#at what point do we stop being humans when we augment our bodies

[hundredsspoons]

Do we ever get an explanation for why Midvalley can kill people with his saxophone.... or is that something nobody really questions

[rosewind2007]

Thinking about how markedly Gurathin’s relationship with our favourite rogue SecUnit changes, from:

Gurathin’s expression was stiffer than usual. “This Unit has killed people before, people it was charged with protecting. It killed fifty-seven members of a mining operation.”

“It calls itself ‘Murderbot,’” Gurathin said.

I opened my eyes and looked at him; I couldn’t stop myself. From their expressions I knew everything I felt was showing on my face, and I hate that. I grated out, “That was private.

To:

I said, “If I told you, then you might find all the bodies I’ve already disposed of.”

Gurathin sighed and rubbed his face and looked off into the distance, like he regretted all his life choices that had led to him standing here right now. On our private feed connection, he sent, Or you could just show them where you were when this person was being killed.

(Yeah, on reflection I think I misdirected in the wrong direction It was the kind of thing a human or augmented human could get away with saying, not a rogue SecUnit. Even if they knew I was just being an asshole, I’d made them wonder, I’d put the idea in their heads.)

(And now if I did have to kill some GrayCris agents, I’d have to be really careful about what I did with the bodies.)

(It was probably better to make it look like an accident.)

I hated to admit it but Gurathin had a point.

And also:

I pulled it from memory. “They said, ‘We’ll call you if we need you.’”

Gurathin said, “I can’t tell if that’s you being passive aggressive or you being willfully obtuse.”

I would be more pissed off about him saying that except a) he was right about the passive aggressive thing and b) he was standing where I had told him to stand, blocking the nearest port camera view of what I was doing.

❤️❤️❤️

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

I have two suggestions for the Gray Ghost AU.

1: Wes Weston is no longer under suspicion of being a Ghost. Now, he is under suspicion of being the Phantom Hunter. He is athletic, fits the build, is on record as saying he wants to fight Ghosts, and has access to the tech (just BS a connection to the GiW or Axiom). The difference this makes in his regular life is mostly null... except for the fact that Ghosts now keep targeting him for retribution attacks. Danny goes out of his way to obscure his identity from everyone, meaning Wes is seen as them catching Phantom Hunter off guard. I imagine him trying to pin it on Danny but because he so clearly disdains his parent's work, literally no one believes him.

2: The idea of Danny getting his hands on an Ectoplasm enhanced suit like the Technus upgrade Val got to her suit, most likely given by Maddie as a way to bond with Danny (and further prep him for a transformation into a Halfa). Except given his preexisting contamination (his mum is half Ghost) and Maddie messing with the suit, he ends up with the suit now fusing to him more thoroughly. After reading too many Iron Man comics, I picture something like his Bleeding Edge armour. It is basically stored mostly in his body, and he can augment it with extra technology. This would probably be a win scenario for Maddie because this puts Danny even further into Halfa territory. This also makes things more tragic with Val. Because not only has Maddie betrayed Danny to experiment on him, but because it means Val failed to stop this happening to someone she cares about. Also, this opens up a new opportunity for one of the Clones: one who is now a more pronounced cyborg made with a prototype of the suit Maddie gave to Danny, maybe he looks like the Terminator or something. For extra irony, he's the nicest one and likes gardening or something. I know this can be taken further, but I'm not able to focus on it more due to exhaustion.

Also, your idea is great, and thank you for sharing it with us and letting us all throw our suggestions at you. Thanks for all the good content.

no thank you! this stuff is always way more fun and interesting when it's collaborated! most of these ideas wouldn't exist without other people's suggestions, even the initial prompt! ✨

also @everystarstorm this will answer your ask too ~ y'all sharing a braincell today haha

1. omg yes YES yes this is perfect absolutely 100%

Wes just cannot catch a break in ANY universe (the concept of Walter Weston working for Vlad has been a Thing so we can keep that around here since Vlad works at Axion and that can be the connection, maybe Walter is just the paperwork guy or the company's legal attorney)

I also had a suggestion from @burns-art-account that Valerie gets her own version of a Wes, but like since the name Wes initially came from a joke about Sam's name being misread upside down, we could do the same with one of Val's friends, like Star could be Jets or Jeqs, or something like that

although I think this person would be less open and vocal about Valerie since her popularity would make it impossible to point a finger at without being laughed at by the whole school (I mean just look at Wes, his target is just some nerdy kid and he's still a laughingstock), so this character could be a little more subtle in trying to get evidence to out Val, it would make a pretty funny running gag if every time she got a chance to photograph Val transforming or capture some kind of evidence, something always gets in the way at the last moment, like a bird flying in front of the camera or something

2. I want to keep Danny getting the suit from Technus because I'd want this universe's version of that episode to still happen because it was a great episode between these two and it could still work with the switch around

but Maddie really would have to change course with her portal plan because this whole thing could actually make that more difficult for Maddie, all of her calculations weren't made with a highly ecto-contaminated person in mind, this would mean she would have to readjust the portal's design between Danny and the rest of her family, or actually just throw that plan away in favour of working with this new angle

she could realise that her kids HAVE picked up some traits from her because yeah a normal human shouldn't be able to do that to ghost tech

the idea that Maddie does add to his arsenal is good, once she figures out that any tech he uses gets absorbed into his suit she starts making more weaponry that's super compatible with him, possibly even making stuff that will purposely contaminate him further to bring him closer to being like a halfa (this would be a pretty huge step in Maddie's villain development because now she's resorted to experimenting on her own son, she's losing sight of why she's doing all this in the first place) it would be really cool to see Maddie gradually losing her maternal motherly nature to the cold calculating scientist

like her warmth used to feel at least somewhat genuine deep down but now it just feels like a part she's playing, slimy and sinister, she was always manipulative but she had a real genuine care for her family underneath, she thought she was doing the right thing, but that love and care is slipping away into just doing whatever it takes to get what she wants, to complete her experiment

also I was thinking about the cloning ep being set kinda earlier in this universe, so that would have happened pre-upgrade, but the idea of there being a cyborg clone made later is super cool, and then we could get a clone centric episode where the other clones try to convince this newer more dangerous clone to join their family, and yes him becoming the sweetest, nicest clone is *mwah* perfection

that ep could pave the way and maybe even foreshadow Maddie's eventual experimentations on Danny himself

and the repercussions on Val oooooof, she would feel so guilty, she would feel so much like she let him down and she couldn't save him from becoming something he never wanted to be and now it's getting to a point where it'll be too late for him to get back to normal

and since we've established in a previous post that Vlad knows about Danny, he could even play as Danny's one guiding light, warning him that if he keeps doing this he won't be able to turn back, and his interactions with Danny could give us some insight to what's going on in Danny's head, he's trying so hard to point Danny away from all this while his own mother is more subtly encouraging him and pushing him in the other direction, like a shoulder angel/shoulder devil kinda thing

these are some great ideas thank you for sharing! ❤️❤️

[lesbianlotties]

Comfort Food - Dani/Grace - Terminator: Dark Fate

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Terminator (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Grace Harper/Dani Ramos Characters: Dani Ramos, Grace Harper, Sarah Connor, Carl (Terminator) Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Post-Canon, Missing Scene, McDonald's, Fast Food, Comfort Food, Fluff, basically grace survives and they stop by mcdonalds after they escape Words: 2870

The Rev-9 is destroyed. The four of them are barely alive after the fight. The first thing they need is to find a safe place to go.

That's when they step into McDonald's.

Sarah didn’t have time to say it, and she couldn’t exactly remember where she heard it first, but there was something oddly comforting about McDonald’s. That’s not to say she loved the place. A most likely despicable company, sure. But it was just so goddamned… big. It was available in most of the globe, and in every stupid country Sarah found herself in she could turn a corner and there it was, like a fucking mirage. The ridiculous “M”, the lights, the colors, the food, and the bathroom too. They were all mostly the same everywhere. The most childish spot for feeling like stepping into a sort of time loop. Somehow the most appropriate place to stop by after destroying the Rev-9.

The four of them were in various degrees of falling apart, some of them quite literally. “Wait here,” Sarah instructed Carl, not any more gently even after everything. He diligently hung back at the door, missing arm and all, while the three women entered the fast-food restaurant. “You two, sit,” Sarah pointed at one of the tables and confidently walked to the register. Dani and Grace hesitated at the door, but eventually gave in and followed the instructions.

Their little group probably looked beyond suspicious and out of place. They walked a long way until they found this place, and they were still covered in blood, dirt, and ashes. At least Dani’s long hair was the only thing still dripping water. Surprisingly, the employees of McDonald’s barely bat an eyelash at the new clients. It fascinated and worried Grace to think they weren’t the strangest thing these people had seen walk into the establishment in the middle of the night. Thankfully, there weren’t any other patrons.

“Are you alright?” Dani asked, as soon as the two were comfortably seated in one of the booths.

“Hm. Yeah, I think so,” Grace mumbled. She lowered her head, realizing Dani had noticed the way she had ungracefully fallen onto her seat, wincing and bleeding. “What about you?”

“Well, I’m alive.”

Dani’s answer came in a whisper. Her voice was trembling just slightly. This still wasn’t the time and place to think about the events that lead her here. However, this place, the bright lights above her, the clean floors, the smell of food, it was enough of a taste at normalcy to make her feel like she could take a break, like chaos was solved and she had made it out alive, for now. Which was enough, surprisingly. The best part? Seeing the moment that the words she just spoke fully registered in Grace’s mind as well. 

Dani had survived. The Rev-9 didn’t make it through the second explosion they had pushed it into. It was definitely gone. More and possibly worse problems could be waiting for them. But, for now, all that mattered was this, Dani’s little smile from the other side of the table. Dani was alive and Grace had completed her mission, “You know,” Grace started to speak, “I didn’t think…”

“Dig in,” Sarah interrupted them, dropping two trays of food on the table and sitting down beside Dani.

The following seconds were a quick flash of very different approaches to their meals from the three women. Sarah didn’t waste a second to get started on her burger. They needed food to stay alive, they had a chance to eat a warm meal, no time to waste. Dani, on the other hand, took a deep breath then turned her head away from the food. How could they eat after everything that just happened? Her stomach churned just thinking of all the violence she’d had to stomach since the previous days. Then there was Grace. For a second, she frowned at the food. Offended about the interruption, about the way it seemed to upset Dani, and… and then there was the smell of the fries. She took a handful of them, slowly chewed them, and then there was no turning back. She got started on her meal as if her life- as if Dani’s life depended on her eating that burger.

