinery refining? This resource is probably why Ryloth was a Separatist target in the first place.

Cham is still not acknowledging the Jedi. That happened earlier in the war, so maybe they were invaded again and only clones were sent because there weren’t enough Jedi anymore? But he’s talking about how they worked with the clones and the person who convinced him to do that was Mace Windu, who also led the battle with him & captured Wat Tambor. Not to mention Anakin Skywalker, who saved them from the bombers at the last minute. Not even Ima-Gun Di who literally died for him so that his freedom fighters would live to fight another day. Why isn’t Gobi mentioning this? I mean, even Hera remembers the Jedi 15 years later.

Ok so that explains why Howzer stayed with the Empire. I’m guessing that he was not assigned to a Jedi though. It would have been cool to see those battalions in clone wars.

He’s so about to get shot. EXCUSE ME? THEY HAVE BRAIN CONTROL CHIPS? ARE THEY ALL MALFUNCTIONING? This is... a rather contradictory development. It’s been established that the chips don’t give them a choice and can defy their higher reasoning, but later that there’s an intensity scale for the chips’ effectiveness. If some clones just need to realize that what they’re doing is illogical or wrong, then why was order 66 so effective? Why did crosshair follow orders even at low intensity? Why was Rex so insistent on getting them out? Why did Wrecker go after Omega? But now we see plenty of regs with malfunctioning chips, which gives the impression that this could be a widespread issue. Of the clones who heard the speech, about half defected. 50% of the sample size. Did he get lucky that all the clones with malfunctioning chips were together? Is there a timer on how long the chips are effective? Does the intensity decrease over time? I can’t apply one tiny sample to the wider population even if they are identical; in fact, we’re being shown that they’re not identical. And yet, the fact that so many of them defected suggests that many more could also exercise free will... when they shouldn’t have that ability. Howzer should have gotten shot because the chips are supposed to completely override free will; that would have been consistent with established worldbuilding. I want to see the clones regain their free will, but they have to work within the rules of the established canon. Ahsoka gave Rex a similar “this isn’t you” speech to no effect; Omega has given the same speech to no effect. Again, make a decision, Dave.

I also have a bone to pick with how Wrecker said he was fighting his chip while he was under its influence, when it’s been established as far back as the OT that force users can sense internal conflict; if clones were fighting the chips, it would have warned the Jedi (see Rex & Ahsoka) when the reason they were supposed to be effective is that there was no conflict for the Jedi to sense because they were just following orders. Perhaps there’s an intensity threshold where their actions fall under its influence and another for their thoughts to be overwritten, but still, this is really pushing the established worldbuilding.

You know what, I’m just going to make a separate post about the chips. I’ll wait until the finale so they have a chance to explain this.

And now tbb are Rampart’s personal vendetta and therefore a priority for the Empire. Why is he impressed by the basic strategy of “let’s cause a distraction” is he just salty cause he fell for it? Because they blew up his big project? I feel as though Rampart had enough information to be able to predict this.

I get the feeling that they’re setting up a lot of key players for a big show down in the finale.

[freshlybakedspiderbread]

I brought up hanyang type 88 here and i said i’d explain, so here I am!!

okay so first off here’s a bunch of likely useful context about girls frontline. There is this feature in the game called digimind upgrade, or mod 3, where certain t-dolls can be upgraded past the normal maximum levels and stats, and at the same time gaining whole new abilities and also a new design. Basically a reinvention. There are like hundreds of playable characters in the game, and only a fraction will get mod 3s, typically the ‘main characters’ who are relevant to the major ongoing plot.

two things about getting a doll who has the ability to do digimind upgrade, to actually do that. One, is that it can be very costly in terms of in-game materials. like, maybe i just played the game wrong but I would have to grind for weeks in order to amass the materials to upgrade just one doll to mod 3. So even though by now there are dozens upon dozens of dolls who are capable of this feature, i’ve only actually done so with like, less than one dozen. A normal player probably has to be picky.

secondly, and this is the big one, every t-doll’s mod 3 comes with story cutscenes that become available for you to view upon upgrading them. Personally, i think most of the only worthwhile mod 3 stories are the ones that are associated with the actual major characters of the main story, especially since their upgrades actually happen in-canon and their mod 3 stories fill in blanks or otherwise expand upon the regular story chapters.

for the t-dolls who aren’t major characters that get digimind upgrades, their associated stories tend to follow a very basic pattern. They’re feeling like they are falling behind other T-Dolls in abilities or are otherwise experiencing a drop in confidence in their abilities, but then find the resolve in them to either change themselves or stand by an aspect of themselves, and this leads them to heading to the lab to get upgraded. obviously theres some nuances here and there depending on the character, but a lot of them, from what i saw, follow this basic pattern.

hanyang type 88 has a mod 3 but i certainly never wanted to see it. Firstly, using the feature at all takes up resources are kinda precious so i wasn’t just gonna use it on anyone. Secondly, she is just one of many one-off t-dolls that basically dont ever show up in any actual main story cutscenes or even funny events. Thirdly... you saw what she looked like in the linked post, i was in no rush to make use of her.

That being said, even if you don’t ever upgrade a t-doll, simply having them in your possession allows you to at least view the first of four parts of their mod 3 story, which nets you a small amount of those materials needed to see the rest (its a pretty fiendish system, huh o_O). I was lacking in some materials to upgrade a doll i cared about, so i just mucked around, eventually happened upon type88 again and decided that instead of just immediately feeding her to the furnace, I’d watch the first chapter of her mod 3 story. I watched it, it made me just curious enough to look further, and well. ...I got into it. Exactly what I got into, i shall now just elaborate and summarise the whole thing in my own way! Warning, it’s long!

(disclosure: my summary will bias towards my own preferred interpretation whenever any aspect is somewhat vague.)

The story starts with type 88, or as she is called by others in griffin base, Ai, working her shift in the base’s cafe, because what else would she be doing.

i hate looking at her! Anyway, its just a pleasant peaceful day and Ai is taking the logistic person, kalina’s order when suddenly in the middle of a conversation, Ai freezes in place and starts making worrying sounds.

kalina here and the t-dolls present in the cafe are concerned, and talk about how Type88 has actually been crashing like this more and more frequently lately, yet has not reported any of this to the maintenance crew despite the advice of her friends. They try rebooting her on the spot, but it has an even more concerning effect, because she starts erratically acting like she doesn’t recognise the others, and talks about how she is a maid in “Jiangcheng Cafe”. Afraid that her neural cloud (her mind) has been scrambled, they put her to sleep and bring her to the repair bay.

Its in the repair bay where they explain exactly what is wrong with type88. She is a fairly old doll, and her processing capacity has been severally clogged up for a long time. Her internal memory is overflowing because many large sections of her mind is filled with very large encrypted files (memories that she stored away). she is likely to keep crashing and possibly even cease functioning entirely one day if those encrypted files are not deleted, but nobody is really keen on just deleting parts of her mind without her consent. For now, kalina just opts to try and decrypt the files and see what they are.

And from here, we watch type88 memories from her perspective. Sort of. Kind of. It gets complicated later but for now, we view the first memory of her life, not as a combat t-doll type88, but...

...as 59898, a doll designed to be what is basically a ‘crash test dummy’ for testing artillery technology in a research station. With a purpose like this, 59898 has an (ostensibly) rudimentary AI. Her learning ability is intended to be used to better aid the results of their testing, but she also knows how to understand and even imitate specific human gestures in order to better respond to instructions or conversation, even though she herself has no voice module to speak with. She is assigned to assist one specific person.

first off, i was pretty shocked right off the bat that this story above so many others actually has unique assets to it. The above two sprites don’t show up anywhere else in the game, i don’t think. Secondly, this woman’s name is only ever spelled with those white squares, so I’m stuck with having to just calling her ‘the pilot’, as dry as that sounds... I just don’t want to type out weird characters every time, or call her ‘triple cube’...

Anyway, so 59898 is assigned to help this woman in testing artillery tech (stuff like mechs and tanks). I should mention really quick that in the game’s story, during this point of time is when world war iii is happening, but that’s just a backdrop for robots to eventually gain more prominence. Anyway, we move on to the second memory, where some time has already passed. At the beginning of this memory, the pilot is visibly depressed, which 59898 takes note of.

Her ‘comfort mode’ consists of patting the pilot on the head, who while surprised, actually is grateful. She feels comfortable enough to talk about her worries aloud to the doll, mentioning how she is a war refugee and has to make a living in the research base because she can’t go back to her home in china, at least not before making enough money for a very expensive and exclusive train ticket. She continues to talk at length to the doll...

...not that the test doll is capable of responding to anything she says. The pilot insists that she’s happy just to have someone listen to her though, since she feels like she can’t really express her feelings to any other person on the base. Despite that-

That aside, the pilot says that referring to 59898 by her serial number all the time feels a bit weird, so she decides to give the doll a name. (I sure wish the story would give this woman a name too, other than ‘three white squares’ but oh well...)

She talks more with Jiangcheng Ai, or just Ai, after that, asking her if she’d like a change of clothes sometime, like some casual clothes, or an old maid outfit from an old cafe job she used to have (I guess they had to throw in any explanation for that outfit somehow) Point is, more and more time passes.

As time passes though, and we go into the third memory, the pilot brings up complaints to her superiors about how the more recent testings, becoming more increasingly intense and frequent, are putting a great strain on Ai, and even repairs can only help maintain her chassis so much. She insists on wanting to take Ai’s place in the testing, but they refuse because, well, Ai’s entire purpose is to take the strain of these tests so that the human pilot doesn’t have to, and the doll is just a tool there to pave the way for the pilot to eventually take over the mech in action

The next time Ai wakes up from her most recent repairs, the pilot is there to greet her, and Ai can tell straight away that she’s unhappy and tries to comfort her again. The pilot is not surprised at this and talks about how this is how Ai has been since they first met. She goes on to say how all the other people on the base don’t know her half as well as Ai does. Ai tries to understand and determine what the pilot’s intentions with saying all this is, but she cannot do so and can only listen while offering ‘executing - affirmative nod’.

The pilot talks about how once the war is over, she’d like to take Ai back home with her, where they could go to all sorts of gatherings, and the pilot would introduce Ai to her friends.

Ai reviews her personal data, confirming that she has no owners or obligations other than the pilot, so she executes another affirmative nod, and the pilot says this:

As Ai tries and fails to further determine this, something bad happens! if you’ve read this far, i’m sure you’ve already guess what happens next...

At that exact moment, a warning goes out and the research base is being attacked by nebulous enemy forces. With no time to talk anymore, both the pilot and Ai head out into their first real fight.

They spend a good long while repelling enemy forces, working well together and apparently using all sorts of wacky anime weaponry like beam blades and whatever ‘retrograde evasion’ is!

obviously though, you already know this isn’t going to end well for them... When the pilot takes a breather, Ai moves to protect her, but at a critical moment, a sudden high-speed projectile comes her way. In the next instance there’s a crash, and we move onto another memory. Where its all fire and debris, and Ai can’t move.

^ this text box actually repeats several times, indicating that she is repeating her scan for life signs over and over. She gets an internal warning from her systems (differentiated with red text) that she has insufficient power and it warns her to immediately cease ineffective operations. [Unable to detect owner life signs] repeats again.

At this point, uuuuh, its a little stupid actually? because two humans show up, reusing generic ‘bad guy’ sprites from other events that don’t match the current environment and situation at all (one is in a suit and the other is in casual clothes). but the reason they’re here is to provide exposition out loud about what happened. It looked like the human’s mech took a hit for the doll and was blown to bits, though they talk about how that doesn’t make any sense.

Ai at this point tries to execute a bunch of different actions like hugging [target not found] and screaming [no relevant module] but they all fail, and her internal systems tell her that her power is running out and she will cease to function in 30 seconds.

So in those last 30 seconds, Ai decides to quickly review her internal files. the damage she took has corrupted her memories and she doesn’t have the time to properly go through them, so she executes a ‘simulated processed records’, which basically mean she’s just filling the blanks of those memories herself with simulations.

And I have to say. I was decently into and enjoying this little story so far, but its this part that’s the reason i became forced to make this stupid giant post. the first ‘memory’ loads up, and we see the pilot.

Different ‘memories’ of the days spent with the pilot are loaded back to back, each are very short and only last a few lines. Across these files, the two of them talk comfortably with each other, Ai is invited to go get coffee with her, the pilot talks about how going alone is boring and would rather spend time with Ai, Ai saying back with her own words that she always likes spending time with her, etc etc etc.

And then finally, she loads one last ‘memory’, from earlier that same day, before the explosion and the fighting.

and she shuts down.

i passed by this scene the first time all calm, but an hour or so later when I was in the bathroom replacing shampoo bottles, i started thinking about it and I literally started sobbing. And then again later that night when i was in bed. I hate this game!!

so that’s the ‘end’ of that, and the next scene opens, once again in griffin base’s cafe, except...