“Let’s get to the point,” Sarah announced after a few bites and a long sip of her drink. “Grace. The terminator was a hundred percent dead, correct?” Her question was met with silence and thumbs up, considering the augment soldier was halfway done with her burger. “And you? Will you live?” She ignored the look Dani her sent her way. Sarah was used to being blunt in worse scenarios, she wasn’t about to change things now. If anything, change within her was barely noticeable. But there was just something uncharacteristically earnest in her tone as she made her question. She cared about the answer, more than she was ready to admit.

They had to wait until Grace was done chewing, but finally, she got her appetite to slow down for a moment enough to give an answer. “There was a lot of damage,” she said, quickly scanning through the systems in her body, a series of unsatisfactory percentages showing up in her vision, but nothing too alarming. “Nothing I can’t fix,” Grace stated with finally, diving right back into her food. This would hold her up for a short while, but she would need to raid a pharmacy soon.

“Good,” Sarah nodded. After a few more moments of eating in silence, she turned toward Dani. “What about you? How, uh, how’re you holding up?”

Dani, almost without noticing, had started to slowly go through her set of fries. Eating them slowly, enjoying the warmth and the distraction. However, instead of answering, she ended up blurting out the first thing on her mind. “How are you so calm right now?”

“It isn’t my first rodeo. Hell, it isn’t even the second time I go through this shit,” Sarah replied, finishing her meal. “No time to dwell on it. We have to move to safety. Plus, we got that monster as a bodyguard waiting outside.” She nodded her head to the window, where they could glance at Carl, calmly waiting outside for them. Dani almost made a comment about Sarah forgetting her promise to destroy him if they managed to survive, but she decided against it. “I’m going to the bathroom,” Sarah continued, “you two finish up, get cleaned up. I’ll get us a phone and a vehicle. Then we need a pharmacy and a safe house. Don’t take too long.”

A moment later, she was done. Up and moving again. Dani was thinking about how much she would have to learn from Sarah, how much she would like to learn from her. Grace was thinking… “Dani,” she whispered, “Do you think I could get another one of these?”

“You can have mine,” Dani chuckled. She pushed the burger toward Grace. After taking notice of Grace’s frown and already knowing that was a sign for an upcoming speech about her protection and importance, she added, “Please, Grace. I can’t stomach it right now.”

Grace was reassured by the fact that Dani at least was steadily eating her fries. Encouraged by her deep hunger, she accepted the burger. “Thank you,” she smiled. After taking the first bite she made a sound of appreciation. If her attention wasn’t all taken by Dani and her meal, she would have attempted to think about how profundly human she felt. It was a comfort to eat this incredibly ordinary food and pretend everything was perfectly normal about her, her life, and the world around her.

“What were you going to say,” Dani asked her without preamble, “before the food arrived?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Grace shook her head softly.

It wasn’t convincing in the slightest. Even less so to Dani, whose stubbornness could easily match Sarah’s and Grace’s. But then again, there was something mesmerizing, comforting, but also so simple and easy about watching Grace have the time of her life eating ridiculous McDonald’s food. It rendered Dani speechless. It got her thinking a little. About the way Grace had gone through so many years without these simple pleasures. About the way Grace’s body worked differently, but the bigger part of her was always so endearingly human. About Grace in general, fascinating even under the worst conditions. Done with what little food she could tolerate and soothed by the space and the company around her, Dani allowed herself to close her eyes for just one moment…

“Dani… Dani?”

Grace’s voice eased her out of that unlikely sleep she had fallen into. The soldier sounded concerned enough to still sound like Grace. But it was undeniable the hint of amusement and fondness in her tone. Was she used to waking up her Commander from accidental naps like that? Was that a spark of jealousy that Dani was feeling for her own self of the future?

“Sorry,” she attempted an awkward laugh. “Let’s stop by the bathroom. We don’t want Sarah causing a scene because we’re taking too long.”

“Take your time,” Grace said. Her words were soft, her frown was unforgiving. The fondness between her and Sarah was reciprocated, but still complicated. Grace wouldn’t hesitate to stand her ground against anyone that tried to disturb Dani’s brief moments of peace.

The bathroom was another unlikely little piece of heaven. It was clean, empty, functional, quiet. Most importantly, it looked like Sarah had acquired a first aid kit from the employees and left it behind for the two of them. What followed was a slow and steady process of dealing with the most pressing issues both of them had. First, a visit to the toilet, sure. Then, washing faces, hands, and arms. Grace wet her hair, and was almost completely unaware of Dani's appreciative stares at the whole process. They didn’t have a lot to work with, and there were a lot of bandages and healing in their near future. But, at the very least, they had a small bottle of alcohol, and they did what they could with it.

Cut clean and bodies slightly refreshed, Dani had time to openly stare at Grace. “You’re incredible,” she sighed. She hadn’t meant to just blurt it out, but at the same time she couldn’t figure out a reason not to. Grace turned to look at her with genuine wonder in her eyes. “It already looks better,” Dani added, pointing at the wound on Grace’s neck. Back at the dam, it had looked beyond deadly. It would have been, to anyone who wasn’t an augmented soldier, apparently. Now the wound appeared to be closed, at least. Though there was still a long road of healing ahead.

“See? I still got it,” Grace replied. Technically, the smile she wore at that moment was small. But it was so… new, to Dani, that she found it to be the brightest most beautiful thing in the world. For a moment she felt like the luckiest person on Earth knowing that now she would have time to really get to know Grace, her sense of humor, her personality beyond being a soldier, all of her. She didn’t even have time to think about all the upcoming smiles from Grace that would soon come to lovingly blind her. For an instant, Dani opened her mouth to reply, but then she closed it and turned away to stare at the mirror again. “What?” Grace gently prompted her.

Dani took a deep breath, and started washing her hands again, quite unnecessarily too, but it was better than staring at the other woman as she said, “It’s just that… not running for our lives? Looks good on you.”

Grace stayed silent. She took her time processing the information. The look on her face was complicated. A small arch in her eyebrows showed she was at least a little impressed by the compliment. Then there was that absolutely gorgeous pair of expressive blue eyes. They were delighted, caught off guard, for sure, and very appreciative for Dani’s matching ease, the first time she saw her relaxed and awake since they met. But there was an unmistakable hint of grief, nostalgia for something impossible to recover, even if what was in front of her was just as good.

Dani took the opportunity to ask something that she hasn’t been able to shake off her mind. “What were you going to say,” she slowly asked Grace a second time, “before the food arrived?”

The expression on Grace’s face instantly dimmed, but she didn’t look too bothered about it either. “I just didn’t think I would survive this far,” she gave a small shrug, “that’s all.”

That’s all, she said. As if that wasn’t a pretty significant thing, Dani thought. “I can’t imagine,” Dani frowned and spoke in whispers, while Grace tilted her head and listened intently. “I can’t imagine… ever, you know, being the person that gives the order to send you, Grace, in a suicide mission.”

“It’s not like that,” Grace shook her head softly. She was leaning against the sink, staring at Dani with all the devotion she couldn’t seem to shake off her eyes whenever they locked eyes. “I volunteered,” Grace said, “I, you and I, we both knew I’d be the best one to protect you.”

“Why is that?” Dani asked, considerably more breathless than she meant to. Then she took a hesitant step forward, and nearly started shaking when Grace mimicked her move.

“Can’t you tell?”

In the back of her mind, Dani was thinking about how she could probably spend the rest of her life analyzing that question, and the way Grace said those three words. She was genuinely asking, she was hopeful, she was afraid, she was sad, she was… She was placing a hand on Dani’s cheek. Grace was cradling Dani’s jaw with a delicacy and gentleness that most likely shouldn’t be possible in a soldier like her, wounded, traumatized, transformed, and scarred. But Dani felt like the two of them were standing on top of a cloud, leaning forward, looking up into crystal clear blue eyes…

“A car is here,” Grace announced, sharply turning her head to the right and schooling her expression back into deadly professionalism.

“Righ,” Dani exhaled a heavy sigh, took an extra moment to recover herself, and added, “Let’s go.” Then, without allowing herself to think too hard about it, grabbed Grace’s hand and led her outside. She didn’t look back to see Grace’s reaction to her taking the lead like that, but she could have made a pretty good guess.

Outside McDonald’s, they met Carl. The retired Terminator looked at them with his familiar but stoic stare and said, “I hope your meals were satisfactory.”

“Yeah,” Dani nodded, “Thanks.”

“Is that safe?” Grace asked, nodding toward the car parking a few feet away from them.

“Stay put,” Sarah ordered as an answer.

Carl couldn’t help but take a couple of steps forward, to be closer to the stranger, to protect Sarah if necessary and possibly even against her will.

Hearing Sarah’s curt response, mutual fondness or not, Grace nearly groaned out loud in annoyance. She did tighten her hold on Dani’s hand. Which brought to Dani’s attention the fact that their fingers were still comfortably interlocked and how natural it felt to just continue to hold on.

“Hey, Grace,” she said softly, tugging a little on the hand she was holding.

With her attention back on Dani, Grace instantly relaxed. Irritation vanished from her face, and the pressure of her hand loosened a little too. “Yes?” she asked. Looking at her with that same exact spark of adoration from before. 

“Can I kiss you now?”

First, Grace just smiled at her. It was an honest grin. She genuinely looked elated. Not at all like she had expected this outcome based on experiences from a future that hadn’t happened. She looked overjoyed and relieved as if she was experiencing the completion of a dream she’d had her entire life. 

“Of course,” Grace replied, in the middle of taking a deep breath and exhaling a soft sigh.

Grace stepped closer, Dani placed a hand on the back of her neck, they met in the middle. At first, it felt like a spark, an explosion of all the action, the adrenaline, the terror, and the thrills they had experienced during nearly every second since they met. Then, the feeling melted into a slow and steady flame, it was comfort, relief, triumph, safety. It was an action of complete love, and hope, and the promise of a future together.

A moment of such levels of perfection, of course, could only be interrupted by the loud and tremendously inopportune sound of a car horn.

“Let’s go, lovebirds!” Sarah yelled from the window of the driver’s seat. She sounded like her usual self, even if she couldn’t hold back her smirk.

“Please,” Carl added, “excuse her for the interruption. Would you like to have an additional moment of privacy?”

“No, Carl, uh, thanks,” Dani replied, a giggle stuck in her throat. “We’re, um, we’re good. Yeah. Let’s… let’s go.” She could hardly keep her composure, not with Grace standing behind her, arm wrapped around her middle and holding her close, her lips smiling and pressing a kiss on the top of her head.

[heraldofzaun]

This is a post I’ve been thinking about making for quite some time, especially due to looking at how my own personal depiction of Viktor differs from what seems to be the general fandom interpretation - especially after the LoR cards released and gave us a few canonical acolytes.

I won’t beat around the bush here: this is going to be about why I personally believe that associating the Glorious Evolution specifically with headcanons about Viktor or his acolytes being trans, or Viktor performing gender-affirming surgeries, or things in a similar vein is a poor decision, and why I don’t include this interpretation in my writings. This isn’t meant to discourage people from writing Viktor or his acolytes as trans, of course - my Viktor is agender, although he’s not aware of it, and it would be absurd to say that his followers have to be cis - but I think it’s important to look at the implications that come from writing Viktor as explicitly someone who helps people relieve and manage their dysphoria through his work with the GE.

Firstly, no matter how you spin it: Viktor’s idea of the Glorious Evolution has always been painted in a negative light. I’ve done my work to portray it as idealistically as possible, but at the end of the day his goals have always been about removing (at the very least, negative) emotions from himself, as well as mechanizing himself and others.

“Desiring both to revolutionize his field and to eliminate the jealous human emotions which festered inside him, he engineered parts to replace and improve his own body... He saw himself as the patron and pioneer of Valoran's future, a future in which man would renounce his flesh in favor of superior hextech augmentations.” (Original lore.)

“He saw human involvement in any part of a process as a grossly inefficient aberration - a view that put him at odds with a great many of his fellow students and professors, who saw the very things Viktor sought to remove as the source of human ingenuity and creativity.” (New lore.)

“Jayce reported the incident [of Viktor creating a device that allowed someone to “effectively control” another person]  to the college masters, and Viktor was censured for violating basic human dignity - though, in his eyes, his work would have saved many lives. He was expelled from the college, and retreated to his old laboratory in Zaun, disgusted by the narrow-minded perceptions of Piltover's inhabitants. Alone in the depths, Viktor sank into a deep depression, enduring a traumatic period of introspection for many weeks. He wrestled with the ethical dilemma he now faced, finding that, once again, human emotion and weakness had stood in his way. He had been trying to help, to enhance people beyond their natural capabilities to avoid error and save lives. Revelation came when he realized that he too had succumbed to such emotions, allowing his naive belief that good intentions could overcome ingrained prejudice to blind him to human failings. Viktor knew he could not expect others to follow where he did not go first, so, in secret, he operated on himself to remove those parts of his flesh and psyche that relied upon or were inhibited by emotion.” (New lore.)

This, when combined with how Viktor has also always been intended as a more villainous character - his visual design language, voice lines, and how he leans into the “evil Russian scientist” stereotype all confirm that - mean that from an out-of-universe standpoint, we’re meant to see his ideas as wrong and misguided. Multiple other champions have lines specifically about how he’s wrong - Ekko calls him “everything wrong with Zaun”, Camille (who is morally grey at best, and a cold-blooded killer at worst) calls his work “quaint”, implying that it doesn’t go far enough for her liking, and Heimerdinger makes the point that without humans, no one will be left to appreciate Viktor’s work. It doesn’t matter if Viktor has good intentions - the narrative tells us time and time again that his path leads to a very dark place, especially in new lore where he’s comfortable with violating free will for the sake of preventing death.

It seems obvious to me that a character who auto-amputates as a way to cope with overwhelming emotions, who decides that emotions themselves are a burden, who is repeatedly described as having an obsession with the Glorious Evolution regardless of lore, who is described as who you go to when you’re desperate in new lore... is clearly someone whose surgeries (at least of himself, where they are implied to be unnecessary - again, auto-amputation) and end goals are supposed to be read as a violation of human nature and dignity. Here we pivot to talking about trans issues in specific.

I’m of the firm belief that it’s not a good idea to associate gender-affirming surgeries, HRT, or any other thing used for transitioning with a character whose surgeries are supposed to be read as a violation of the human form. This plays directly into the anti-trans idea that transitioning is, well, a violation of the human form. It is not a good idea to write the man who cuts off his own limbs to poorly cope with his emotions as a patron of trans rights. It’s drawing a direct parallel between Viktor’s auto-amputations, which we are supposed to read as not only a very bad thing and the product of obsession, but arguably self-harm, with life-saving medical care.

(There’s also the issue that some people seem to assume that transhumanism is, in any way, inherently related to being trans - but that’s a whole other topic that I don’t feel very qualified to write on. I consider myself someone interested in transhumanist concepts, when applied appropriately (i.e. not ending up in eugenicist territory), but I am far from an expert on transhumanist thought. I think it’s enough to say that no, they’re not related. They’re just two things with the same prefix. Please don’t confuse the two.)

In my opinion, Viktor should not be seen as someone whose work is a direct benefit to trans individuals. (Again, not to say that Viktor can’t have followers who are trans. But please, please consider before making him the person that they go to for help with transitioning. The man doesn’t even have a medical degree, and his canonical work is described as being all about function over form. He’s not the surgeon you want.) I don’t think that Viktor’s gender identity, whatever it may be, should be associated with his obsession with the Glorious Evolution - or at the least, it shouldn’t be portrayed as a positive association. (In the sense of Viktor using the GE/his own surgeries as a positive affirmation of his gender... I’m struggling to precisely define this at the moment, apologies.) The GE is, textually, an unhealthy coping mechanism.

(There’s maybe something to be said for a Viktor who has disassociated himself so far from humanity that he no longer considers gender applicable to himself... but please, be careful if you write this. I’m speaking as someone who’s agender: I’m tired of my identity being used as shorthand for someone or something becoming or being nonhuman. I’m tired of people treating Blitzcrank being reskinned as a they/them pronoun user as something revolutionary, if they themselves don’t use those pronouns or aren’t nonbinary. I’m not going to pretend that I’m the arbiter of what people can and can’t write, but I’m tired of seeing myself - as an autistic and agender person - represented solely by unfeeling aliens and machines and whatever else, and being told that it’s good, actually, because any representation is good representation. I’d like for people to be more mindful in what they write and promote, but I think that this is becoming a tangent.)

I guess it comes time for me to defend my own depiction, then, since as I’ve mentioned above I do write Viktor as agender. I admit that I want to see aspects of myself in the characters that I like, but I also strive to be aware of the implications that these aspects may have. My Viktor’s gender identity has absolutely nothing to do with his idea of the Glorious Evolution - he has no dysphoria that he attempts to relieve through his surgeries, he does not see roboticization as a way to move past the gender binary... he doesn’t even realize that he’s not a cis man, because he hasn’t had the time or tools to introspect on that aspect of himself. (He’d be rather confused if you told him that people generally tend to feel as if they’re a certain gender - he’s just... himself.) I’ve written him in this way to try to make it clear that he has always felt this way about himself - that the GE has nothing to do with it - and that it has no influence on his actions as the Machine Herald.

There isn’t really a good way to wrap this up. Again, I am not saying that Viktor or his acolytes shouldn’t be written as trans, nor trying to stop people from writing that - only that their transness shouldn’t be directly associated with his idea of the Glorious Evolution. I think that we need to be mindful of what kinds of tropes that our depictions can fall into, and in this case a non-mindful depiction of Viktor as trans can seen as equating being trans to what’s easily read as self-harm/a violation of human nature. I doubt that anyone genuinely intends this association, but it can be made regardless, and so I prefer to keep the two concepts wholly separate in my depiction.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. I’m willing to answer any questions that arise from this.

[fluffypinkbastard]

Watch me spiral into madness as I try to rationalise Luffy having no scars

This isn't what my medical degree is for but at this point only god can judge me.

So a scar tissue is the body's way of trying to restore the continuity of it's layers. It has distinct phases each designed for a purpose : 

The inflammatory phase to stop bleeding and fight any possible contamination/bacteria.  

The proliferative phase to re-establish tissue continuity.

The remodelling phase to increase the strength of the scar tissue.

Then there's the types of healing, to keep it short you either stitch the tissue together, like with Luffy's eye scar.

Or you leave it open when there's extensive skin loss and lots of dead tissue like his chest scar.

When a scar forms, the line of tissue will be parallel to the skin lines, not the usual criss-cross pattern our skin normally has. This is because a scar's primary function is closing the defect ASAP. You can see this with some one piece characters.

These types of scar are weaker than normal skin but they do the job of re-establishing continuity.

And here is where we say goodbye to reality and start thinking about the logic of rubber boy™.

Monkey D. Luffy has three unnatural traits that will effect his tissue repair

He is made of rubber, which means that all his tissue have the capacity to stretch and all the way to the cellular level. Theoretically this can allow the replacement of lost skin with the adjacent tissue stretching to cover the defect.   

He has rapid metabolism that allows him to consume and generate enormous quantities of energy. Luffy's body can again, theoretically, spare an enormous amount of energy for simple tasks.

And, he has the medically-unexplainable ability of regeneration. This might be due to active stem cells that allows him replace simple things like teeth.

So Luffy is cut

These types of wounds have neat edges and little to no devitalised tissue. A simple stitch or even adhesive tapes in Luffy's case can hold the wound edges long enough for  healing to occur. His healing process  -augmented by high metabolism - will occur rapidly yet it won't compromise the structure integrity, returning the wound to a near perfect condition where the defect, if found at all, is unnoticeable. 

Gaping wounds are a different matter. Usually i.e in the real world, they're treated by removing dead tissue, cleaning, then leaving them to close on their own. They tend to leave noticeable scars. So 

Jumping sharks yet again, I hypothesis that the rubbery nature of Luffy's body can take up a lot of beating before the tissue is considered damage beyond repair. 

Damage occur because of power transfer between objects and tissue. Since rubber can take up way more energy without being destroyed, a wound that might take a large chunk of a normal human being might look worse than it actually is with Luffy.

Not to mention that even with lost tissue the elasticity of his skin can close up any defect with ease, Turning an untidy wound into a tidy one, which will produce smaller scar tissue that can turn into near normal skin thanks to Luffy's regeneration.

The only time that it couldn't do that was with his chest scar

It wasn't a normal injury but a burn one, these depend on the duration of exposure and viscosity of the material causing the thermal injury. He was burnt with magma which left a 3rd degree burn. The tissue at the center of his chest is completely gone all the way to the deep layers, there's nothing to regenerate.

But you can still see that it's way smaller from how it appeared on the operating table. The surrounding tissue did try it's best.

And that's why all of his scars will look like neat superficial wounds that dissappear with time with his abnormal body's high cell turnover, leaving no trace.