Ai is sporting a brand new (ugly) look. She says she’d like to take kalina’s order but she was just leaving on other business, as she likes keeping herself busy with all sorts of work around the base ever since she got upgraded into a gundam gajinka. and after she leaves, kalina talks with the other dolls about how Ai used to have some cache issues because her neutral cloud was too full, but upgrading into this new chassis easily fixed that and even allowed her to make use of her old locked away abilities.

Because of the way this scene in the cafe opens up exactly like the very first one at the beginning, it makes me believe that this final scene is also a simulated ‘memory’, that is, Ai filling in the blanks of her corrupted memories with what she wishes to be reality. And i feel confident in believing that because after the scene fades to black, we see more of her internal system monologue.

She (the system) says that the priority execution is to preserve those encrypted memory logs. She does so, and the neural cloud upgrade is complete with confirmation of no loss files. With no risk of deletion in this new form, she executes the command to unlock the encrypted memories. And finally...

[spiderbread dies]

i still wouldn’t use her in gameplay because i can’t stand looking at her design but  i told you all i eat up robot with feelings stuff and this is like prime example of exactly that... and if i didn’t make this post, i think my own neutral cloud’s cache would be at risk of overflowing x_X!

[whatelsecanwedonow]

I’m picking out parts of this conversation I found especially interesting. Italics are mine:

You know, I’ve been trying to think of some precise, encapsulating question to ask you about what we’ve been witnessing over the last few weeks, and everything I was coming up with felt forced or phony. Maybe it’s better, because you’ve been eloquent during times of crisis in the past, just to ask what you’ve been thinking about and seeing in the aftermath of George Floyd’s killing? I’d like to say I’m surprised by what happened to him, but I’m not. This is a cycle, and I feel that in some ways, the issue is that we’re addressing the wrong problem. We continue to make this about the police — the how of it. How can they police? Is it about sensitivity and de-escalation training and community policing? All that can make for a less-egregious relationship between the police and people of color. But the how isn’t as important as the why, which we never address. The police are a reflection of a society. They’re not a rogue alien organization that came down to torment the black community. They’re enforcing segregation. Segregation is legally over, but it never ended. The police are, in some respects, a border patrol, and they patrol the border between the two Americas. We have that so that the rest of us don’t have to deal with it. Then that situation erupts, and we express our shock and indignation. But if we don’t address the anguish of a people, the pain of being a people who built this country through forced labor — people say, ‘‘I’m tired of everything being about race.’’ Well, imagine how [expletive] exhausting it is to live that.

Does the scale and intensity of the protests suggest some positive strides toward accountability? Maybe. Look, every advancement toward equality has come with the spilling of blood. Then, when that’s over, a defensiveness from the group that had been doing the oppressing. There’s always this begrudging sense that black people are being granted something, when it’s white people’s lack of being able to live up to the defining words of the birth of the country that is the problem. There’s a lack of recognition of the difference in our system. Chris Rock used to do a great bit: ‘‘No white person wants to change places with a black person. They don’t even want to exchange places with me, and I’m rich.’’ It’s true. There’s not a white person out there who would want to be treated like even a successful black person in this country. And if we don’t address the why of that treatment, the how is just window dressing. You know, we’re in a bizarre time of quarantine. White people lasted six weeks and then stormed a state building with rifles, shouting: ‘‘Give me liberty! This is causing economic distress! I’m not going to wear a mask, because that’s tyranny!’’ That’s six weeks versus 400 years of quarantining a race of people. The policing is an issue, but it’s the least of it. We use the police as surrogates to quarantine these racial and economic inequalities so that we don’t have to deal with them.

...we’ve got a [expletive]-up permanent campaign system with too much money in it. Don’t people know that already? The politicians don’t even know how [expletive] up their system is. Nancy Pelosi was on ‘‘The Daily Show,’’ and we were talking about how money has a corrupting influence in politics. I said, ‘���You raised $30 million. How does that money corrupt you?’’ She said it doesn’t. So money corrupts, but not you? That’s someone within the system. And when I went down to Washington for the 9/11 victim-compensation bill, I learned something that shocked me. We had a program that was working. Bureaucratically, it wasn’t broken. What is broken about Washington isn’t the bureaucracy. It’s legislators’ ability to address the issues inherent in any society — and the reason they can’t address them is that when you have a duopoly, there is no incentive to work together to create something better. Plus, you have one party whose premise is that government is bad and whose goal is to prove that, which makes them, in essence, a double agent. All these things coalesce to make problem-solving the antithesis of what we’ve created. We’re incentivized for more extreme candidates, for more extreme partisanship, for more conflict and permanent campaigning, for corporate interests to have more influence on the process, not less. The tax code isn’t complicated because poor people have demanded that it be that way.

What do you think of the news media’s handle on this political moment more generally? I don’t think it has ever had a good handle on a political moment. It’s not designed for that. It’s designed for engagement. It’s like YouTube and Facebook: an information-laundering perpetual-radicalization machine. It’s like porn. I don’t mean that to be flip. When you were pubescent, the mere hint of a bra strap could send you into ecstasy. I’m 57 now. If it’s not two nuns and a mule, I can’t even watch it. Do you understand my point? The algorithm is not designed for thoughtful engagement and clarity. It’s designed to make you look at it longer.

Have there been any positive changes, though? Let me give you an example of what might be one: When you were doing ‘‘The Daily Show,’’ part of what made you unique was your last-sane-man-in-Crazytown quality. You would actually say that someone in power was telling a lie when the nightly newscasters wouldn’t. Now they will say that. Is that a step in the right direction? The media’s job is to deconstruct the manipulation, not to just call it a lie. It’s about informing on how something works so that you understand the lie’s purpose. What are the structural issues underneath the lie? The media shouldn’t take the political system personally, or allow its own narcissism to rise to the narcissism of the politicians, or become offended that the politicians are lying — their job is to manipulate.

How much might his administration’s response to Covid-19 hurt him in November? That’s the question the media asks. What they should be focused on is, here’s what happens when you hollow out the pandemic-response team. You have to go after the case of competence and anticorruption. The media wants to prosecute the case of offensiveness. That doesn’t matter. But there were decisions about P.P.E. and the states that were made without any federal response, and that does matter. It’s really about, what is government? Are we the Articles of Confederation? Are we the Constitution? Are we the United States? What are we? If we’re just 50 states, and if New York can push Delaware out of the way and get masks, and now Delaware has got to pay 10 times what it was going to pay — are we being led or not? It’s the wildest thing. I’ve never seen anybody who can say in the same breath, as the president does, ‘‘I am in charge, only I can fix this, and I take no responsibility.’’ You cannot process that. So what you have to process is the actual process: How do masks help? Do they help? You have to really explain it to people, but we allow the mask-wearing to be reduced to its symbolic meaning. Things like masks can’t just become another avatar of political representation. That’s where we go wrong.

This might be a little Civics 101, but I hope you’ll indulge me: A lot of your work has fundamentally been about interrogating certain truths or ideas about America and the American experiment. Things like: What does this country mean? What are its ideals and values? What’s its character? Over the last few years those questions have only become harder to contemplate in any coherent way, let alone answer. Do those questions still hold for you? Every society lies to itself to some extent. Every person does. And sometimes you have to face the truth. The truth of the American experiment is that government is messy. It’s hard to manage. We are melding cultures and religions in a way that most countries don’t. But we have an exceptionalism that we have taken for granted, and we get lost in the symbolism of who we are rather than the reality. The reality of who we are is still remarkable. You can’t take the anecdotal and pretend it’s universal. You can’t take a picture of the Lake of the Ozarks and people on top of each other drinking and say, ‘‘That’s how America responded to the pandemic.’’ Because it’s not. The boots-on-the-ground response has been phenomenally resilient and responsible and courageous. The sense that this could all turn into ‘‘Mad Max’’ tomorrow always hangs over everything — but it hasn’t. There are issues, but again, we point a spotlight on the anecdotal and pretend that it’s universal. What that does is feed the narrative for people who want to use it for their own purposes. That’s what drives me bananas. We’re basically having giant public fights about symbolism, while the reality of our situation goes unexamined.

Are you hopeful about what lies ahead? Always. Because the view we get of the country is not accurate. We get the artifice of it, the conflict of it. I’m not naïve. I don’t think that true divisions and animosities and bigotry and prejudices don’t exist. We see that every day. But fundamentally, we are a resilient and strong and resourceful nation that has oftentimes overcome our worst tendencies — ‘‘overcome’’ is probably too strong a word. But our biggest problem as humans is ignorance, not malevolence. Ignorance is an entirely curable disease.

How? Information and work. You need to talk to people. Ignorance is often cured by experience, by spending time with what you don’t understand. But I honestly don’t know. Well, you know what? I do know: In the same way that Trump’s recklessness is born out of experience, so is my optimism, because good people outweigh [expletive] people. By a long shot.

[i-lost-my-heart-in-republic-city]

answer all the questions in that ask thing, or go through it and just answer all the ones u rlly rlly want to

Sorry this took so long, but you asked for all of them and Iam very emotional.

1.  What episode of Steven Universe got you hooked on the show?

I started watching shortly after Jailbreak came out so I’m not sure if I can pinpoint exactly where I got hooked, but I think it was around Coach Steven of Mirror Gem/Ocean Gem when it really got me. Although, I will say when Sworn to the Sword came out, that’s really when I knew this was it for me. 

2. Are you the type to watch episodes as they air, or do you just get your fill of Steven Universe online?

I tried to live watch episode premieres as much as I could, or watch them the day they were posted online by CN. I really tried to make an event out of them, and I’m glad I did. 

3. What’s your favorite quote out of the entire show?

It’s really hard to pick just one. Maybe “You have to be honest about how bad it feels, so that you can move on.” - Connie in Mindful Education. Really feeling that one right now. 

4.In what ways has Steven Universe inspired you? 

I really feel like it has inspired me to live. I havestruggled with depression and anxiety since a young age, so it can be hard todo that. Steven Universe gave me something to look forward to, made the world abetter place. When I was hurting it provided me with comfort and happiness. Thereisn’t another show out there that’s like it for me.

5. Has Steven Universe actually taught you lessons?

Yes, oh god yes. It has helped me to be more honest withmyself and with others. I don’t think I would’ve come out to my family if itweren’t for this show. Over the years, it has really helped me to learn to letgo of shame, and guilt, and self-hatred I had carried around for so long. I wouldn’tbe the person I am today without this show.

6. Favorite character design and why?

I really liked Garnet’s wedding outfit, mixing both the gownand tux. I’m a big Garnet/Rupphire stan and it was just great to see them embracethe queerness of the whole situation, and that it was love, something to becelebrated.

7. Has the show ever gotten an intense emotional reactionout of you? (ex - crying, fear, anger)

I’m crying right now about it, does that answer yourquestion?

8. Do you associate any songs with any characters in StevenUniverse?

I associate Can’t Hold Me by Emily King with Stevonnie becauseit was used in that episode, and I love Stevonnie.

9. Gush about your all-time favorite episode real quick.Just go on a long, rambling tangent about how much you love it. Do it. We’relistening.

For the series proper, it’s Reunited. I love that episode somuch and it makes me cry every time I watch it. Growing up I fell into the ‘notlike other girls’ phase because I was not interested in love and romance likeall my friends seemed to be, and I had no desire to go on dates with guys. Irealize now that I rejected these things because they didn’t fit me. I didn’t wantto be with a guy, and never saw myself in any of the traditional media. Ireally am a bit of a hopeless romantic though. Now that I am more confident inmyself, and understand my feelings better, I’ve really gotten to enjoy thispart of myself.

Ruby and Sapphire are the first couple I really got to experiencethis with, seeing them being cute and together and in love, and the wedding isthe accumulation of all of that. Getting to see these two women in love witheach other celebrate that love as the beautiful thing it truly is means theworld to me. After years of watching this show and growing with it, this episodewas the moment were I finally let go of all my self-hatred for being queer. I justknew in my soul that every hateful thing I had heard or been told about beingqueer was wrong, and that this was the truth, love was the truth. It wasn’tsomething instantaneous, it was something I had been working towards for years,but this episode marked the turning point for me.

10. Gush about your all-time favorite SU character realquick. Just go on a long, rambling tangent about how much you love them. Do it.We’re listening.

I already gushed about Ruby/Sapphire/Garnet a little, solets do Pearl. I just love how even after all she’s been through, she is stillsuch an independent spirit. I know her whole past with Pink/Rose wascomplicated but she still isn’t here to let anyone tell her what to do. She’ssmart, and creative, and resourceful, and goofy and she knows these things butshe also has a lot of self-doubt and seeks validation from others. I relate.But she worked through those things and is in a better state now. Even thoughshe still hurts and is still dealing with the trauma, she is so much better.