[anonymousanomieness]

Cheat the Church of Integrity — Strip the Sanctuary of Truth — Compromise the Cult of Society — Life is YOUR Game

Introducing The Games (Continued):

vi. The Time and Space Game What better way to control the masses than to contain them within a limited number of perceivable dimensions and parameters by perpetuating a fictitious narrative? The nature of Time has been pontificated since antiquity; yet, there’s not much to grasp.  Time is only an intangible concept — a product of the imagination that somehow became so pervasive, that the vast majority took for granted that it is merely a creative idea.   When does the ego become aware of the idea of Time? When one is a baby, or even a toddler, one is unaware of anything called “Time.”  Even when a child is becoming “potty trained,” it is debatable as to whether or not Time needs to be grappled with.  One may claim that a toddler has a sense of how much time there is to safely reach a toilet before having an “accident” — however, truthfully, the toddler is not thinking in terms of time, but rather, urgency.  If the toddler delays going to the toilet, then due to its body’s digestive system, the toddler will experience a biological sensation, which will then trigger a psychological feeling of urgency, which will grow more intense the more the toddler delays.  The mental sensation of urgency is a predictable outcome of the biological sensation within the digestive system — but either way, it is independent of Time.  After all, the toddler will experience these sensations regardless of whether or not it believes in Time.  If the toddler has an accident, the toddler will not likely believe that it “ran out of time”; rather, it will simply accept — perhaps after some emotional trauma — that its body gave into the biological urgency of the situation, regardless of Time.   Contrary to popular belief, urgency does not relate to Time; it only relates to a sense of importance and high priority stemming from strong convictions, or pressure.  Time is an extra imaginative factor that we subconsciously plug into life equations, usually to denote urgency.  If you eliminate Time from an equation, urgency still remains, until you eliminate what seems to be directly causing the sense of urgency.  The toddler’s sense of urgency will disappear when it finally releases its waste through the digestive system.  Likewise, the sense of urgency that a person feels when they are holding their breath will disappear once their body insists on exhaling and inhaling deeply to relieve the tension.  Time does not contribute as a risk factor at all; the person holding their breath risks losing consciousness not due to prolonged “time” without oxygen, but simply due to a quantitative lack of necessary oxygen — regardless of time. Yet, we insist on thinking of Time as some independent force that “moves things along” on its own, like some phantom glacier.  My least favorite cliché is, “All things change with time.”  Time does not change a thing; rather, objects, including living beings — and perhaps forces of nature — make any and all changes. (It can be said that objects and living beings are, in a sense, forces of nature themselves.) Any change that is made to your reality is either caused by your actions, the actions of some other object, or natural forces — all falling within your consciousness.  Time is not a force, but an idea.  Regardless of whether or not you believe in Free Will, all changes that occur within your awareness — for certain — are not initiated by anything with the name “Time.”  Similar statements like, “Times have changed,” only serve to make you feel powerless and useless.  Sure, it would be wise to accept that you cannot control everything, as you may not be able to stand up to a hurricane…but are you seriously going to base your life decisions on “the times you’re living in,” rather than allow your imperatives to determine and influence this timeless present moment of your creation? One would be wiser to consider that Time does not perpetuate us; rather, we foolishly perpetuate Time as a fixed idea.   The Operators within the Church of Integrity, or the Sanctuary of Truth, use the concept of Time to their advantage in order to control masses of people without them even realizing it.  To be fair, most commoners enjoy utilizing the idea of Time to their benefit as well.  This is tempting, especially when you want to instill a sense of urgency within your followers so they will prioritize your intentions and act according to your desires more readily.  Hesitation and procrastination do not actually demonstrate an augmentation of “down time,” but rather a diminution of personal desire and the will to act.  However, you can trick people into fearing you, and therefore cooperating with you, if you introduce them to Time, and explain that they will experience an undesired sensation if “time runs out” due to a “deadline.” We tend to fear potential consequences.  However, these are only spooks — contrived ideas based on the concept of “after.”  Etymology shows “after” to be derived from “off,” as in “farther off” or “further” — beyond the present moment.  When we start to worry about what may happen after, farther off, further down the line, beyond the present, etc., we are less capable of enjoying what is right in front of us.  “After” is only part of our imagination, since it has not occurred yet! Likewise, “before” is only a dream, because it is not happening anymore! Only the present is occurring now.

• • •

Another obstacle to contend with is space — that is, the concept of space as a measurable entity within our immediate perceivable environment.  The vast majority has trouble questioning the validity and significance of space, due to being so caught up in the five main senses, and the physicality of surroundings; in other words, we are so convinced by our perception that all objects surrounding us are undeniably “real” and external from the self, rather than entirely mental and internal — within the self. That being said, it truly does not matter whether you think your surroundings exist externally or internally.  You can believe that your surroundings exist as independent materials outside of your perception, yet still agree that the concept of space is nothing more than just that — a contrived concept.  Space, let alone time, is not a phenomenon that stands in its own right; rather, space and time are tools of our imagination that we utilize in order to make sense of our awareness, and how objects within our consciousness seem to behave. A widely accepted system that is easy to debunk is that of “orientation” or “direction.”  Terms such as “North,” “South,” “East,” and “West” were completely contrived by human minds.  They each simply seem to describe a general path that progresses toward or away from a given point of reference.  For example, “East” is the general label given to a path that progresses toward the rising sun.  It comes from Proto-Germanic “aust-,” meaning “toward the sunrise.”  “North” is the general label given to a path that progresses “left” of the sunrise, as the term descends from the Proto-Indo-European root “ner-,” meaning “left” or “below.”  The word “left” is thought to derive from the Kentish or northern Old English term lyft, meaning “weak; foolish”; or from the East Frisian term luf, or from the Dutch dialectical loof, meaning “weak, worthless.”  Of course, these would be referring to the arms or hands.  Usually, the “left” arm tends to be the weaker arm.  So, humans conjured up a metaphor comparing a contrived direction traveling away from the sunrise to a weak arm that seems to be pointing in that same direction, when one faces the sun at “dawn.”  The “tangible” objects involved here — if you will — are the sun and the weak human arm, based on the temporary perspective of a human looking towards the location where the sun was said to rise.  From observing these tangibles, humans have invented the intangible concepts of “North,” “South,” “East,” “West,” “Left,” and “Right” to assist with navigating awareness.   It is clear how significant of a role the Language Game plays here.  It is worth mentioning that languages borrow from one another, which means that concepts and terms across all languages — even if they refer to something global, such as “the ground” — do not originate simultaneously.  The vernacular spreads through globalization, imitation, and repetition, and continually evolves.  It becomes clear how most humans instinctively tend to imitate what they observe, rather than constantly innovate.  This makes sense, considering when we are babies we must imitate our caregivers to survive.  Language and communication certainly assist with surviving and thriving; but this does not mean that it is necessary to build a world in your mind that gives life to intangible, invisible concepts — and then impose your imaginary world upon the awareness of others, let alone your own consciousness.   Within the Legal Game, lawyers, judges, and jurors use the Time and Space Game in tandem with the reasoning process.  The word “reason” is part of the definition of the Latin word causa, and the Old French word cause.  When someone tries to determine the “cause” that led to some “consequence,” they are merely reasoning.  It might as well be said that they are seasoning, since all they are managing to do is sprinkle your awareness with arbitrarily imposed suggestions as to why you experienced something.   “Where were you on the evening of April 4th, 1995, at 6:32 PM, when the sun and the moon were at this or that position in the sky?” “Why, I was standing at such and such coordinates, facing just Northeast of the Eastern border of the territory formerly known as Yugoslavia!” What nonsense! This is nothing more than a sly game — a manipulative tactic.  Yet, we willingly choose to play this game every day, never stopping to question it.  There are no hours, days, months, years, borders, countries, provinces, coordinates, or cardinal directions! There is only one “time” and “space,” and that is this moment! Awareness does not need a map, nor a compass to thrive.  Consciousness is not a chronological web of events, all pointing the blame at one another.   The winds will continue to blow, whether or not we measure their speed, or where they go.   The sun will continue to rise and fall, whether or not we trace its journey, or keep watch at all. To be continued...

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Super Soldiers

Recorder: *Muffled inaudible sounds* Volhime: This is investigator Volhime questioning prisoner 11375 Unknown: I have a name you know.  Recorder: *Sound of guard smacking prisoner*  Volhime: The prisoner will not speak unless addressed directly.  Unknow: *Cough* Whatever you say bitch. Recorder: *Sound of guard smacking prisoner again* Volhime: These recordings will follow the interrogation of prisoner 11375 after their capture on the human world of HG75, also known in their language as “Freehold”.  Volhime: Prisoner 11375, please state your name and profession. Prisoner 11375: I could but I have a feeling this jackass next to me is just going to smack me again. Recorder: *Guard smacks prisoner 11375*  Prisoner 11375: *coughs* Called it..... Volhime: Please answer the questions directly. Prisoner 11375: *Sighs* My name is Joseph Maker, and I was head researcher at the Vale Foundation facility on Freehold.  Volhime: You were captured at the facility during the invasion and caught in the act of destroying valuable documents.  Joseph: Is that a question or a statement?  Recorder: *Another smack from guard*  Joseph: This will go a lot faster if you leash your attack dog here from striking me every time I say something he doesn’t like, because I’m going to be saying a lot of that. Recorder: *Muffled sounds and alien speech*  Volhime: What documents were you destroying? Joseph: Research data, records, personnel files, browser history’s.  Volhime: Would that information pertain to... Recorder: *Sound of pages being flipped*  Volhime: “Project Crow”?  Joseph: They were. Volhime: Can you explain in detail what the project was?  Joseph: Take it you didn’t get any intact files then from my lab you fuckers ruined.  Volhime: Explain in detail what project crow is.  Joseph: Project Crow was the combination of genetic, augmentation, and robotic engineering research coming together to create a super soldier.  Volhime: To be used against our empire? Joseph: No, to mow my lawn and shine my shoes.  Joseph: Of course to be used against you alien fucks!  Volhime: What exactly is “super” about these soldiers?  Joseph: Combining centuries of knowledge of the human body and the latest technological advancements, we set out to alter the average human soldier on the genetic level and then further augment them with machine components.  Volhime: What genetic alterations? Joseph: Enhancing natural human abilities while combining them with favorable animal traits.  Volhime: Such as?  Joseph: Human enhancements would include faster wound mending, improved blood flow, condensing of bones to be hard as diamonds, increasing lung capacity, increasing muscle density, etc.  Volhime: How would these have affected the war with our people?  Joseph: Well for starters when one of your toy soldiers tried to stab a subject of project crow their blade wouldn’t even break the skin.  Volhime: *Writes down notes* Volhime: And the animal traits? Joseph: Regrowing missing limbs, enhanced sense of smell and night vision, ability to lower body temperature, thermal vision, adaptive camouflage- Volhime: I remind you that failure to speak truthfully will result in more extreme measures of interrogation. Joseph: I’m being entirely honest with you.  Volhime: I find it hard to believe that you could combine so many alterations into a human without side effects.  Joseph: The first few test subjects didn’t handle the treatments well.  Joseph: Organ failure was common, but we were unable to operate as their skin became so hard we had nothing that could have pierced their skin.  Joseph: Animal traits also needed to be spliced with human genes on a microscopic level otherwise they wouldn’t bond and the human body would begin attacking itself.  Joseph: After several failures we were able to bypass such setbacks.  Volhime: I assume these subjects were prisoners? Joseph: No, military volunteers.  Volhime: What kind of soldier would risk themselves with such experimental procedures? Joseph: The desperate kind. You should know, your people pushed mine to that point.  Volhime:  *silence, more note taking*  Volhime: You mentioned augmentation as well. List out the procedures. Joseph: The genetic modifications resolved most of the issues we had with reinforcing the human body, so we focused the technical augmentations to embed various weapons throughout the body.  Volhime: Would the human body not reject them?  Joseph: Normally they would, but we were able to rewrite portions of the genetic template to list these alterations as natural.  Volhime: This must be false. Your race lacks the understanding to perform such complex modifications.  Joseph: We know more about our bodies than you think, have known for years. We’ve just lacked the technology to implement our understandings until a few years ago.  Volhime: What was the purpose of these super soldiers?  Joseph: I’ll tell you if you answer a few questions of my own.  Recorder: *Sounds of a guard approaching to smack prisoner only to be waved away* Volhime: Very well. What is your question. Joseph: When you captured my facility there were other members of my staff with me, are they present in this facility? Volhime: We captured roughly thirty members of the research division including yourself. They are being interrogated here as well.  Joseph: And where is here exactly? Volhime: You on our homeworld, the most secure location in our entire empire. Do not think of escaping. Joseph: Oh, I’d never dream of it. Volhime: Now, what was the purpose of project crow.  Joseph: To create super soldiers that could infiltrate enemy lines and eliminate high ranking individuals.  Volhime: *Chuckles*  Volhime: It’s a good thing we stopped before you could create any.  Joseph: I wouldn’t say that.  Volhime: You mean you actually created a super soldier.  Joseph: More like “soldiers” since there was more than one successful implementation.  Volhime: Where are they now? Who are their targets?!?! Joseph: As for the who it’s mostly your high ranking generals, political leaders, and support teams stationed far behind enemy lines. Joseph: As for the where you should already know.  Joseph: You transported all thirty super soldiers right to your front door and invited them in for a chat.  Volhime: Wh- Recorder: *Sound of ripping clothing followed by several shouts*  Recorder: *Sounds of long metal object protruding from flesh and slicing shouting guards* Recorder: *Sirens begin blaring, pounding on door and shouting of Volhime in background* Recorder: *Shouting suddenly interrupted by cracking of bone and tearing of metal doors*  Record ends...........

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

Headcanon: Julian Bashir is autistic and has frequent sensory overload, and the only two people who can help him are Garek and O’ Brien. Me? Projecting? It’s more likely than you think!!!

Ha, moooood. Which on that note I have a somewhat intense fic here in which Julian has a meltdown. It’s not related to sensory issues so much as “oh boy a lot of shit’s happened to him” but if you want more O'Brien helping him out after this – so because we gave that fic to O'Brien, let’s give this one to Garak.

Also can we talk about the fact that it’s canon that Julian and the other augments can hear sounds at decibels that non-augments can’t and that it causes them pain, but Julian just taught himself to not react, like fuck, how did someone write this and not follow through on Julian-Bashir-is-autistic-and-or-otherwise-nd!

sorry for taking so long, a. this got a bit longish so it’s under a cut and b. I got distracted by the fact that I always want to see everyone’s notes on reblogs in case of interesting discussion points and i have just now learnt that that cannot be done easily if a lot of people reblog at once… oh hyper-fixation how you get me time and again

this takes place post-Doctor Bashir I Presume and alludes to the fact that during this time Garak and Bashir’s interactions were gradually stripped away in the show (because it too gay) - Andy Robinson ran with that in A Stitch In Time and had Garak write about how much he regretted the two of them not remaining close/hinted that he was in love with him… so take that background as you will.

—— More Space ——-

Thank goodness, he thought after an indeterminate amount of time. O'Brien was here. He would be able to calm him down, he would know how to come up with some soothing description of exactly which of DS9’s pistons or pipes or programs was currently making that noise and he’d either fix it or stay with him until it sorted itself out. Or maybe the noise was gone and the residual whining was just himself recreating it perfectly in his head, or maybe he was just too far gone by now for it to matter, but O'Brien would help. Since the two of them had become friends and some of Julian’s old ticks had returned after his augmentation had come to light, Miles had been a surprisingly steady presence in his life.

“Doctor?”

No, not Miles.

Garak.

He couldn’t make himself respond. His body felt like it was compressing him into a vice, with all his ability to focus somehow splintered into a million shards, each of them painful to the touch. Oh no, what if Garak touched him? If Garak touched him right now he might shatter or scream or something else entirely outside of his control, but talking was also impossible right now, so he couldn’t ask him not to touch, please don’t touch-

Garak sat down in front of him, far enough away that it didn’t feel like too… much.

“Doctor. You don’t need to say or do anything.”

He could manage that.

“I was wondering why you’d missed our lunch date. Very pleased to find you didn’t simply opt not to come without telling me, although I find the alternative to be distressing.”  He stopped talking for a moment then. “Apologies for breaking into your room. Again.”

While Garak simply sat and occasionally spoke Julian was dimly aware of the fact that he could feel his edges hardening again. The shards were being pulled back together.

He also noticed now that he was freezing. It usually happened like that, having sat sedentary for however long or coming down from some emotional extreme. He shivered.

“This station is cold,” said Garak.“The temperature, the lights, the people… all too cold.”

Julian managed a smile and it was like his mouth was freed from a curse. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Not to mention loud,” Garak added.

“All that machinery,” Julian nodded and spoke slowly. His mouth still needed to unstick. “Every time an alarm goes it’s like a sharp pain… I used to be… much better at this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to… I used to get these all the time as a child. Meltdowns, shutdowns, I think. But then my parents told me later that it was a side-effect of the augmentations and I tried to… to will myself to stop them, to bypass my natural instincts in order to not be found out and it worked, in a way, or at least nobody found out. I familiarised myself with and categorised any sights, sounds, smells, feelings I came across on earth during my Starfleet training and ordered them into lists and sublists: What I could handle mostly, what I could handle sometimes, what I needed to avoid at all costs. I managed to… to pretend. And then I came to Deep Space Nine and for awhile it was all too much again, I had to make new lists, but I managed, I really… I really did, I really did, I really-” he was talking himself into hyperventilating again, he knew this, but he couldn’t stop now, “- and then I got captured and it was like everything just stopped. I barely- I don’t even remember most of it, but when I got back it was so much worse -”

“Julian,” said Garak and the sound of his first name coming from Garak’s mouth surprised him back to the now. “Julian,” said Garak again. “You’re here. With me. On a floor that is quite cold, I might add.”

Julian breathed out and mumbled under the exhale. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

“What is that,” asked Garak.

“Counting my fingers. It… helps.”

“Noted,” and the easy way in which Garak seemed to have just accepted that he would be helping Julian again in future was another shock to his system, but then why wouldn’t he? Even if they hadn’t met up as often as they used to. Even if he was untrustworthy at heart and Julian could never figure out why Garak wanted his company at all. He found he missed Garak’s simple and complicated nature. It grounded him, somehow.

He got up off the floor, reaching out for Garak when he stumbled. He held him just tight enough to make sure that he wouldn’t fall. Not overcrowding – Julian suddenly remembered that Garak was claustrophobic. He must know how easily sensory inputs could become too much.

At Garak’s questioningly soft hold on his arm, Julian nodded and he helped him to the sofa. “Would you like some water?”

Julian nodded. As Garak went to fetch it, he began to talk again. Somehow… he just needed to get it out now, like an excision. “After the truth came out my mother told me that they’d been lying. I mean, they’ve been lying about so much, but specifically about this. I’ve always been like this. Or. Some of it. The meltdowns. I thought… those memories weren’t real. But now they are? Some of them. I’m having trouble sorting them.”

Garak handed him the water.

“I developed a theory,” said Julian, forgetting to sip.

“Tell me your theory doctor,” said Garak, his tone of voice tender as he sat down beside him, again, close enough if he needed him, but not too close.

“I was wondering why a heightened inability to process inputs was a side-effect of the vast majority of augments, when I had this inability before my augmentation. I started to suspect that it was less to do with the augmentations and was simply… who we were. The augmentations gone wrong could throw that into extremes, but that may have more to do with medical trauma responses than… anyway, I can’t confirm until I have more data. I did research into my own developmental delays, the medical history – it’s fascinating how we repeat cycles actually, first it was considered a form of possession or changelings, then it began to be classed under a broad form of what would be known as schizophrenia, then divided into narrow and still somewhat inaccurate categories of autism, aspergers, adhd, add, high and low functioning etcera, and then was gradually broadened again under general brain-differences known as neuroatypicals or neurodiverse,” he took a breath and continued: “- I’m not too interested in 21st century history honestly, but I know the government upheavals affected medical classifications and concepts of what was known broadly as “disabilities” at the time, and that it fundamentally shifted again once we formed the federation. But then -” and here he started gesticulating widely in excitement or outrage - “it all becomes the same just repackaged, doesn’t? Stigma against augments who are overwhelmingly people like me is stigma against neurodiversity is stigma against the “possessed,” it’s…” he trailed off. “It’s all the same,” he finished lamely.

He’d become very aware suddenly that he’d done that thing that annoyed most of the people he ever conversed with, running his mouth while forgetting the other person. But Garak didn’t seem annoyed. He was listening intently, in fact. At the pause he even nodded and offered: “The history of such matters is different on Cardassia. Or rather, mental and developmental differences don’t get acknowledged on Cardassia.”

“Eugenics?” said Julian with a frown.