I also really relate to how she feels about loving someoneand them not feeling the same way/it not working out. As much as I love Rubyand Sapphire’s relationship, I also think I need Pearl. She defined herself forso long by her relationship but she is her own amazing person. Growing up, Isaw many messages about not letting a relationship with a boy define you. Butwhat about a relationship with a girl? I think there can be so much pressure toprove that you’re really gay by always being in that kind of relationship. ThatI’m not truly queer because of my lack of experiences with women. But that isn’ttrue. Being queer is a part of who I am and that doesn’t change just because Iam or am not in a relationship. My feelings can still be an important part ofme without having to define me by my relationship status, just like Pearl.

11. What fusions do you want to see in the show, and whowould you like them to be voiced by?

I would probably most like to see a fusion of Steven andLapis. Her only experience with fusion was her toxic relationship with Jasper.So I would really like her to have a positive experience with fusion, based ofthe friendship and love she and Steven have for each other. I have no idea whowould voice them though.

12. Which episode do you think has the best aesthetics?

I mean Steven’s fusion dance in Change Your Mind isabsolutely gorgeous. James Baxter ain’t a legend for nothing, and I’m gladRebecca held on to that favor from him. Just everything, Connie’s little walkback, the way White Diamonds eyes open, its all wonderful.

13. List any headcanons you have about any characters.

Pearl is in a happy polyamorous relationship with Bismuth,Volleyball, and Amethyst.

14. Favorite arc out of the show? Why?

The Wedding Arc for reasons I’ve already talked about above,but also Diamond Days because it was everything the whole series was buildingtowards. Just the whole message about how systems hurt people who are deemed ‘different’but that there is hope for a better future with compassion and love, and notbeing afraid to share your feelings is something I really needed.

15. Have you ever made any jokes based on the show? Whichones were the funniest?

So many. One of my most popular was this post from way backwhen in early 2016. 

Want a joke for the final? Maybe the real treasure insideRose’s chest was the friends we made along the way.

16. Most misleading episode summary of all time?

I know people freaked out about Rocknaldo because cartoonnetwork promoted it by advertising the appearance of a new gem. I mean, youcould argue technically it was true because Ronaldo made a gemsona, but that isdefinitely not what people took it to mean. I wasn’t really buying it though,cause the title was Rocknaldo. People hate on that episode and I think it’sbecause of the false advertising. It’s really funny though and has one of thebest jokes. “Rock people. They’re putting fluoride in the water supply- Whatthe-They hate men?!”

17. Has Steven Universe inspired any creative ideas ofyours?

I rewrote sleeping beauty but with lesbians because of thisshow. Does that count?

18. If you are a fanartist, which SU character is theeasiest for you to draw?

Not a fanartist, but Amethyst is the easiest for me to drawbecause she’s basically just circles.

19. If you are a fanartist, which SU character is thehardest for you to draw?

Maybe White Diamond, because she’s so detailed. Also, I strugglewith Pearl’s nose lol.

20. If you are a fanfic writer, which SU character is theeasiest for you to write?

Not really a fanfic writer, but Ruby and Sapphire maybebecause I’m gushy like that.

21. If you are a fanfic writer, which SU character is thehardest for you to write?

Jasper. I have a complicated relationship with her, but Iloved her in Future.

22. Have ever practiced voice acting using SU characters? Ifso, which character can you do the most successful impression of?

I don’t practice voice acting, but I do mimic lines from theshow. I think I sound most like White Diamond, hoo boy.

23. Have you ever sang along to SU songs? Which one is theeasiest for you to sing along to?

All the time, in the car, in the shower, around my house. Myfavorite is Here Comes a Thought, because it just helps me so much with myanxiety. The Tale of Steven and Let Us Adore You are definitely in the sweetspot of my vocal range though.

24. Have you ever imagined any of the human characters asgems?

Not really, I’ve more so imagined the gems as humans.

25. Are you big on AUs? Have you created anyyourself?

I like human gem AUs and college AUs.

[dirgeofcerberus111]

Gray Sapphire - A Gemsona

Okay. So. This is a Gemsona that I’ve had for a LONG time. I have no art for her, which is partially why I never posted anything about her. But I’ve been feeling unproductive and on a spur of the moment I’m going to try to make something of it.

Basically, here is Gray Sapphire, The Crone of the Sapphires, The Mad Oracle of White Diamond. 

I made this just before Change Your Mind so parts of her story become canon divergent so bear with me.

====================================================

Gray Sapphire. 

The oldest living Sapphire on Homeworld, White Diamond’s most valued seer and oracle. She is almost as old as the Diamonds themselves and has served White Diamond for eons. Normally she is kept in stasis, until times of great crisis, as she is greatly feared for her apocalyptic visions and the Diamonds are loathed to ask for her predictions.

A small, hooded figure, Gray Sapphire has a very wizened, almost crone or shaman-like appearance. Her hair is arranged in two very long dutch braids that hang down and almost touch the floor. You can’t see her gemstone, probably on her eye under her hair, but never confirmed. Just a small detail to give the subtle sense that something is wrong with this person. 

Many legends surround this ancient Gem and she is an object of fear to all Sapphires. Indeed, she is known amongst them as the Mad Sapphire and is only spoken of in hushed whispers. 

She was actually once a normal Sapphire, one of the first in fact. One day, she and a group of other Sapphires were tasked by White Diamond with combining their power and to see as far into the future as possible. This was to be the first true test of the Sapphire cut, to test the limitations of their power and use.

White Diamond wanted them to go as far as possible, regardless of the dangers, to see where the limits are.

Out of sixteen Sapphires, only she survived. The rest were scattered across the floor, the strain of their collective scry having reduced them all to smoldering burnt-out shards.

“Well, my Sapphire. Tell me. What did you see?” the great Diamond beckoned. 

For a moment, the Sapphire did not respond and simply lay there. Then, like a puppet rising on its string, she rose up from the floor. Her entire form had turned from brilliant blue to an ashen grey. As she looked up, her eye was wide with horror and her smile beaming with newfound and terrible insight.

When she spoke, her words came with a horrible mad twisted distortion. They announced gleefully,

“...E v e r y t h i n g !”

The experience actually turned her gray, and gave her her current older wizened appearance. An immortal, ageless Gem had visibly AGED. But she has gained perfect clarity of the future, but it seems that in exchange for this vision, her visions are apocalyptic tidings of doom. What’s more, no matter how terrible her fortunes, they cannot be avoided. And so the Diamonds are loath to call up on her for prophecy.

As Gray herself would later describe it: 

“I looked too far, and pierced the veil. Saw what was beyond the horizon. I saw what no other Sapphire has ever seen. What no being was ever meant to see...Everything.” 

She is a being who has seen the script of the universe. She knows exactly what everyone will say and do. She even knows what SHE will say and do next, even what she does to try and defy it, all before she even realizes it. This effectively traps her on a linear path, as no decision she makes will actually take her off the path she has foreseen. She is trapped, or "locked" as she puts it. 

She has great knowledge of past, present, and future events, even of events she couldn't possibly have been for. She is quite mad now, always snickering and giggling at things only she knows. She is never surprised, knows the names of everyone she meets before they tell her, and behaves like she has known them all their lives. When speaking of the future, she claims to “remember” events even though they haven’t happened yet.

Perhaps her madness is in fact some form of super-sanity, born of a complete understanding of the future and all connected events. Or perhaps it is just the madness of a puppet who can see the strings, but is powerless to act. 

However, in truth, she also bears a massive grudge against the Diamonds, for the things they’ve done, to her and to the universe. So she gave them apocalyptic visions, all of them true and unavoidable; Homeworld cracked, resources became short, Gem production declined, the civil war erupted, Pink Diamond “died”, and many other disasters on other colonies. Every horrible thing she ever predicted came to pass. 

For an example, she predicted a terrible disaster on one of Yellow Diamond’s colonies that would destroy it, and no matter what Yellow Diamond did to avoid it, it would only make things worse. Of course, Yellow tries to avert this outcome anyway, and of course, only ends up fulfilling the prophecy.

So now Yellow and Blue don't want to call on her, but White keeps her around. But there was still one more terrible vision on the way. 

Gray Sapphire predicts the end of the Authority, a great conflict between the Diamonds, and the doom of Homeworld as they know it...  ...Which happens to be Steven arriving and fixing all their shit. But White Diamond doesn’t need to know that yet.

“Well, my Sapphire. Tell me. What did you see?” The great Diamond bid the seer before her.

“One...two...three...then four…” the Sapphire droned, dull and dreamy. Then she looked up, expression strangely delirious and giddy. “Three, not-four, and then one again!” she giggled. Her mad smile split widely and she cast a finger at the towering Diamond. “You will stand alone.”

“Whatever are you going on about? Speak clearly, Sapphire,” White Diamond commanded serenely.

“A great conflict is coming. One that will tear the Great Authority asunder. The Diamonds will battle each other until they fall and it will be all your fault. In the conflict, you, White Diamond, will stand alone and at the end, you too will fall!” 

Gray let out a great howling cackle of mocking laughter. 

“It will be the beginning of the end of Homeworld as we know it!” she declared to the universe, and with those fateful words, sealed the fate of their whole world.

And with that, she was poofed for her heretical prophecy.

But it was too late as the wheels of fate were already set in motion, and thousands of years later, Steven arrives on Homeworld. 

Right before CYM was released, I had an idea that he explores the Diamond’s palace and accidentally bursts Gray Sapphire’s bubble.

“Ah, right on schedule! Hello again, Steven. It’s nice to have finally met you in person.” “Who are you?” “I am Gray Sapphire, grand oracle of White Diamond and crone of the Sapphires. And I have waited a very long time to meet you.” “Wait, how do you know my name? Everyone here thinks I’m Pink Diamond.” “Oh, I know lots of things about you...” “Like what...?” “Why, what you are, starling! What you will become...and what you will do.” The old-looking Sapphire was suddenly struck by a fit of cackling laughter. She held her face as her head rolled off to the side, like she was daydreaming. “Eeheeheehee, it has fiiiiiiinally begun…” “What do you mean ‘what I will become’? What will I do?! Will I cure the corruption?” “AHHHHHHHH, but the price of knowledge is silence! The more you know, the less you are allowed to say..." Her countenance suddenly ceased and became deadly intense. "The cosmos tends to frown on spoilers.”

Part of how I decided how freewill and destiny work as that everyone’s fates are the result of their own decisions. She just knows what those decisions will be. Including the ones they make if she tells them that. Gray Sapphire doesn’t tell people she likes the future. Because she knows what it is. But they don’t. And from a quantum standpoint, so long as they don’t know, it can be anything, including a happy ending. But if she tells them, the outcome can only be that. 

Gray Sapphire looked so far into the future that she saw the other side. Lives in a world where everything has already been decided. Every word, thought, and action. So her greatest gift to someone is the power to let their choices matter. 

To tell them would be to rob them of all agency and doom them to suffer her own fate.

“So what’s my future?”

“Mm, I’m not saying,” the old Sapphire hummed nonchalantly.

“Why?! Is it that bad?”

“It might be good. It might be bad. It might be something in between. I know what it is. But you don’t,” she smiled. “Which means, it can be anything!” She stepped a little closer and said to him. “Nothing can change your fate. But that doesn’t matter if you don’t know what your fate is.”

After all the craziness settles down, back on Homeworld, after CYM, White is sitting on her throne, chin resting on her fist, just thinking about everything that had happened today. 

“So, you knew all along.”

“Yup.”

“This was what you meant by ‘the end of Homeworld as we knew it’.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You crafty little devil…”

“Is it not exactly as I foretold?”

“Perhaps.”

White Diamond slumped in her throne. A rare sign of relief from her.

“So. It’s finally over then...”

“Oh, not a chance.”

White Diamond’s eyes snapped open and she sat back up. 

“What? But you said this was the end of Homeworld as we knew it! I thought you meant the physical destruction of Homeworld, but now everything’s changing. That was what you meant, wasn’t it?”

“I said it was the beginning of the end. Now the beginning has ended. The rest is yet to come.”

“What…? But I…”

“Congratulations, my Diamond. This was the easy part.”

And yeah, that’s basically that. Just wanted to share. Its really late now so please excuse any errors. Maybe someday when I commission someone I’ll add some art to this old thing.

[devnicolee]

Assurance and Appreciation

A/N: Struggling with writer’s block on Chapter 9 so this is what came about instead. Sort of a sequel to A Seat on the Throne because Zarah isn’t the only one who needs some additional assurances and support every once in a while.  

Warning: Smut, NSFW (and my first time writing a blowjob which was really hard and it probably shows haha sorry in advance!) 