“Not as such. We don’t mind in theory, as long as everyone can perform the tasks they’re assigned to. It’s a… class thing. If you belong to a powerful family and are expected to do great things in the army or politics or the sciences, being unable to do so for any reason is usually – what is the term humans use? - “Swept under the rug.” But then someone like you, dear doctor, if you had been Cardassian it might surprisingly have been easier for you.”

Julian shook his head. “My abilities are due to my augmentations. I’d have been… I don’t know. Not me,” he said softly.

At that, Garak gave him a look that he couldn’t pin down. Something… surprised for a moment, almost? Then smoothed out into an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. From what you tell me you’ve always processed like you do, you’ve just been given better tools to translate and more…” he searched for the word for a second, before landing on: “space.”

At that Julian burst out into an unexpected laugh. “I certainly have enough space out here. More than enough, I’d say.”

Garak’s smile deepened. “But it doesn’t matter. Either you were always going to be able to pursue medicine and the stigmas of your parents and surrounding society were preventing you from discovering that on your own, or your augmentations made you unlock new abilities. But on Cardassia someone with the kind of passion you possess would have done well, with or without them.”

“If I were born into the right class. And if I didn’t get arrested for being fundamentally against the militaristic state.”

“Naturally,” acceded Garak. “And I must say I’m quite relieved to find the incorruptible, perfect federation comes with its own flaws. One wouldn’t have expected it with the way humans constantly go on about it.”

“Oh, we go on about the federation? According to you Cardassia is superior in culture -”

“- oh, definitely -”

“- politics -”

“- without a doubt, my dear -”

“- criminal justice system?”

“- well, we’ve never brought a wrong case before the court-”

“- I know you’re just saying that to rile me up-”

“- my dear doctor, when have I ever been anything but sincere?”

“- when have you ever said anything you meant?”

“- I am offended, truly-” said Garak with a big grin on his face.

Julian found it the easiest thing in the galaxy to return.

“Remember to drink your water,” he was reminded, gently, before they continued their lunch discussion. It was a moment in which they both forgot that they had ever begun to drift apart in the first place.

—— The End ——-

[skyfall-good-omens]

Prompt: Ritz Hair

(inspired by this post)

“Temptation accomplished,” Aziraphale said, wiggling unconsciously before standing to follow Crowley across the park. He blinked a miracle – just a small one – and mentioned offhandedly, “what about the Ritz? I do believe a table for two has just miraculously become free.”

“Ah!” said Crowley, a lilt in his voice.

They moseyed across the lawn, without a care, without speaking. The world had reset, and it was as wondrous as always. Aziraphale was distracted first by the sky. What a beautiful color! That strange mix of yellow and cream that somehow blended into mute blue and orange. How was that even possible? He watched as a flock of pigeons circled them in a murmuration, shifting like the wind.

They ambled on under the delicately shuttering leaves of a maple tree. With every step, he felt years of dirt and gravel and cobblestone and cement layered beneath his feet. Around them, everywhere, life. Humans milling about. Going about the afternoon. Angry or ecstatic, or bored or triumphant. Every moment a gift. Every small expression of existence all but overwhelming because it was still here.

Aziraphale loved every second. He drank it in. He soaked in the happiness. Unbidden, adrift in his own thoughts, he glanced to his left.                  

Crowley sauntered, in the most exquisite expression of the word.* His chin was tilted upwards, his legs crisscrossing languidly with every stride. Aziraphale had to admit that, throughout their long and sometimes sordid history, he had not failed to recognize the demon’s innate hypnotic attraction. Well, what was one to expect from a tempter? This current incarnation though, he had to admit, was fairly perfection, at least where Aziraphale was concerned.

“You see something you like, angel?” Crowley said as an aside, not moving his head. Aziraphale blushed and looked away.

“I’m simply reveling in the existence of the world is all,” he said.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, and the smile remained in his voice.

They slipped into a comfortable silence, which was surprising in its own way. For so long they had relied on each other’s banter, the chattiness that would surround them whenever they got together. It was expected, soothing even. But now – with the apocalypse averted, this quiet between them felt somehow even more right. The cacophony of the street filled the space with its honking horns, the squeal of tires, the reassuring roar of engines. Everything felt proper. Back the way it should be.

Ahead of them, Aziraphale could just see the entry to the Ritz, and he picked up his pace slightly in anticipation. As he did so, though, he realized that Crowley had stopped walking, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. He turned to confront him when the demon, oddly, snapped time still.

Aziraphale backtracked and approached him questioningly. “What is it?”

Crowley remained in place, but just as his inactivity started to cause Aziraphale concern, he spoke.

“I like going out to eat with you.”

“Well, why, yes,” What a strange thing to say! he thought. “So do I. I mean that is where we are headed.” He smiled warmly and gestured towards the Ritz.

“No,” the demon said, and his voice had changed. Lower. More introspective. “I mean yes, but not just that. I just wanted to say, I really like going to eat… with you.” He moved his head in a thoughtful swoop to aim his shaded gaze at Aziraphale. “I like you.”

Aziraphale felt his hands draw together, wringing a bit in front of the worn front of his waistcoat. He glanced to each side of himself, taking in the fact that yes, the street was in fact frozen around him. “I…” he started, and was struck by the fact that he was utterly unsure as to how to progress.

He had said some… horrible things to Crowley. He had wanted for so long to apologize for a multitude of indiscretions, but the most recent betrayal was the freshest wound. And if truly he no longer had a side, then, well, he felt he owed it to his friend to clear the air.

“I…” he started again, “I hope that my actions have helped to alleviate any doubt my misguided words may have produced.”

Crowley bobbed his head once, hesitated, then said, “what?”

Aziraphale worked his hands together tighter. Oh bother. “I mean, I’m sorry. I told you before I didn’t like you. I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, that,” Crowley said and shook his head. “Good. No problem. I know.” He took a step forward, at the same time appearing ever so bold, yet hesitant somehow. The way he held his shoulders high, his fingers dug deep into his pockets. Aziraphale stared at him as he approached. Specifically, at a part of him slightly above his chin, and below his nose. When Crowley spoke, it was as if his words came from another world altogether. “I want to kiss you.”

The angel’s heart thumped. His entire being – his earthly form, his inner self, whatever he was and however he existed - stopped. For a very long time he processed what had just been presented to him. At a certain point, good manners made him attempt to say something, but Crowley held up a hand.

“I know. It’s why I paused time.” He shoved the hand back into his pocket. He was willing to wait.

Aziraphale said finally, very quietly, the thing that passed through his mind every time he dared let his thoughts wander to such indiscretions. 

“That would change things, you realize.”

Crowley shrugged. “Things are always changing.”

He saw Crowley’s eyebrows raise over his glasses in expectation of an answer. 

Part of him wanted to rail against the demon for being so unfair – even the voicing of such a thing in the frozen space between them had moved the needle inexorably past the critical point. Part of him wanted to laugh it off, as so often they did when things became a bit too tense. Yet another part wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, pretend that nothing had changed, and demand that the dear boy simply stop being ridiculous, and get on with the day.

But none of those parts of Aziraphale ended up having any say in the matter.

“Alright.”

The air around them seemed to hum slightly as Crowley, his companion for 6,000 years, gave no immediate reaction. Then he moved in that smooth, sly, easy way he did, flowing closer to him, then orbiting in a slow and measured pace an ever-tightening circle around him. Aziraphale could feel his eyes on him as he completed his circuit, Crowley coming to rest standing face-to-ever-so-close-face with him. Aziraphale feel his cheeks grow hot, his heart pound as if to leave his chest, dash it all, but he couldn’t find the strength just then to augment these infernal human reactions.  

Crowley reached with his right hand and ran it up Aziraphale’s cheek. He would have closed his eyes to concentrate on the feeling if he wasn’t so focused at not missing what was directly before him. Leaving etiquette in the dust, he watched. He knew Crowley almost as he knew himself, he realized. The sharp edges of his jaw, the fine lines around his mouth, his warm breath and his hidden eyes. Knew his humor and his anger, his buried emotions and his brash exterior. He yes, knew his smell of leather and smoke, and he knew there were still secrets he didn’t know.

Like the way it would feel when he ran his fingers over his temples to brush a wisp of hair over his ear.  Like how patiently he’d lean in, with a little tilt to his head, to hover a mere wren’s-breath from Aziraphale’s lips. And how gently and effortlessly he closed that final gap and kissed him slow and soft, like clouds. Or snow.

Aziraphale felt blessed.

“You know I’ve thought about that?” Crowley whispered, like a feather brushing through the air, “You. What you’ve done to me.”

“My darling,” Aziraphale said, not really caring for words at the moment and drawing him back in. He spread his hands wide over Crowley’s back as he pulled him into another kiss. His hands ran up the back of his neck, through Crowley’s hair, dancing across his scalp until any remaining tenseness of the demon melted into a moan.

That moan was the sweetest thing the angel had ever tasted.

It was like the crack of dawn. A shooting star. Like the snap of a delicate biscuit. And Aziraphale consumed it and was desperate for more. Their bodies clutched together, Crowley breathing heavily as he kissed down the side of Aziraphale’s face, down his neck, nestling his nose into the space between his collar bone and shoulder. And they held each other.  

“Supposed we’d better get a move on,” Crowley mumbled finally.

“Mmmm, yes,” Aziraphale mused. “Possibly to be continued after lunch?” He gazed at him and furrowed his brow. “Oh my dear, your hair!” He reached to attempt to brush the wild ruddy mess back into some sort of shape, but Crowley stopped him.

“Leave it,” he said, “I think I like it this way.”    

-

*Footnote: (Spoken of John Muir, founder of the Sierra Club, in 1911) His blue eyes flashed, and with his Scotch accent he replied: "...People ought to saunter in the mountains - not hike! Do you know the origin of that word 'saunter?' It's a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, "A la sainte terre,' 'To the Holy Land.' And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not 'hike' through them.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans Are Space Orcs, “Left Face!”

Just something quick for you this morning . Wanted to let you guys know that I have about a week before being back at school, so if you have any ideas you want to see happen, I would like you to let me know so I can do any planing now that I have time. Thinking becomes harder when at college lol.

Anyway thanks! :) 

The Rundi councilwoman was very nervous. She had only met humans a few times, five times, not that she was counting, and the creatures unnerved her more than anything ever had. It was a strange experience, a first look into their eyes and you were convinced you were looking into the eyes of a predatory beast, but look closer and you realized the guile and intelligence that drove the creature.  An intelligence that lead it to folding space before it even bothered with light speed. 

It confused her and scared her. She just wasn’t sure how the handle the creature, whether she should treat it more like a dangerous beast or ore like a reasoning sentient being. That thought was still undecided as she walked from the galactic assembly council chambers with her guard, which had been heavily augmented considering who they were meeting with.

The doors ahead of her were open allowing in the light of their main sequence star, a warm yellow in color, and their sky which was a pleasant purple-blue dotted with clouds. It was a pleasant enough day outside though she was racked with what seemed like the weight of an entire galaxy on her back. The Drev war was taking its toll on her. She would very much have liked to accept the suggestions of the Vrul and leave the creatures to rot on their primitive planet, but they were dangerous and intelligent, and they had made threats to the entire galaxy. Destroying their manufacturing plants was the only option, and one that was made increasingly difficult by the Drev proclivity for war.

Then had come the treaty signing with the humans, and out of goodwill they had pledged their own soldiers to the cause with the promise that they did, in fact, know a thing or two about war.

Why didn’t that surprise her?

With a deep breath, she stepped out into starlight, and was met with a small army of humans. 

There were dozens of the creatures all lined up in perfectly formed rows before the assembly chambers. It was difficult to tell the difference between them as they were all dressed similarly to each other in those strange human garments. The patterns atop them made it very difficult to focus on their forms as they stood straight and still in the morning sun. She shouldn't have felt so afraid, but somehow she couldn't help but feel a  small sense of threat with the way they held their perfect rows, with their perfect posture and their unflinching faces staring straight forward.

She had seen humans before, they never remained still, so this just seemed to be a….. A demonstration of their might by showing her they could force such a volatile species into absolute stillness.

That was all accept for a group of humans that stood out in front of her. They were wearing similar uniforms to those of their soldiers, though they had more shiny bits on them . The amount of shiny things worn by humans seemed to be an indicator of their status, also the ones that stood on higher ground seemed to be a good indication. She felt her innards crawl as the humans turned to look at her, their eyes darting the small dark apertures in their centers expanding and contracting as they licked over her body. Just watching them made her dizzy and she wondered how they did not make themselves sick with the strange movement.

They stood taller as she approached, and she shrunk down a little wondering if they intended the movement as an aggression or a show of dominance towards her. As she drew near the frontmost human raised its chin to her exposing it’s throat, “Good morning chairwoman, it is a pleasure to meet with you again.”

Inside she was internally panicking. All of their features were so much the same that she had a hard time remembering if she had ever met this human before. She frantically looked over the shiny bits on his clothing struggling to remember what she had been told about  their ranking falling into great relief when she finally remembered, “Oh, Admiral it is indeed an honor to speak with you again. We cannot express how deeply we thank you for this show of goodwill.”

“It has been a human tradition for centuries to help one’s allies in war, though it has not always pleased the civilian masses.” he held out one of his claw-tipped hands towards the assembled soldiers, “Take a look, see what you think. All of these men and women have been vetted, tested, vaccinated and are ready to fight for the cause of intergalactic peace.”

She nervously glanced down at their still standing ranks and swallowed, “Are…. they always so still.”

The man laughed, “Only when ordered. They are disciplined to the last movement and the last order.” We will demonstrate.” The man snapped sharply on his heels, “ATTENTION!” 

The chairwoman stepped back in shock and surprise as all the humans, in one synchronized group snapped their legs together brought their arms to their sides, “PRESENT ALL!” A hundred arms snapped upwards as if they were about to bash themselves in the head but stopped right below their temples eyes never moving.”AS YOU WERE” Again, like they were all reflections of each other the humans did as told never deviating. 

 “RIGHT….” Heads snapped to the right, “FACE.” With synchronized foot movements they turned to the right.

“ABOUT FACE!” They all turned in the opposite direction.

He leaned in closer to her, “Let's play a little game. DROP OUT DRILL EVERYONE!”

She stares don in concerned awe as the human began barking commands.

“ LEFT FACE, RIGHT FACE. RIGHT FACE, RIGHT FACE, LEFT FACE, ABOUT FACE, LEFT, AS YOU WERE, ABOUT FACE, RIGHT FACE, LEFT FACE.”

The square was filled with the clattering of the human’s feet on the ground in perfect rhythmic synchronization. The longer it took them to drop out the faster the commands came until the humans were practically spinning in circles on the field below.

“W-what is the point of this/” She stammered 

The human turned to look at her, his incredibly mobile face bringing the opening of his mouth up at the corners, “It is a demonstration of their ability to follow orders and pay attention. What I am about to show you next is historically the methods used for intimidation, demonstration of superior military might, and synchronization.”

 Other humans had moved into position behind him and began barking orders forming the humans into tight columns and groups. Around the square, other faces were peering from buildings trying to determine what the commotion was about, “FORWARD MARCH.” 

“LEFT, LEFT, LEFT RIGHT LEFT.” The humans walked past never stopping boots thundering against the ground at the same moment sending chills up her spine as she watched them move in perfect harmony, their bodies no more than rhythm turned into motion. They turned spun, and walked backwards through each other heads never turning to look where they were going, perfectly trusting the commands of their officers.

She found their method of intimidation to be working, and so seemed the rest of her people as they vanished back into the buildings with great haste.

When the demonstration was over she turned to the human, dreading the question she was about to ask, “And what military technology can you bring to the field?”

“That is a good question chairwoman.” He motioned to one of his soldiers, who hustled over carrying…. Well it looked like a big black stick with knobby protrusions. He took it carefully in one arm keeping one end pointed towards either the ground or the sky as he demonstrated, “This is a piece of military technology that hasn’t changed for the past thousand years accept to be stronger and more accurate. He pulled a lever at the side of the weapon locking open a tiny chamber.

“A round.” He ordered, and his soldiers rushed forward.

The human held up the little gold and copper-tipped cylinder up to her eye level/. “This, that pointy bit on the end is a bullet inside the gold part will be an explosive powder.” She stepped back, he held up the black stick, “This is a rifle, the bullets are fed into the chamber, the little hole right here where the firing pin will strike the back of the casing lighting the explosive and sending the bullet in a controlled explosion through the barrel at a high rate of speed into your target. Once inside, the more delicate metal is designed to break apart and tumble ripping your enemy apart from the inside.”

She stared at him in shock and horror, “You, you use explosives to hurl speeding shrapnel at your enemies.”

“Sort of accept for the times that we use explosives to hurl actual shrapnel of our enemies, then we just generally pack the explosives into a ball and throw them at each other.”

She swallowed hard, “I… I and what do those do?”

“Rip of limbs, hurl you to the ground, causing a pressure wave so serious that it causes the lungs to fill with fluid, or just kill you instantly, one of a multitude of options. We create them in all sizes, we shoot some from really big guns, drop them from the sky or even bury them in the ground to be triggered by the pressure of a misplaced foot long after we aren't there anymore.”

Was he threatening her, was she being threatened?

“I, I see, why-why do you not simply use energy weapons.”

The human sighed, “We tried those once upon a time, but it turns out the radius of an effective blast is closer than we would like, and like a taser some humans can sort of just walk them off. Better to rip open their insides to make sure they can’t get back up.”

She was feeling a bit feint, “I will have you know that the Drev wear full plate armor, and have a hard covering carapace.”

“In that case we will use armor piercing rounds. Just make this thing a bit heavier add some tungsten, punch through their hard outsides and into the squishy insides.”

She swallowed  hard, “Could you please not describe that so graphically?”

The human tilted his head at her, “I wasn’t.” His strange toothy expression returned, “Anyway each one of my soldiers will be carrying one of these, as well as a small version. A few of them will have the model that can shoot these over distances of thousands of feet.” I think we will have your little Drev problem dealt with in short order.”

She stammered and swallowed hard, “I…. I sure hope that you do.”

He reached out patting her on the arm, and she tried not to flinch, humans were very touchy, and she had a feeling that maybe it had something to do with dominance rituals, but she couldn’t be sure.

She just didn’t want to be touched by something that she knew could rip her arms off.

What had she gotten herself into.

[currentfandomkick]

Marinette’s Villainy Lessons with her Uncles, Victor Zsasz, Jerimah, Riddler and Ed

Reminder, the rouges know her as Jillian Strange and are aware her cover in Gotham is Jillian Smith in public.

Most people would think a hitman and casual murder would make a horrible, horribly godfather. At least for morals. 

Well, her father is Strange so he’s not most people. Her Maman had to have dated him or something so she probably isn’t normal either, Marinette would think as lessons began.

“Okay, now today we’re going to review how to take down  someone bigger than you. What do you do first?”

Marinette hummed. “Check what’s on them and around them. Look for weapons and weak points while keeping distance.”

Uncle Victor smiled. “Good job Jill!”

Marinette beamed at that. “Second step?”

“disarm them.”

“Good, now next thing?”

“Exploit wekanesses. Use weapons if possible.”

“In the kitchen, no knives open. but there’s a spork.”

“Spork?”

“Don’t question it. what do you do?”

“aim for the eye?”

“Good! popped out eyes are very distracting. Now, after that’s done, what do we do?”

“Run away and call the family.”

“And why not the police?”

“Batman will know. And he and the police will take me away.”

“And do we want that?”

“NEVER!”

“That’s my Jilly bean. Now, self defense in theory you have down. and you kept up with punch practice, right?”

“And kicks and the bendy-training.”

“Flexibility. You already have strength down, so we can focus on lean muscle like gymnasts and acrobats for you.”

“If i become an acrobat does that mean i have to be nice to batman?”

Zsasz shook his head. “Just because bat is in it, doesn’t make it his.”

“He calls his boomerangs batarangs. I’m not taking chances.”

--

“Now, its all in the wrist, Bend it back, like that, when the target is close.” Jerome hovered over Marinette, watching her form closely.

“I need to do this to take out the bad guys right?”

“If a bat goes after you when you’re with one of us, hit them hard.” He wouldn’t have Strange and whoever Jill’s Maman was after any of them for losing her mid-lesson to a zealous Batman or Robin. 

“Knees are better targets right?”

“Since you’re not allowed to kill, yes.” Jerome still didn’t get that rule, but whatever. His niece followed her Maman’s rules most of the time, and was adamant about that one. it made lessons more difficult, but they worked around it.

“Maman said something about it staining the soul,” the girl threw the knife, just missing the target.

“Eh, mine’s fine.” He didn’t regret any of it, something about him being incapable of remorse. 

“They were bad people right?”

“Of course, i don’t hurt actually good people--they make it so things don’t happen in the first place.” After all, letting things happen was bad too, and worse as far as Jerome was concerned. He still remembered everything his family did and how no one said anything about what was done to him. Silence and acceptance was far worse than doing in his books.