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,257

"I don’t understand what your hesitation is," Zarah called as she turned off their waterfall shower and started wringing her twists out in an old t-shirt. "Shuri and T’Challa are just trying to help. You decided to rejoin Wakanda, yes? This is what joining Wakanda means. You cannot have both collaboration and isolation. Are you regretting your decision or something?" She stepped out of their shower, smiling at him as he started to help her dry off in her soft, plush towels. She could have done it herself but she always appreciated the intimacy of their nighttime ritual, each helping the other prepare for bed. 

However, tonight’s ritual did not include its usual peaceful silence or lighthearted musings about the day’s events. No, tonight’s ritual was marked with discord, debate and confusion over her husband’s ambivalence, a state that clashed with his usual personality. Zarah always appreciated, that even in the infancy of his time as chief, M’Baku always held fast to his decisions. He did not rush into them; taking his time to deliberate thoughtfully, intentionally and prayerfully before committing himself or his people to a course of action. But when he ultimately reached a decision, he stuck with it and saw it through until it became clear a better option was available. Zarah trusted those decisions, would bet her life on them and rarely questioned them because he never gave her a reason to doubt his motives and intentions. 

Today, though, was a complete departure for her usually confident and stubborn king. Today, he was indecisive and unsure. Prior to this morning’s council meeting, her husband agreed to accept kimoyo beads to test among the Jabari and increase the connection between the mountain tribe and Greater Wakanda. Zarah would have even said he was excited about the prospect and opportunity. However, a tense council meeting later, he was straddling a giant fence of indecision, swaying back and forth between moving forward and preparing to tell T’Challa to throw away the plan entirely.

"Regretting, no. I just do not want vibranium to corrupt our people, it is not who we are. It is why our ancestors forged their own path in the first place. You know this, Zarah." 

She maneuvered around her giant-sized husband in their bathroom as she finished her evening skin care routine, noting the agitation in his tone and eyes as he spoke. 

"Yes, and our ancestors also refused to use Jabari wood for anything other than weapons at a time. But times are changing my love. You," she reached over and squeezed his hand that rested on their counter, "know this. I love tradition, I love our traditions. But tradition are just one way of doing things until another way comes along. Neither is better than the other, it is merely different. You are allowed to create new traditions for this tribe. It is not only your right as Chief, it is your duty when you know those traditions people desperately seek to hold onto are limiting our progress."

She strolled out of their bathroom after pulling on a pair of panties and an old sweater to sit on her side of their bed. "And we are not even talking about a lot. Just something small to see how we like it, if it improves our well-being, see how we like connecting to the low landers," she listed, reviewing the proposal she helped craft to him again.

"Kimoyo beads are as low tech as the Panthers can get. She and I spent a lot of time on that proposal before she sent it to you and you agreed," Zarah emphasized pointedly. She worked with Shuri and T’Challa for weeks to determine what type of technology would best suit the Jabari’s beliefs and lifestyle. She was maintaining a calm facade but underneath, tides of frustration and anxiety at her husband’s indecision were rising. While she knew all of his doubts were focused on the Panthers, in questioning his support to their plan, he was also questioning her judgement and counsel.

She pulled her shea butter out of her nightstand and lathered her legs as she spoke. As she continued, M’Baku was no longer listening. He was completely entranced by the thickness of her thighs and the softness and glow of her skin. 

She coughed loudly, breaking him out of his trance. "Are you listening to me husband?" 

He laughed loudly, "Apologies little one, you just look beautiful tonight." He winked at her, the desire that always sparkled behind his mocha eyes now a full inferno.

She smiled and rolled her eyes, "According to you, I look beautiful every night so flattery will not get you out of this conversation," she joking chastised him. "But thank you. You are free to ravish me after we finish this discussion."

He let out a disgruntled bark, causing her to shake her head and laugh at his antics. Accepting defeat of his plan to trade this conversation for a symphony of her moans and screams, he walked over to her.

"Even if you do not trust the Panthers and I do not understand why you wouldn’t at this point… y-you should at least trust your chieftess. I would never lead our people astray," she mumbled as he sat down next to her. 

"It is not that I do not trust your counsel or the Panthers. You know that is not it, you are a genius and I know you would not have proposed it without intense deliberation. I am just not sure it is the right course of action for our people."

"You trust T’Challa to share this country’s resources with the world yes? You trust that he is right when he believes our resources will benefit others’ lives?" She intertwined her fingers with his and stroked his exposed bicep as they sat. 

"Yes, it is his right as king." 

"But you don’t trust him enough to know that for us? To benefit the lives of actual Wakandans? We have isolated ourselves for too long, so much so that even in our new partnership, we are continuing to choose isolation. We are still not truly willing to dive in and try. I say it all the time: we are both Wakandans and Jabari… There is room for both. There must be or we are lost. T’Challa is flawed yes. But he has a pure heart, just as you do. He wants to work with us, he is excited to work with us and find ways to be more inclusive of our needs. If he believes this is the correct course, we can at least meet him halfway. And if we do not like it, we turn back and work together to forge a different one." She kissed the side of his head and scouted further up the bed to get situated to sleep. "Besides, we do not have to give him an answer tonight. Just sleep and pray on it and decide with a fresh perspective tomorrow."

She could not see the small nod he gave before he stood and walked over to his side to join her, climbing in bed and draping a heavy arm across her waist. Under the sheets, his hand gripped and kneaded her exposed thigh over and over again. Usually, it would have Zarah flipping onto her back and begging for more but even she could tell his movements were void of sexual tension or motives. This was merely the physical representation of his restlessness, his anxiety - two things that were rare in his usual powerful and assured personality. She soon realized he had no intention of sleeping, not with their conversation still tumbling through his overactive mind. 

Zarah shifted to her back, his hand never leaving her thigh, recognizing in his eyes that there was indeed more to the story than he let on. 

"Husband…" 

"Hmm?"

"What is this really about? You are not this worked up over technology as simple and inconsequential as kimoyo beads. What is really wrong?" 

"Your father and Elder Asante. After the council meeting, they said I was destroying the Jabari." 

Zarah rolled her eyes and shifted to sit up. She finally understood. She was not debating her husband, she was debating the Council. She was arguing with her father and the other elders who planted seeds of doubt in her husband every time the Panthers were mentioned; the elders who guilted and shamed him for breaking traditions and building his own vision for the tribe. 

She gestured for M’Baku to sit on his side of the bed. Zarah loved any excuse to climb into his lap and over time, all difficult or intimate conversations in their relationship were done in that position. 

She swung her leg across his hips and rested on top of him. She held his head in her hands, his beard tickling the palms of her hands. "You have been telling me to ignore my parents and their opinions for years."

"But you do not," he shot back, rubbing patterns into her thigh. 

"Yes, because I actually do care about their opinions. You have never cared about what the Council thought of you. Why does their opinion bother you so today?"

"Because what if I am?" 

"What if you are what?"

"Destroying the Jabari? Half of the Council has hated me since I rejoined. I have not been able to do anything right since. They second guess and question every decision I have made regarding the Panthers. Maybe I did make the wrong decision? Maybe I am overcomplicating our people’s lives… changing too much. I thought I was bringing people together, but it seems I have just caused too much division."

"You could be destroying the Jabari. I certainly do not think you are, and I do not think you truly believe that either. I see the pressure you are under, the pressure you put on yourself. Chief is a great responsibility and the weight of all of it falls squarely on you. I have my days of doubt as chieftess so I can only imagine how those moments feel as chief. But do you know what I do when I have those moments?" she asked. 

"Hmm?" 

"I remember what a handsome chieftain told me one day in our throne room when I worried that I would too destroy our people and embarrass him as chieftess." 

M’Baku chuckled, the memory of that day floating to the top of his mind. "What did this handsome chieftain tell you eh?" 

"He told me to hold tight to him because moments of doubt were part of the job. How you see the light at the end of those tunnels is by leaning on this," she gestured between them, "Leaning on each other for support and counsel."

She held his head firmly in her hands. "And he asked me to remember what I told him the day he became chief. He spoke of how he did not believe me on his Challenge Day. But I meant it that day all those years ago and have believed it every day since. History will look down on you as one of our greatest chiefs. One that took risks and brought his people into a new light, redirected our energy to a purpose beyond ourselves. My father will never like the decisions you make and so may be the case for the entire Council. But you have the purest heart of them all. As long as you are guided by that, you should not doubt your choices. You and your decisions are guided by Hanuman and he chose you. That is all you need."

"And you? You think I am doing the right thing?"

"Yes, I have never been afraid to tell you when I disagree. But I do not. While your intentions remain as pure as your heart, I will follow your lead through fire, rain or snow. You asked for this tribe to trust you, to follow you. We chose to do so because you have earned it. You proved yourself worthy of the title, the responsibility, and the respect long ago. And you have not let us down since. Do not let my father or anyone else have you questioning yourself. Understand?"

"Yes. Thank you," he pulled her in to kiss her deeply. "I will let T’Challa and Shuri know we want to test the beads. No more changing this decision. This is the answer. This is the path. It will be good for all of us." 

"I think so too," she whispered, kissing his neck. Her hands journeyed up his bare chest to his shoulders. "You know what else I think?" 

"Hmm" he hummed as he enjoyed her ministrations, noticing the slight grind in her hips against his manhood. 

"I think our chief could relax. You have been so busy, running yourself ragged worried about this tribe and our people. I have not done enough to show you how appreciated you are," she said in a sultry tone. Her hands made quick work of pulling her sweater over her head, breasts free and exposed for her husband. Her kisses ventured further south, down his chest as she got off his lap to rest on her knees beside him. 

"I cannot show you how much I appreciate you with all these clothes on my love," she whispered, prompting him to shed his clothes on his lower half and free his hardening length from its cage. 

Zarah’s mouth watered slightly at the sight. While M’Baku typically spent a great deal of time worshipping her body during sex, it was certainly reciprocated. Zarah found immense pleasure in both receiving and giving. And so she poured her being into pleasuring M’Baku as he did with her always. Her small hand wrapped around him, pumping him slightly as she looked at him. "Can I take care of you my king?" 

He simply nodded, words failing him at the sight of his queen, bare and on her knees for him. 

Zarah took half of him into her mouth, rolling her tongue over his tip and tasting his pre-cum, her hand pumping the base of him. She moaned into his cock, savoring the taste of him, the vibrations causing a small moan to escape his lips. 

Zarah released him from her mouth with a soft pop, her spit leaving strings between her lips and his manhood. She used her hand to spread the wetness around his member before she took him into her mouth again. 

After a few minutes of massaging and teasing the sensitive spots she knew elicited the greatest response from the love of her life, she took a deep breath before taking him as far as she could into her throat. She breathed through her nose as she tried to accommodate him. Her eyes watered and she struggled to breathe as he hit the back of her throat but then she heard him, his moans and breathless outpourings of praise.

"Za… fuck. You take me so well," he breathed. His hand found its way to her panties, sliding them to the side so his fingers could find her love bud. He knew her body like a musician knows their instrument, understanding the right amount of pressure and strokes needed to alleviate this experience for both of them: to give him the melody of her moans and groans that he had been craving to hear all day and provide her with a reward for her efforts. He was not shocked to find her already gushing, knowing that pleasuring him turned her on endlessly, and knew she would be aching to be touched. 

"You were made for me, usana," M’Baku moaned as he rubbed circles on her clit with his thumb while a skilled finger started pumping into her. 

"M’Ba - fuck, that feels good," she panted, his manhood falling from the warmth of her mouth as she reacted to the surprise of his fingers entering her. 

She enveloped him again, setting a steady rhythm to help him reach his climax as she bobbed up and down on his dick. She worked as fast as she could, desiring nothing more than to feel him release into the back of her throat, feel the tension and frustration leave his body. 

He was in a state of bliss as she made a mess on his lap, taking him as deep as her body would allow. The vibrations from her moans caused his hips to buck into her lips over and over, his free hand tangled in her twists. 

"Fuck… just like that. I’m almost there Za," he moaned. She felt him twitch and after a few short pumps, he released down her throat. All the while, his steady work to bring her equal pleasure never faltered, his fingers continued doing the work of Hanuman to bring her the euphoria of her orgasm. 

She swallowed and released his member from her mouth in time to let out a string of cries and curse words as he applied more pressure to her sensitive bud and her own orgasm reached its peak. 

She cried out as her body shook with the weight of her orgasm, his fingers continuing their mission through her release. She barely had time to recover and catch her breath from such an intense session before he grabbed her and pulled her in for a deep, rough kiss. His hands explored her thick backside, gripping and squeezing her ass. 

"Suck," he demanded, presenting his fingers, coated in her nectar to her lips. She took no time to oblige, willing to do any and everything he asked of her. She let his hand fall from her mouth after sucking his fingers clean and kissed him again. She tossed him a playful smile before starting to slide off the bed to get a warm towel and clean them both up. 

A rough hand pulled her back as she started to walk toward the bathroom. 

"Where do you think you are going little one? I am not done with you yet." 

She smiled up at him, "You can never get enough, can you?" From the animalistic look in his eyes, Zarah knew all those early meetings and plans she had for tomorrow would need to be rescheduled for another day. When he looked at her like this, she was lucky if she could physically get out of bed the next morning.

"Of you? Never."

She nodded, climbing back on the bed, "How do you want me, my king? Tonight is all about you." 

He did not need time to contemplate, the answer on the tip of his tongue before she finished the sentence. "On all fours how I like it," he commanded. 

Her king had spoken and she would do as he commanded. She moved quickly, rolling over to her stomach and assuming the position and deep arch he adored: ass up, face and chest pressed into their bed. 

She gasped and turned her face deeper into the bed, clutching the sheets as he pushed into her without warning. She would never get used to the feeling, the high she got from his dick stretching her to capacity as he entered her. He was her drug and she was an addict, willing to risk it all to get her fix over and over again. She moaned and begged for more as his hips started a relentless pace, pounding into her from behind. Her eyes fluttered closed from the pleasure he provided as the clock struck midnight. 

The night may have been ending for everyone else. But for M’Baku and Zarah? They had rounds to go before they slept. 

****

Tags: @destinio1 @muse-of-mbaku @jellybean531 @dawva @afrolatinpami

[florrickandassociates]

TGF Thoughts: 4x03-- The Gang Gets a Call from HR

Under the cut! 

We pick up with a reminder of where we left off last week: Xo’s restaurant being torn down. (Captions call her “Martha” but I’m fairly certain her name is “Marta” on this show)

Diane confronts Canning and taunts him with the deep pockets of STR Laurie. Canning is unfazed and Diane leaps into action. Diane thinks things are going to go her way.

Frank Landau is in reception and Marissa spots him and immediately unleashes an intense series of verbal attacks about how Eli shouldn’t send messengers if he has something to say and how she might marry a Republican. She rants and rants until Adrian shows up to greet Frank. For once, he’s not here to make Marissa’s life harder.

I do love moments like this. One, they’re hilarious. Two, Marissa thinking he MUST be there for her and also referencing her dad is just fantastic.

Landau is really there to talk to Adrian and Liz (and pointedly not Diane) about the DNC’s efforts to engage black voters. Landau wants RBL to come up with a strategy. As Adrian points out, this is a question for a PR firm. But Landau wants RBL-- they’re a black run firm and they’ve worked with the DNC before (though they fired Liz from the impeachment thing-- did we know that?), and, most importantly, they come with attorney-client privilege. 

“Dammit!” Jay exclaims when he can’t find the injunction for Diane’s case in the system. “I just told our top client to fuck off; whatever you’re dealing with can’t be worse,” Marissa responds. Heh.

Marissa can’t find it either.

God bless the loud beeping noise that happens whenever anyone can’t find a legal document. No one would have their sound on (okay, maybe Diane would) which makes this little detail hilarious to me. 

The system says the case doesn’t exist. Before Jay can investigate further, Adrian tells him he’s needed in the conference room. Jay wonders what’s wrong. Then Adrian goes to collect Lucca, who is chatting with Bianca (their convo is friendly but basically sounds like a rehash of what we saw last ep, with Lucca being like “I am a real person who has to do work” and Bianca being like “But being rich is fun!”). Lucca also asks what’s wrong and Adrian wants to know why everyone keeps asking that. Uh, because you interrupted them with a vague urgent request? That always raises red flags…

Jay goes to Diane before he reports to the conference room and shows her that the case she argued a couple of days prior doesn’t exist. This reminds me of Kresteva’s mind game but on a much bigger, scarier level.

Landau asks all the black employees of the firm, who have been gathered in the conference room, what the biggest issue facing black people today is. This feels exceedingly inappropriate. Helping the DNC brainstorm isn’t part of the job description of a lawyer (or a mailroom attendee) and it doesn’t sound like this meeting was voluntary. And who is going to be open about this with their bosses and a client present?! 

“Lack of voting rights,” someone finally volunteers. Racism and police brutality get added to the list too, as does institutional racism. 

When Landau asks what the Democratic Party is doing to combat racism, the room begins to buzz and Jay speaks up to say the DNC is doing “jack shit to combat racism.” He wants to know where the policies are if the DNC cares so much.

Lucca tries to walk his point back by saying Democrats are trying, but one of the mailroom guys pipes up and says he doesn’t feel like the Party is talking to him or giving him a reason to miss work to vote. It is ridiculous that election day isn’t a national holiday.

Landau steps out for a moment and Adrian asks the room to tone down the DNC bashing. I feel like this is an unwinnable situation. If the people in the room speak up and say the truth it’s offending the client; if they don’t then they aren’t providing the insights needed. I know this plot exists mostly so our characters can have this convo but oof, this is not the right setting for this conversation. 

Marissa shows up in Julius’s chambers and he’s happy to see her. She says things at STR Laurie (or “STD Laurie” as the very mature RBL employees call it) are weird.

Marissa wants info on Marta’s case. Julius can’t find it in the system either and gets the same loud beep sound. Julius awkwardly denies ruling on it, then Diane walks in. Julius gets flustered and says he’s no longer on the case and doesn’t remember the case. “Are you fucking serious?” Diane responds. “Don’t swear at me!” Julius says. “I never used to swear, ever, but now I find it useful. People look at me and think I would never swear so when I say this is fucking nuts it has added meaning and this is fucking nuts,” Diane says. Love it. Also, I think TGF does a pretty good job of having some characters swear for impact and others (looking at you Lucca) swear all the time. 

Julius does NOT like being suspected and says to “talk to Adrian’s girlfriend”.

Meanwhile at RBL, the topic is now maternal mortality. A male employee mentions that black women don’t need to be mobilized (I assume he means because they are the most reliably blue voters) and that causes cross-talk. This is one of the more interesting “everyone at RBL debate!” episodes but I don’t think the writers will ever tire of showing that an issue is controversial by getting two sentences into a debate and then having it turn into cross-talk.

Jay jumps in and changes the topic to reparations. The room gets quiet. Lucca says it’ll never happen. Hey, Rosalyn is back!!! Lots of familiar faces in this room. 

Okay I am not going to transcribe this whole discussion but it’s interesting.

All three name partners get called up to talk to Mr. Firth. 

“Whenever I see offices like this, I always think that we’re all gonna be dead some day,” Liz remarks before Mr. Firth enters. Adrian and Diane laugh and Mr. Firth walks in and asks what’s funny. The joke doesn’t land.

Mr. Firth launches into another story I don’t understand or care to listen to. The real issue is that STR Laurie thinks that RBL is billing the DNC incorrectly (RBL is getting more than STR Laurie). STR Laurie isn’t supposed to know what RBL is charging as part of the transition plan in the merger, but Mr. Firth clearly does not give a fuck about honoring that agreement. Pretty clear who has power and who is backed into a corner. This agreement was supposed to “encourage trust” but something tells me STR Laurie doesn’t actually care about encouraging trust all that much. 

After the awkward meeting, Diane, who is just now hearing of the DNC’s business, asks Liz and Adrian if it is old business (RBL’s) or new (STR Laurie’s). It could be argued either way, Liz and Adrian admit.Liz is more concerned that STR Laurie is looking at RBL’s books when they shouldn’t be. She goes to put Marissa on the case.

Diane takes this opportunity to ask Adrian about his girlfriend. Adrian explains he just wants to keep his private life private. I’ve heard that one before. Adrian tells Diane about “Memo 618” and that it intimidated Julius.

CREDITS, FINALLY. I am going to take a break and watch Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist, a show I’ve somehow gotten hooked on despite it being completely mediocre and something I would’ve dumped after three episodes in non-quarantine times. 

And I’m back, two days later lol

Bar-Swarm’s interface looks outdated. Diane knows how to use it, though, and asks the interwebs what Memo 618 is.

Meanwhile, Marissa refers to STR Laurie as “STD Laurie” in a conversation with Adrian. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it, which makes the joke even better. Liz and Adrian are very amused.

Marissa narrows the potential list of STR Laurie (I gotta start shortening this-- STRL?) spies down to one, a Caleb Garland who is 39 years old and used to be in the Army.

Now Diane’s case is in Judge Hazelwood’s courtroom. Canning refers to the previous trial and Diane, knowing the last case had no paper trail, insists this is the first time the case is being tried. Canning doesn’t know how to respond and it’s pretty amusing to watch him squirm. Canning really is the perfect antagonist for this case. Kresteva would’ve worked too.

The Reparations convo, and cross-talk, continue. I hate to “case stuff happens” some of the most thought provoking stuff of the ep but, again, I have nothing to add.

Adrian mentions there’s a model for reparations in Chicago and tells the story and explains the model.

The debate Landau requested is too heated for him, because he totally didn’t expect that black voters are a diverse group with differing viewpoints, and Landau thinks the solution is… to add white people to the conversation for diversity. You know, to “gauge how the ideas are landing.” The ideas they are thinking through to help the DNC motivate black voters.

Mayyyyybeeee, just maybe, the problem is that this white dude is commissioning black employees of a law firm to do emotional labor while also treating them as a monolith and being afraid to actually listen to him? And that he’s making it seem like what black people have to say is only important if white people agree? Maybe just maybe that’s part of the problem too???

Caleb is peeling a rutabaga on a game; seems pretty silly. He and Marissa chat, and she asks him why he’s on the RBL floor before I can type out the same question. He tells Marissa he’s there as a spy but he’s not a very good spy. I’m like 99.9% sure Marissa says these same words to Alicia in season six when she shows up to be the bodywoman. 

Marissa and Caleb-- who no one even knows-- join the big DNC meeting because they are white. This seems like a good use of resources.

David Lee gets to be in the conversation, and manages to both snark and take it kind of seriously. Have we ever had it confirmed that David Lee is Jewish? I know Veronica made some comments, but Marissa’s comments here make it seem much clearer he’s supposed to be Jewish. 

Adrian tells a story that Vernon Jordan once told him, and the story uses the n-word. I think we may have heard this story on TGF before, does anyone remember?

Diane’s case is back. The actual particulars of it barely matter and I hope Marta gets more to do going forward and doesn’t just disappear. Judge Hazelwood, too, gets Memo 618, and things stop going Diane’s way. Hazelwood gets pissed when Diane brings up Memo 618 in court. She holds Diane in contempt and swears. Yikes. 

Lucca gets a call to go to the HR department that FINALLY exists now that RBL has corporate overlords. She’s there because there’s been a complaint about Adrian. Before hearing the details, Lucca’s asked not to share the details and she says she can’t promise them anything. HR still shares the complaint-- Adrian used the n-word. Lucca looks amused but HR is SUPER serious about this. A black man used the n-word. Seems like… not a big deal to me? Depending on the context, of course. 

Still no results for Memo 618. And when Diane searches “What is Memo 618?” (which is an extremely specific string but ok) her computer shuts itself off. Is… is that possible? I think I just have to accept that TGF is going to do whatever it wants with tech.

Lucca immediately goes to Liz and Adrian to tell Liz (while Adrian is conveniently there) about the situation. “Apparently STR Laurie has a zero tolerance policy on inappropriate language,” Lucca explains. 

Adrian suspects Caleb; Marissa disagrees because she trusts him already. (This is also making me wonder-- David Lee isn’t RBL, yet he was in the meeting… why?)

Marissa is then instructed to feed Caleb a lie.

Jay’s computer also encounters the issue (and all the accompanying sound effects) with Bar-Swarm and calls it targeted malware. 

Marissa, extremely clumsily (and potentially intentionally clumsily), feeds Caleb the lie. 

HR’s interviewing everyone. Most people say they weren’t offended; one woman says she thinks some people might not have liked it but she thinks running to HR is an overreaction. HR says they’re there to help and hold people accountable. Fine line between holding people accountable and making mountains out of molehills in an effort to be thorough. (Without seeing-- or remembering-- how HR ends up handling this I can’t really say they’re doing a bad job… though I feel like a situation like this probably doesn’t need to involve interviewing so many employees because one or two accounts should suffice to make it clear Adrian was telling a story and quoting someone. And also this does feel like a lot of white people who are unequipped to resolve workplace racial disputes.)

(Also isn’t the real HR problem that the employees were basically being forced into a conference room to have a debate about their own feelings and backgrounds?) 

ADDITIONALLY the HR lady is the scary-ass nurse from Evil. Yikes. That hospital episode is one of the more terrifying-- and interesting-- things I’ve seen in ages. 

Jay repeats the story to HR. They look surprised, like it’s the first time they’re hearing this. No one else told HR the story? 

Somehow this HR complaint gets back to Vernon Jordan. Ok, taking back what I said, this HR complaint has gone too far. I think they can hear from Jay’s story, which literally every RBL employee can confirm, what Adrian’s point was. And what does it matter if the story really came from Jordan or not?! This is egregious overreach that feels more like office politics than anything else.

Yeah, Adrian’s convo with Mr. Firth makes it pretty clear this is a power play to show Adrian he no longer runs things. It’s not really about his language; that’s just a pretext for STRL to send a warning shot. 

Now everyone has to take a class on racial sensitivity and Mr. Firth is lecturing Adrian about how “charged” the n-word is, which sets Adrian off. I feel like it’s pretty objective to say that Adrian knows the meaning and power of the n-word better than Mr. Firth. 

Adrian ponders quitting in one of his late night talks with Liz. I love their convos. They talk about their marriage (suddenly it occurs to me-- somehow it hasn’t before!-- that this is the kind of dynamic I imagine Alicia and Peter would have post divorce) as well as the topic at hand. Liz points out they’ll never fire Adrian for using the n-word in a quote because it sounds ridiculous and STRL has its own issues (they apparently took a group photo without black people and then PHOTO SHOPPED IN BLACK PEOPLE which… that’s worse, guys!!!). “They bought us to put us in their pictures,” they recognize. (They had to have known this going in-- still don’t quite understand why they sold; still don’t think the show will ever care to answer this question.) 

Liz tells Adrian to just do what he wants. 

Then Jay brings up the HR complaint in another group meeting and wants to know who filed the complaint. This ALSO seems inappropriate. 

Someone suspects David Lee; David Lee would never file the complaint because he hates HR. 

More interesting debate continues. Again, nothing to say, but really appreciate hearing all of this.

Oh now Landau is here in the middle of the intrafirm shitstorm.

It was Madeline, one of the equity partners, who made the complaint to make a point. Or at least it seems likely she did. She believes every black person should have a choice not to hear it at the workplace. I don’t really get an opinion here but that sounds like a valid point to me. It also goes back to the whole, “maybe a forced all staff convo about race is not a good idea…” thing. 

Adrian suggests that they could have talked privately instead of having it escalated to HR. His tone is kind of condescending but his point seems fair to me, though I think it’s up to an individual to decide if they think a complaint is for HR or not. If they don’t feel comfortable bringing up the point with their boss, that is what HR is for. 

It sounds like Madeline is a little bitter, too, about Adrian selling the firm. She’d be losing money, based on what we heard last week, so the bitterness makes sense. If she’s the one who submitted the complaint, it seems likely she had a reason to be upset with Adrian’s use of the word and also a point to make about how Adrian no longer makes the rules. 

Madeline also says that Jay bringing all of this into the open is called intimidation. I don’t think she’s wrong.

Landau, of course, sees all of this, and shuts things down despite Adrian and Liz telling him their employees are just “passionate.” Wow. This resolution might even lead one to think that having a law firm conduct an unstructured, seemingly mandatory debate about a personal and controversial topic is a bad strategy for getting things done! Who ever could have imagined it would lead to infighting and cross-talk? 

LOL at these sensitivity trainings and at Jay’s reaction to the watermelon example. 

Lucca is always so aware of rank in a really consistent way. It’s not so much that she craves status like an early season Cary-type might; she’s just very aware of where she ranks and who has power and what systems are at play. 

Adrian, Liz, and Diane (who’s barely had anything to do this episode) click through the sensitivity training slides very quickly. They’re definitely reading the slides.

Caleb goes to Liz and says he wants to be second chair on a case. Interesting. Curious where his character is going. 

Jay discovers the malware is coming from INSIDE THE OFFICE! It’s an STRL ploy! And we end with a very dramatic shot of Diane looking up at the ceiling. 

[thespearandthecrown]

A Whiskey for Her

AN- Hey fam! So this July/August was insane. Now that September is on its way, I will have a bit of free time to work more on some writing. I am about another 5 or 4 more chapters left for The Sheriff and The Soldier, which, I'm super happy to see nearly completed. Dakota and the gang have been at the back of my mind for the past two months demanding that I finish their story. I've also released the first two chapters of my original story about my gay werewolf dweebs on fiction press. If you wanna check that out, as well as my ko-fi page, take a look at my ‘WHERE YOU CAN FIND ME’ tab on this Tumblr. Without any further adieu, have something that has been a warm-up piece I've been working on for the past three years now. I've rewritten this thing like 800 times. Thanks for your support, I hope this fic finds all of you well <3

Vi hated the 'underground' Piltovian technopunk scene. The venues are usually filled with too drunk mid-forty housewives, whose cheating husbands let them loose for a 'girls night out'. It wasn't like the legendary raves of Zaun, where laws or claims of power meant nothing. Where people could get lost in the flashing lights and pounding beats.

That was where the real fun laid.

The number of people she would bring home after a night of dancing most likely broke some kind of record.

But here?

Void's above the only thing she could pick up is some blubbering wife who wants to get back at her husband.

Too much vengeance and drama for one night.

This, however, wasn't the reason why Vi was in such a despicable joint. The 'boys' from the cop shop wanted to get together and tear up the town. They invited Vi, promising good drinks and plenty of women. Rather than declining, she thought that after the last few busts she deserved a night out.

Sadly, this blew ass.

Her coworkers were long gone, either too drunk to stand or too busy dealing with housewives.

Giving up, she took a great sigh and left the establishment feeling fairly bummed out and in the need of some kind of greasy substance.

She didn't walk far before she came up to her favourite pub, the Brass Gauntlet. Humming to herself, she agreed, instantly craving a Bilgewatian sea bass butty, a specialty that this pub was quite famous for.

The reason why she enjoyed this place came in three parts.

One, the food and drink were good, cheap and usually what she needed. Two, it was a wooden establishment with polished down seats and a lovely smiling old bartender that easily held the feeling of welcome warmth. Three, it was quiet and close to work. Sure the room could be filled with patrons, but it could never get any louder then whispered conversations. Usually, after a long day of hearing the sheriff bitch and complain about Vi's work methods, she would come here to destress and breathe.

Tonight, the basement pub had a small handful of patrons. A group clustered together at the far end chatted quietly amongst themselves, sipping their drinks as they nodded along with whoever was telling a story.

At the other end was a sole individual, huddled in their own booth.

Vi practically fainted as she recognized the individual. Not a day in her life did she ever think Sheriff Caitlyn Deramore would ever step foot in a pub of her own free volition.

With curiosity and a few pints fueling her forward, she made her way to the sheriff's table.

The sheriff had her back to the entrance. Her long raven black hair was tied up into a messy bun, revealing her pale swan-like neck. Her purple petticoat had been removed leaving her in her white blouse that seemed a bit to loose around the neck.

"What is a girl like you, doin' in a place like this?" Vi grinned as she stood at the head of the table to face the sheriff head-on.

Caitlyn quirked an eyebrow at the pinkette. Her brilliant ice blue eyes were accentuated by heavy shadows and wire-rimmed reading glasses. As to what Vi expected, her white blouse had two buttons undone, revealing a bit more of her neck and her collarbone. Vi returned the expression with her own raised eyebrow as she witnessed the rolled-up sleeves revealing the tense forearms of the Sheriff. Her right hand twirled the tumbler of whiskey; the single ice cube gently tapping the glass in the movement.

"Doing your paperwork," Caitlyn replied coldly.

Vi's eyes lowered to the small stack of yellowed sheets. In Caitlyn's left hand was a decorative ink pen.

"Ah, shit, sorry Sheriff. What did I do wrong? I honestly thought I got it right this time. I even got Albert to help me out on this one." Vi admitted sheepishly.

The Sheriff gave a great sigh before she took a swig of her whiskey. "It's alright deputy."

"Why here though? Why not at your office?" Vi asked perplexed.

"Because the bullpen is insanely full with that shimmer bust and the captives will not cease their incessant caterwauling of proclaimed innocence." She muttered lowly, taking another long swig of the amber liquid. "It is very quiet here and the whiskey selection is not terrible."

"Mind if I sit wit' ya? Maybe show me where I went wrong?" Vi asked, both hoping the sheriff will say no and yes.

Caitlyn mulled the thought over, watching the liquid in her glass swirl. With a sigh, she nodded toward the bar. "Get me another round then, deputy."

Vi chuckled. "Not a problem. What's your poison, boss?"

"The dragon's breath whiskey from Freljord. One rock, please." Caitlyn replied as she continued the work set before her.

"Coming right up." Vi turned on her heels With mixed emotions curdling her gut.

She wasn't afraid of Caitlyn, nor hated her. She was just so…uptight. Too serious and work-focused. Usually, the day shift crew would go together to the leather boot, a Piltovian warden stomping ground, with expensive prices to accommodate the large salaries of the trained officers. The shift would all go together, have a pint and unwind before going home.

Every time, Caitlyn would decline.

Out of the six months that Vi had been working with her, she didn't see her cut loose once.

And within a weeks time, she should be working more frequently with Caitlyn once she graduated the progressive and special program they implemented to make sure she was ready for the job.

Frankly, Vi was both dreading and too excited to work with this intense woman.

Maybe this could be the kick starter to get to know each other better.

For Vi to properly understand the sheriff and her insane work ethic.

With a quick nod of thanks and an exchange of coins between her and the bartender, Vi walked back with a pint and a whiskey tumbler.

"You have tomorrow off, right?" Vi asked as she passed the glass to Caitlyn's slim dexterous hands.

"Thank you," Caitlyn nodded. "Yes, I have every Sunday off."

Vi seated herself on the bench opposite of Caitlyn. The pinkette observed the tight-lipped exchange as she flipped to the back of a page and scratched on another. Her jawline became tight with annoyance.

"You seem a bit ticked that you have it off." Vi deduced, taking a mouthful of beer.

Caitlyn snorted. "I am indeed 'ticked'. Albert handles the scheduling and insists that I have that day off, rather than allowing me to work on cases."

"Albert is a good guy. Not to pry or anything but do you ever feel like you could amount to him since you're his replacement?"

The sheriff sighed heavily. "Albert was a great Sheriff. The community loved him, the politicians couldn't get enough of him. However, as much as I hate to say it, I do the job better. He has been a great mentor and has really taught me some valuable lessons with the social aspects of being sheriff. He has trained and trusted me to do better than him, and I'm glad I can fulfill his wishes. I just wish the man would properly retire."

"Well obviously his paperwork reviewing could do better." Vi joked gently.

"In all honesty, you didn't do anything wrong. Your handwriting is just despicable and I need to give the mayor this report so he can show our hard work to the council."

"How rude, Sheriff. It's not like I learned how to properly write like six months ago." Vi grinned teasingly. Then a thought crossed her mind, making her eyebrows furrow in concentration. "Why does the council need to see my report?"

"They are putting a lot of resources to use for you. They want proof that you are actually capable of being my partner, let alone a legal protector of the city." Caitlyn explained.

"So you're helping me look good?"

"In those terms, yes. As much as you seem like you are capable of turning in criminals, they want to see you be an officer, a deputy. Not some loose canon vigilante with no respect for the rules. Sure you may be completing that program, but they want to see your training applied to the real world."

Vi snorted loudly, causing the table on the other side of the bar to take a quick peek behind them. "But that's what I am, Sheriff. I'm not here to slap the wrist of some city hooligans. I'm here to stop the real bad guys. The ones who'd take kids, sell the harmful chemical shit, try to bring terror to good innocent people."

Caitlyn observed as Vi balled her fist.

"I'm glad you have faith in me. I'm glad that you are willing to go the extra mile to help me out. But let them see me for what I want to be." She took a long sip of her brew, then placed it down onto the heavy oak table. She tightened her jaw as she focused on her scarred hands holding the pint glass.

In this, Caitlyn observed the brawler before her. She was in her cracked leather jacket, brooding in the raised lapels. She had freshly shaved the side of her head, showing the dark pink roots. The scent of citrus and mint hit her nose as Vi straightened herself to sit upright. Her violet eyes bore into Caitlyn. They blazed with a determination that the sheriff had started to become quite accustomed to.

She had witnessed this determination a multitude of times in the past six months of Vi working with the precinct. It was normally accompanied by loud snarled curses and frustrated yells. It was smashing through a wall with a broken collarbone, whilst dodging bullets and protecting the hostage in her grasp. It was spitting in the face of political terrorists who threatened to blow the city to smithereens. It was her staying up all night to help prove the innocence of a street orphan who was facing charges of murder. It was her facing these almost impossible tasks with a crooked grin and a crack of her knuckles.

Caitlyn respected this determination, but she only wished the pinkette would give her on-the-fly plans a bit more thought.

"Why do you do this?" The brawler asked. Her voice was stern and serious. "Why put all of this effort when, no matter what, they're going to throw me out."

The sheriff takes a moment to mull over her statement. The tumbler clinks as she lets the ice and whiskey mingle more and more with each twist of her wrist. "Frankly, I am not quite sure, myself." She admits. "Maybe it’s because I know they can sense the potential in you. I understand your skepticism though; the old guard of the city council can be quite misogynistic. It took them a while to have full faith in me."

Their eyes meet for a moment. Caitlyn can see the gears slowly turn in Vi's head and it made the raven-haired woman curious.

Vi regards the sheriff in a new way. It isn't the usual brush off 'we'll deal with the situation as we go' kind of look that the brawler usually gives her.

Caitlyn can't help the small smile that tugs at her lips. "Be careful, Vi. If I didn't know any better it looks like I just earned some respect from you."

That troublesome smirk that drives the sheriff nearly up the wall, spreads through the pinkette's lips easily. "You should slow down on those Dragon Breaths, Sheriff. I think they're causing you to hallucinate."

They share a small chuckle between themselves.

"I think I like this side of you, Sheriff." Vi drawls as she finishes her drink. She signals to the bartender for another round, and the old smiling man nods.

Caitlyn raises an eyebrow, trying her best to not smile. "Don't get too used to it."

[im-fairly-whitty]

Caught in the Riptide – Riptide!Incredibles AU

I said this story was dead, but then I wrote another chapter for whatever reason and didn’t feel like it was fair not to post it for you guys. I suppose it’s more of an indefinite hiatus instead of completely dead.

[Chapter 1: The Offer] [Chapter 2: Old Friendships]

Chapter 3: Introductions

 When Tony had called Agent Gibbons to tell him he wanted to join the Taskforce he hadn’t known what to expect, maybe showing up at a nearby police station to fill out some forms or something, but certainly not being escorted in an unmarked vehicle to an undisclosed location. 

The car had seemed normal enough when it had pulled up outside of Tony’s house, but once he’d gotten in he’d realized that the interior was much roomier than it looked, with the middle row of seats facing the wrong way like a limo. As they’d driven the windows seemed to get darker and darker too, as if the tint was getting stronger, eventually keeping Tony from being able to tell where they were at all, no matter how hard he squinted through the glass.

“We’ll be at the base soon.” Agent Gibbons said, looking up from the device he was typing on as he sat across from him, some kind of slick portable computer that Tony had only seen the likes of in secret agent films, “You’ll want to have looked through your orientation packet before we arrive.” he said with a smile, nodding at the thick manila envelope he’d handed Tony at the beginning of the drive that Tony was still absently clutching to his chest.

“Oh sure, sorry.” Tony said with a nervous smile, looking up from the darkly tinted windows and getting a good look at the packet for the first time.

The thick manilla paper had a circular wave symbol stamped on the outside. Tony ripped the seal off the top and tipped the contents into his lap. A sheaf of papers, a lanyard with an ID card attached, several pamphlets, and a thin dark grey folded up jumpsuit. The last item to fall out was a black piece of flexible plastic with two holes...no, it was a mask.

Just like Supers always wore.

“You’ll want to get used to the mask.” Gibbons said, seeing him looking at it, “From now on your civilian identity will be under wraps, even during training. You’re to wear that mask at all times while on the base, don’t ever take it off, not even around the other recruits. While you’re working with other Taskforce members you’ll get to know and befriend them, which is fantastic, we want you all to be able to work with each other, but try to keep details like your name, address, and other personal details to yourself, alright?”

“Yes sir.” Tony said, nodding even though he wasn’t quite sure how you were supposed to be friends with someone if you didn’t even know their real names. He looked closer at the mask, which didn’t seem to have any strings... “How...?” he asked hesitantly, looking up.

“You just stick it on.” Gibbons said, not looking up from his tablet.

“Won’t it fall off?” Tony asked a little sheepishly. He tried to think but couldn't actually remember seeing any kinds of strings or straps on Supers’ masks in history books, he’d never really thought about it before.

“Trust me kid,” Gibbons said, tapping his screen, “Supers have been wearing cling masks for years, they’re old tech. I’ve never had one fall off my face, promise.”

“Wait, you’re a Super too?” Tony asked in surprise.

“Mask.” Gibbons said, looking up at him pointedly.

Tony obediently put it on, surprised to feel how secure it felt on his face, as if it were somehow sticky. He looked up and down, shaking his head side to side, but it stuck. He took it off easily, then put it back on. Well how about that.

He suspected the mask wasn’t going to be the only unexplainable thing he saw today.

“I used to be a Super,” Gibbons said, nodding in approval at Tony’s mask, “but I retired before Supers were outlawed. I saw things were getting out of control and I wanted to help in a bigger way than flying around stopping crooks, so I hung up my mask and got a job with the government. That’s how I’ve been able to help the Taskforce get started, I’ve got experience on both the Super and the Government side, which means I can bring them together.”

“That’s amazing,” Tony said, “what powers do you have?” he flinched a little at his own question. He might be on his way to be trained as a Super, but asking someone about their powers still felt dangerously taboo, like he was crossing a line, “I mean, if that’s okay to ask. Is that okay to ask?” he added hurriedly.

“Pyrokinesis.” Gibbons said, casually holding up his hand, which was now covered in flame.

The thin flickering orange and yellow light danced up and down the man’s skin with apparently no damage, even though Tony could feel the heat very clearly from where he sat.

“A cousin of your power actually, ability to manipulate fire at will, just like you can with water.” Gibbons said with a smile, curling his fingers into a fist of flame that blazed an intense blue before suddenly snuffing out, leaving a slightly singed smell in the air, “I just have to be much more careful with mine in enclosed spaces than you do.” he said with a chuckle, “Does mean I’ve never had so much as a sunburn before though, which is a perk.”

“I always burn really easy, I have to wear sweaters and sunscreen all the time.” Tony said, “That’s incredible.”

“I prefer ‘amazing’.” Gibbons said, looking back to his screen.

His device made a pinging noise and Gibbons smiled, “We’re here. Remember, keep your mask on, no real names, and keep your lanyard on. That’s how you’ll get in and out of all the doors in this place that you have clearance for. We run a pretty tight ship here so be sure to keep your wits about you.”

“What should I use as my name then?” Tony asked, slipping on his lanyard. His eyes got wide, “Do I get to choose my Super name?”

“No need,” Gibbons said, pointing to the lanyard’s card as Tony felt the car roll to a stop.

Tony flipped over the card, which had the same wave icon from the envelope printed on it, as well as the word RIPTIDE in all capital letters.

Agent Gibbons got out of the car, holding the door open for Tony as he stepped into the gravel yard of what looked like a high tech military base.

To his left were enormous metal hangers and warehouses, to his right a group of people in army camo jogged by in neat lines. Ahead of him was a cement path that looked freshly laid, leading to a brand new building that was all clean lines and impressive steel.

“Welcome to the Taskforce, Riptide.” Agent Gibbons said with a smile.

***

The kid was nervous, William could see that from the way he kept glancing around him as they entered the sleek new Taskforce training center, but Riptide also seemed to be intent on making a good impression, sticking right to his side and smiling at everyone they passed.

He really seemed like he was a good kid, which was perfect, William could use a kid like that. William would have normally had some other agent under him take care of a new recruit’s orientation, but Riptide was different. William had scouted the boy out himself and he had big plans for him.

“Pretty much all of your training will take place right here in this building.” William said, shepherding Riptide toward a door and demonstrating how to unlock it with a tap of his own lanyard, “We have state of the art classrooms, training facilities, and living arrangements for recruits who stay overnight during parts of their training, like how you’re staying the weekend. Everything you need will be provided to you which why you were told not to pack anything. If there’s something you need just ask any of the staff and they’ll arrange it for you.”

“That’s really kind of you.” Riptide said, staring as they passed a group of recruits, the masked teenagers in dark grey jumpsuits smiling and waving to him as they passed each other, “Say, am I supposed to be wearing jumpsuits like them? I got one in my packet right?” he asked as he waved back to them, then glanced down at his street clothes.

“You young people are our most valuable resource,” William said, “we’d be idiots not to treat you well. And yes, in the future you’ll wear your training uniform whenever you’re on the Taskforce campus. There’s special sensors woven into the fabric of each suit that will track your vital signs as well as readings from your power set that will help your trainers record your progress and help you reach your peak performance as you become more familiar with your powers.

“Today we’ll be meeting one of your coaches and then you’ll have a chance to change before having a meal with the rest of the recruits before your first round of training this evening. Which is why...” William led Riptide through another door into a huge room, the scent of chlorine washing over them, “we’re starting you in here.”

William had never been in the pool room, but the olympic sized monstrosity was every bit as bad as he’d expected. Riptide however lit up at the sight of all the water, an unconscious smile creeping onto his face as the kid stared at the crystal blue water eagerly.

“New kid!” came a cheery voice, and they both turned to see a slender hispanic woman with a whistle hanging around her neck walking toward them, “About time you showed up, been expecting you. Call me Coach Maralin.”

“Ton-” Riptide started to say as he walked over and shook her hand, but quickly caught himself, “I mean, Riptide. My name’s Riptide.”

“Power?” Coach Maralin asked.

“Aquakinesis.” Riptide said, standing up a little straighter.

“That’s right, Agent Gibbons has been making you out to be the next Splashdown.” Coach Maralin said, glancing over at where William was still standing near the doorway, as far away from the pool’s edge as possible, “The water won’t bite, Will.” she called with a smile.

William gave a dry smile, “I’m perfectly fine right here.” he called back, “I assume I’m safe to leave him in your care?”

“Sure thing.” Coach Maralin said cheerfully, walking Riptide to the edge of the pool and taking the papers and things he was still holding from the packet, “Now Riptide, we’ll get you all measured and tested tonight, but for now-”

William shivered as she unceremoniously shoved Riptide into the deep end of the pool, street clothes, shoes and all. And as a special training pool, suitable even for scuba training, that was a deep end that was a purely indecent twenty meters deep. Just the thought made William’s skin crawl.

Riptide’s head broke the surface of the water as he came back up, sputtering a little, but with a bright smile on his face, like he was actually enjoying it.

“There’s so much water!” Riptide cried excitedly, he dipped his face back into the water for a moment to look down, then looked back up, not even wiping at his eyes, “I’ve never seen a pool this deep, it’s amazing!”

“Can you breathe underwater?” Coach Maralin called.

“I...I don’t know, I’ve never tried.” Riptide said, sounding curious.

“We’ll save that for tonight then.” Coach Maralin said, making a note on her clipboard and pulling out a stopwatch, “For now I want you to get out of that pool without touching the walls or the edge. You’re only allowed to use your power and the water to get out.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t think I can do that.” Riptide said, sounding a little nervous as he looked around, “I can only move a little bit of water before I get tired and-”

“Less chat, more water. Timer starts now.” Coach Maralin called, clicking her stopwatch.

William waited for another minute, watching Riptide at first tread water in confusion, then get a determined look as he started swooping his arms through the water, moving much more than a normal person could possibly splash. It wasn’t anywhere near to what would be required to launch himself out of the pool, but the kid was clearly ready to thrash around until he figured out how to obey the coach’s command.

That was all that William needed to see.

He ducked out of the pool room and back into the hallway, able to breathe a little easier away from the cloying scent of chlorine. Let Riptide handle playing in water, after all, he’d need all the training her could get before his public debut, and he had a long way still to go if he was going to be ready.

***

Tony had been trapped in the pool for an entire hour before Coach Maralin had let him struggle up the side ladder like a normal person, leaving him trembling with exhaustion.

He’d known that launching himself out of the pool was beyond his ability, but had given his all while trying anyway, seeing that Coach wasn’t going to take no for an answer, only shouting him sharp encouragement the one time he’d tried to ask to stop. He loved swimming, being surrounded by water always made him feel electrified with energy, but today had shown him exactly how useless he was without training. 

After half an hour in the pool he’d started letting himself sink under the surface just to try and feel the water in a way he never had before, knowing that if he could just figure out how to grab the energy in the water just right he could tell it how to do exactly like he wanted. If he could just learn how to speak to it.

But for now he might as well have been trying to speak Chinese for all the good it did him, when he was finally allowed to climb out of the pool he’d glared back down at the water rippling innocently beside him. 

He knew he could figure it out. He hadn’t expected joining the Taskforce to be easy, and if this was what he had to figure out how to do in order to be the best Super and example possible for the Taskforce, then that’s exactly what he’d do.

But...not at this exact moment...

Tony ached all over as he tapped his lanyard card against the door he’d been pointed to, sighing in relief when the mechanical sliding door opened to reveal the bustling cafeteria. More than a dozen recruits scattered around the tables with their trays of food, even some of the staff eating at other tables.

Despite being exhausted (he hadn’t even had the energy to dry off before changing into his jumpsuit, having to use a towel the old fashioned way) Tony felt a buzz of nervousness as he headed to the buffet counter, taking a tray and loading it up with food as he glanced around the cafeteria

“Hey, new guy.”

Tony looked over as an African America girl elbowed him. She looked about his age and was wearing the same jumpsuit and mask that he was.

“First day right?” she asked, scooping some macaroni and cheese onto her tray as she blew some of her hair, of which she had a lot, out of her face.

“Uh, yeah, is it that obvious?” Tony asked with a small laugh.

“I know you’re a new face, the masks aren’t that good.” she said, rolling her eyes, “But no, we saw you in your normal clothes earlier. You can come sit with us if you want.”

“Sure, that’d be great!” Tony said, a little unsure, but following her over to one of the small tables where there were already three other kids. One huge boy who looked like he was barely able to fit in his seat despite looking only fifteen or sixteen, and two thirteen or fourteen year old looking asain kids who looked like they could be twin brother and sister.

They waved as Tony followed the girl over, but Tony hesitated to see there was only one open seat at the table.

“I could grab another chair?” Tony asked, looking around.

“No need,” the girl said, walking over to where the asain boy was sitting, looming over him with her tray, “Ollie, move it, you’re hogging chairs.”

“Aw come on, just make him pull up a chair.” Ollie said, huffing dramatically, “We don’t want to move.”

Ollie’s sister rolled her eyes and reached out to grab his wrist, and suddenly his seat was empty.

Tony blinked, not at all sure what had just happened. One moment there had been two siblings in two chairs, and now there was only one kid in one chair, and unless Tony was very mistaken they were a brand new sibling, looking just like the other two. They had a messier version of the sister’s pigtails and the brother’s bangs, and Tony couldn’t quite say whether they were a boy or a girl...

“We only need one chair.” the kid said, eating a cookie of their tray as if nothing particularly interesting had just happened, “We’re Double Vision, what’s your name?”

“I...Uh, Riptide.” Tony said, trying and failing not to stare as he sat down in the empty seat.

“Thanks DV.” said the girl who had brought him over, sitting down too, “My name’s Aura, and you’d better get ahold of yourself Riptide. If you’re gonna be staring at everyone new like that it’s gonna be a long day.”

“Sorry, I just, I’ve never seen anything like that.” Tony said, blushing a little and scratching the back of his head, “I’ve never really been around other people with powers before, I think it’s really cool, but well, what was that?”

“We’re twins!” Double Vision said brightly, taking another cookie off of Aura’s tray, ignoring her glare, “At least, we think we’re twins, no one really knows. We’re Ollie and Allie sometimes too.” As they mentioned the two names Double Vision’s appearance changed to look like the boy and then the girl again before settling back at the inbetween version.

“Built in back-up and disguises.” said the huge boy sitting on the other side of Double Vision through a mouthful of chicken, “Not to mention the telepathy.”  

“Yeah, well, back up isn’t always so great when you’re both small.” Double Vision said, smacking the huge boy’s arm, “You don’t need back up when you can knock down a whole building by yourself. We wish we could do that.”

“Are you...super strong?” Tony guessed, starting to eat his roll instead of continuing to sneak glances at Double Vision.

The boy chuckled, his laugh actually making the table vibrate beneath their trays. Even though Tony didn’t think it was that loud he could still feel the noise in his bones.

“Nah, my name’s Reverb, I do sound waves.” Reverb said, taking a bite out of one of the three hamburgers on his two trays, “I’m just big, I’ve only got normal person strength for my size. I knock stuff down by yelling instead, it’s way more fun that way anyway.”

“And what do you do?” Tony asked, turning to Aura, excited despite his exhaustion.

“I’d show you but it’s too bright in here.” Aura said, taking a drink of her orange juice, “Yall’d go blind or else I’d get in trouble from blowing out the lights.”

“She makes energy!” Double Vision said excitedly.

“More like types of light.” Aura said coolly, “All colors, all frequencies, all brightnesses. If a lightbulb can do it so can I.”

“Show him the purple light trick.” Reverb said, scooting a napkin across the table toward her.

“I’m not making blacklight in the cafeteria.” Aura said, ignoring the napkin.

“Pleaaaaaaase?” said Double Vision, splitting back into Allie and Ollie, presumably to maximize their pleading as they both balanced on half of their chair.

“Do it. Do it.” Reverb chanted, pounding his fists on the table, making all their trays jump.

“Will you guys shut up?” Aura hissed, but she let out a growly sigh and hovered her hand over the napkin on the table. The dark brown skin of her hand took on a muted purple white glow, and the white napkin underneath glowed a vivid bright white-blue color.

The others cheered and clapped as Aura rolled her eyes and scrunched up the napkin, tucking it under her tray. She looked over at Tony, “And lemme guess, you’ve got something to do with water, right Riptide?”

“Can you talk to fish?” Reverb asked, leaning hard enough on the table to make it creak.

“I have hydrokinesis.” Tony said, taking an overly aware sip from his glass of water, “I can move water with my mind.”

“Do it. Do it.” Reverb said, taking up his table banging chant again, Allie and Ollie joining him as Aura glared at them.

“I would, but I’m super tired right now.” Tony said quickly, moving to set his glass back on the table but thinking better of it as the trays kept jumping from the other’s banging, “It would just spill everywhere, I’m really not that good at it yet, I’ve never really practiced with it before now.”

“Booo.” Reverb said, giving Tony a thumbs down before starting into another hamburger, “You’d better catch up then Rippy, Aura and I’ve already got a few months head start on you. But yeah, they’ll keep you tired around here with how hard they work us, that’s for sure.”

“We’ve been practicing for years.” Allie said proudly, taking a handful of fries off one of Reverb’s trays, “Ever since we were kids.”

“How did you keep a power like yours secret from your parents?” Tony asked, looking over at them curiously, “My parents figured out I had powers when I was still a kid, I threw a tantrum and blew all the water pipes in the house.”

His parents had never exactly made him feel bad about having powers, but they’d never really talked about it either. It had just felt like an unspoken secret between them when he’d been growing up.

“Don’t got any parents.” Ollie said, taking fries from his sister, “We grew up with the NSA, that’s why we get to practice all the time.”

“That’s also why they get to use their real names, even if they’re not supposed to.” Aura said a little dryly, she glanced over at Tony, “Not a lot of parents want to deal with a super kid, let alone not knowing if they’ve got one child or two. You’d be surprised how many super kids end up left at police stations or in dumpsters. Those stories never quite make it to the news, but over half the recruits here were abandoned when they were still babies.”

Tony swallowed, glancing around the cafeteria again. That boy had horns, another had bright purple skin, a girl over there had wings and a scaly tail if he wasn’t mistaken. Were those the kids that had been abandoned at birth? Their parents too overwhelmed by a child who was obviously a Super when they lived in a society that had outlawed them?

Who had raised kids like Allie and Ollie then? Government agents like Mr. Gibbons?

“That’s why the Taskforce is going to fix stuff.” Ollie said, leaning in to his sister until they became Double Vision again, “That way Supers can do whatever they want! We’ll even be able to go to the beach!”

“You know, Supers are legal again.” Tony said, he knew that for sure after the research he’d been doing after Mr. Gibbons’ first visit, “You can go to the beach whenever you want, even if you’re using your powers.”

“Well, the Taskforce is what’s going to keep it that way.” Aura said, ruffling Double Vision’s hair, “With our example and everyone on the registration program everyone will stay safe and follow the rules and we’ll never have to hide again.”

Tony nodded, then started focusing on his food as the others drifted into much less serious chatter and gossip. He’d known in an abstract kind of way why helping the Taskforce was important, but actually meeting other Supers had made it far more solid.

He’d never even realized how lucky he’d been growing up. There were real people with real lives that had been really hurt the last time Supers had messed things up by letting things out of control, and there was no way that his own generation could mess things up a second time. In the future Tony wanted there would never be another child abandoned by their frightened parents just because they were born with powers like he was.

But he wasn’t going to be able to help anyone if he couldn’t even get out of a pool by himself.

Tony started shoveling his food into his mouth faster.

“Slow down, the food ain't gonna run away.” Aura said, glancing over at him.

“I need to get back to training,” Tony said, wiping his mouth, “Like Reverb said, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

-----------

(Credits: The Riptide AU was started by @edorazzi​‘s lovely art. For this fic extra thanks goes to @mistrel-fox​ as well for brainstorming help.)

[star-anise]

dear star-anise, do you see your therapisting as some form of political activism? or supporting activism? i'm asking bc at uni i used to do activism like being in groups, going to meetings, protests, organising protests, campaigns etc, but now, working as psy/social assistant and being a therapist in training, aka working two jobs, i don't do any of that anymore. i have neither the time nor the energy. there are days when i feel so helpless, impotent and useless bc of that. (1/2)

i feel like all i do is take care of myself, my plants, my friends and family, manage my depression and sometimes do laundry. one of my supervisors says i am "working for peace and good in this world", that i am "helping the helpers". a therapist-friend today said that was true and that once we are out of training and can choose our clients more ourselves that will be true even more so. most days i can see it. what do you think about it? thank you for your blog!

I have... three thoughts on this, I think.

Part of the definition of treason is giving “aid and comfort” to the enemy. Aid and comfort are no little things.For me, posting cat pictures is a form of activism. I use the term “doughnut dolly of the revolution” a bit jokingly, because like Doughnut Dollies used to feel about themselves, I sometimes feel a bit inessential and useless. On the other hand. Most of the hardcore activists I know--the ones who negotiate and form coalitions and go out on picket lines and protest and testify to legislative committees and run nonprofits--are so burned out you can smell the smoke coming out from under their hoods. And have been for years. My girlfriend hasn’t totally recovered from the work she did against GWB’s war in Iraq.  So I do, in fact, aim to be a source of comfort, refuge, and resupply for people who go out and fight on the front lines of social justice. I blog the way I do in reaction to the intense level of media overload people got in 2015 and 16, where they couldn’t even check their fannish social media without getting overwhelmed by world events. So on days when something terrible is happening, I don’t think I can meaningfully contribute commentary or spreading awareness with any more skill or insight than 100,000 people are already doing--but I can reblog cat pictures from a source that’s fundamentally friendly.One major issue I have with leftist activism is that it chronically undervalues work of nurturing, tending, cleaning, and maintaining. Who runs your bake sales? Who tends your wounds? Who cleans your clothes? Who makes food? Who cleans up after? That is a massive amount of work that’s taken absolutely for granted. 

How we choose to work can be massively political. I had a professor, during grad school, who insisted that we could not let clients focus on the systemic problems they faced. If we let them blame anyone else for their problems, he said, they would never improve. (He worked for the US Army, convincing servicemembers that their children’s misbehaviour wasn’t due to having been moved around all the time, their spouse’s anxiety wasn’t related them being redeployed to Iraq for their fifth tour, their own bad moods weren’t related to traumatic brain injury; they just needed to take personal responsibility)And one of the most formative clients for me during my own training was a Black university student who described how everyone in her class called her “sassy” and copied anything she said or did that seemed a little outside the norm, even though she felt that she wasn’t any weirder or louder than anyone else--or was she? Was there really something wrong with her? Was she ridiculous, worth being mocked? She drew in on herself like a setting sun, a star losing lustre, as she questioned herself.I was still feeling my way, as a white girl reading a bunch of work by Black feminists and womanists, but even I knew about Black women being called too loud, too aggressive, too sassy. I very tentatively said, “It’s so upsetting, being picked on in this way that feels unfair and... honestly sounds kind of racist.”“It does, doesn’t it,” she said, and dropped her head into her hands, knees drawn together. “Oh my god! It’s so racist! It’s so fucking racist!” And then she screamed quietly into her palms and did a little dance in her chair, and lifted up her head, and listed off all the things they’d said that they were racist--all the Black professionals and experts in her field they didn’t know when she mentioned them--how frustrating it was--how she’d dealt with racism in the past--how her family dealt with racism in the past--how much she missed her family--the festival she was going to in two weeks to reconnect with her Caribbean relatives.I didn’t have to do anything for the rest of the session, just nod and make encouraging noises. That one little bit of validation linked her back into an entire system of resistance and community that gave her the strength to resist the pressures on her and renew her sense of pride and joy in who she was.

I think there’s a role therapists could have, and often do not have, in leftist movements. I keep thinking about it, but I don’t know how to make it fit. Circling back to “every activist I know has burnout”: The way modern activism is done is very psychologically costly. We have discussions about “mental health and self-care” that kind of look like “BURN CARE WHILE LEAPING OVER LAVA: Remember that the lava is hot! Take frequent breaks to let your feet cool off!” Like, what if we did not have to leap over lava. What if an ordinary person’s activism didn’t have to involve large amounts of outrage, terror, and helplessness to fuel their work. What if we put resources into mental health as well.And like I said, I don’t know what to do with this thought. Should I offer activist group members discount rates? Volunteer with an org as a counsellor? Suggest ways groups could make their members’ mental health better? Take my skills as a mediator into union disputes between nonprofit workers and management? Write articles about how somebody ought to address something about this problem? I’m not actually drowning in good ideas here.I feel like there could be very targeted and effective work that we could do, that often gets ignored or discounted because the Left has a very ascetic bread-and-water, sacrifice-everything-for-the-revolution view of what activism should look like. And maybe we should start talking about it.