“Like Uncle Victor?” Marinette was still fuzzy on good and bad and the in betweens. her Father said its because binaries can’t contain her understanding so she needs another frame of reference or something.

“Like Uncle Victor,” Jerome agreed, watching Marinette closely as she sunk the next knife into the cereal box. “Now, i think we’ve done enough with weapons for now. Want to practice trapeze tricks?”

“But Aunt Harley isn’t here.”

“Safety nets are there for a reason.”

Marinette considered it for one second. Then bolted up the post and threw each trapeze into one another., making them swing for a challenge “I can’t fly for a few hours!”

“Good! Sooner you get used to falling, the less scary it is, trust me!”

“Okay!” Marinette grinned as she got a running start. She loved lessons like this.

--

Uncle Riddler decided today was a software programming day. And a cyber-crime day, she guessed. But those are always boring--she practices these with Hero Stalker and sometimes Max in Paris anyways.

“See, this is how you beat their firewalls, a simple virus that looks like a normal email. when it’s opened then we have access to the servers and get the information we want, okay?” Riddler was trying to be more clear with her today. Ed was probably trying to keep control.

“How long does it take?”

“Varies.”

“Can we get icecream while we wait?”

Riddler almost sighed. almost.

“Why?”

“Why not? We can’t build anything without the base and Father said no more autopsies in the kitchen.”

“It wasn’t even a human, just a bird. but nooo, that’s traumatizing and damaging to your mind.”

“But it was cool!”

“I know, i know. Bodies are just bigger puzzles... Hm, what’s broken when spoken Jilly bean?”

“The ice cream machine at McDonalds. And Silence, but that one’s an easy answer... OH! hero’s name is a honophone with crazy!”

“Batman.”

“Yep! Did he find the new base yet?”

“Nah, Dent got him off the trail last with another robbing spree.”

“Oh, is it going to Mr. Freeze for his research or bills or the RKC?”

“I... am pretty sure Rose stole it so your group won this time.”

“Yes!” Marinette fist pumped. “I told them operation bouncy ball would work!”

“....I. is that why they were everywhere.”

Marinette grinned back. “Just like you all keep saying, misdirection is the key to getting what you want when dealing with someone with more.”

Riddler grinned, the one that spelled doom for everyone else. “Our little jilly bean is already pulling off jobs on her own! I’m so proud!”

there was shift on his face, his stance altered and he was more... Uncle Ed than Uncle Riddler. “Jill, we talked about this. You need to be at least thirteen before you start plotting on your own.”

“I had co-conspirators of age so i didn’t break that rule!”

Uncle Ed was in control now. “I curse the day Dent taught you about malicious compliance and loopholes.”

“No you don’t. You’re just mad i used it against Dent and you missed him  tripping on everything. Don’t worry, Ghoul had cameras and made a montage.”

 Uncle Ed’s lip twitched. “Really?”

“Ice cream and we watch.” Mairinette knew her horrible stealth uncle had to be good at something. business things.

“Oswald is a terrible influence on you.”

why wasn’t this working? Wait, this is Riddler... “Ice cream please?”

“... fine. but no sparkly sprinkles.”

“But those are the best kind!”

“Jillian Strange,” Uncle Ed warned. “We do not leave evidence at the scene of a crime. Your favorite sprinkles leave evidence everywhere. Do you want to answer to your father about spoiling dinner again?”

“.... No. But after?”

“I want to know who gave you a metabolism like this, but sure. No telling Strange.”

“Okay!” Marinette ran off to the kitchen, returning with a large bowl for herself--half the gallon Ed noted--and a more normal serving for himself. “Here! and this is the video,” Marinette pulled out her ipad and played a few minutes of Dent tripping over various bouncy balls swarming his base.

“You really are a baby mastermind,” Uncle Riddler cooed. “Remind me to set you up with Puzzles later.” 

“Huh?” Marinette looked up from her empty bowl. 

“Nothing,” Ed said, almost glaring. 

“Oh, are you two fighting again? I’ll clean up until its over. Then we can work on the reality augmentation glasses, right?” Marinette asked with her infamous kitten eyes.

“Of course, I think you’ll like the new coding patterns we’ve been working on..”

--

Hope you enjoyed a slice of Marinette Strange Dupain Cheng’s Gotham life. 

Bonus:

“Jill, why are we missing a gallon of ice cream?”

“Uncle Ed took it.”

“...Please tell me it wasn’t for another biology lesson.”

Marinette thought for a moment. She is bad at lying. but letting her Father come to his own conclusions isn’t lying, right?

“I have to remind him that biology lessons are for his base again then, wonderful. I will bleach the counters. Put on  something while i do.”

“Breaking News,Poison Ivy’s Plants are out of control again.”

“Rose ran away again!” Marinette yellled.

Strange took a deep breath. “Get her room ready, I’ll call Harley.”

Marinette nodded, wandering off to find Ghoul and Frost in the ‘extra room’ already. “So who’s turn is it to tell Aunt Ivy to stop?”

“You’re here the least.”

Marinette groaned. “Do i get a disguise?”

“Green wig, colored contacts, and some baggy clothes i can feel you trying to burn.” 

“If i had heat vision it wouldn’t be trying.”

a few minutes later, the boys worked on fixing up the room while Marinette walked through the plant infested section of Gotham. The vines moved away from her, cuasing the few semi-conscious to stare at her. 

“Aunt Ivy! She’s on her way to my place, ok!”

Poison Ivy dropped to Marinette’s level, appearing from a bunch of vines. “Why didn’t she tell me!”

“You do this but at home when she does.”

“She knows better!”

“She’s six. She really doesn’t. Did you feed the flowers human blood again?”

“They were already dead, and they weren’t even half decent poeple. just abusers and pedos this time.”

“Did you tell her or...”

“They’re my children, why do i need to tell my non-plant daughter what her sibblings are eating?”

“So she doesn’t think you’re murdering for fun.”

“Oh right, that..”

--

Marinette casually curbing the rogues while learning how to villian and applying skills in the opposite direction will be a trend in the au. And they support her 100% when she does this as that’s their girl, theirs!

they tolerate whoever she adds though. eventually. 

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium: Cauldros

Ego semper amo. (I will always love you.)

The Beacon was one of several points that led directly to the planet’s heart. The continent it resided in had been overtaken by industrialization, turned into a burning hellscape. He couldn’t remember what it looked like before the fire consumed it, but the planet did. The image was shared between them. He would mourn the loss of life, but deep in the fire there was new life blooming. Deep in the Beacon would be where the planet created its new form, its very own life. 

The climb up to the Beacon’s highest point was a daunting task. His two legs carried him up the entire way, but screamed in fatigue during the latter half of the trip. The heat of the continent was getting under his skin, making him uncomfortable. But he reminded himself that he was here with a purpose. 

Today, the planet would no longer be a voice in his head, but a companion to walk alongside. As he stood before the gaping mouth of the Beacon, he held a number of flora in his arms, the ingredients he would add to the planet’s new form. He stole a few breaths before the planet spoke, the air hot and humid.

“Are you ready?”

“More than we will ever be,” He replied, unable to contain the anticipation that laced his voice. 

“Good. Throw what you have gathered into the Beacon.”

He did so without hesitation. The flora crumpled into the lava below, and in seconds ether began to form, began to rise into the air. The ground rumbled beneath his feet, but he was not scared. The scene before him was too mesmerizing, too pivotal to ignore.

Some of the lights began to condense and press into each other, creating a larger mass. He watched as legs began to take shape, arms, a torso, a head. The planet hummed softly, a sign that things were going well.

“You chose many of your offerings from Noct’ikai-lysium and Siy’valis-um, I see.”

“We wished for you to take inspiration from their light,” He explained, “From the energy that they harbor. They were hand picked from some of your highest locations, where the stars kissed each and every one at night.”

“The stars, you say?...I have an idea.”

As the body was taking fruition - a humanoid, certainly modeled after the humans that had crash landed not long ago - the planet mumbled directions to itself.

“This form will have fair skin and black hair, a contrast of light and dark found in Siy’valis-um. Their eyes...their eyes will be full of stars.”

The body’s face then turned to him, and he was met with wide, indigo eyes. They were pupiless and unblinking, but they held an unspeakable universe within them, an otherworldly hint that only he and the planet could understand. 

“Pong’netai-opta,” He breathed.

The planet chuckled.

“This would be considered an abnormality to the human race, but in this state, I cannot help but -”

The ground quivered again, but this time it was accompanied by what could only be described as a shock wave. The Beacon fluctuated, pulsating as the ether in the air flickered. 

The planet gasped. 

It was in pain.

“Where did my power go?”

He felt his heart ache, his stomach do somersaults inside his body. The planet, his beloved planet, was hurting. He didn’t know what to do, if he could do anything. The body they had created together suddenly threw itself from the sky and down back into the Beacon, ether trailing behind it. He cried out, and in sync, the planet screamed.

And then, the Beacon was tamed, and the ground grew still. He stared down at the Beacon, all remnants of ether gone without a trace.

“Are you there?”

His question went unanswered, but the silence gave the only answer he needed.

“Recover, dear friend. If your body did not form, then call upon us as you need. We love you.”

And he walked down the Beacon, his head heavy with regrets. Despite what he’d said, he felt a sense of relief. He was alone once more, but at least now he had a purpose to serve, a reason to keep living.

If the planet’s form survived, he would find it. If not, he knew what it wanted to achieve. He would be the one to help humanity survive.

~

No words were spoken on the flight to Cauldros. Elma and Lin didn’t ask Pongo where he had been, didn’t ask for clarification on what had happened during those long three months. Neither did L, to be fair, but at least he could pick up some of the clues and piece them together. Perhaps Elma and Lin had done the same.

Pongo had mentioned how drilling for miranium had weakened the planet, how Mira couldn’t communicate with most of its creations now. It was a sentient force, one that connected every living being that inhabited its surface, even L. Being spoken to was a rare occurrence, but feeling its power within him, its will? That was not a foreign sensation. It was akin to the Orpheans and their Ovah, a gut feeling inside his stomach, his heart, his mind - but in the end Mira was its own life force, not a virus, and it communicated through its miranium. 

And over the months after Pongo’s disappearance, there had been a number of cases regarding broken mining probes. Some had even disappeared from their positions. BLADE was startled about the whole ordeal; L recalled how Kirsty seemed abnormally panicked about it. It was hard not to be concerned, given how probes weren’t just the source of their miranium, but provided crucial data for BLADE by researching their surrounding area. BLADE had come to rely on the probes so much that they didn’t have a backup plan, and as a result the economy took a tumble. L hadn’t gotten that many customers at his store, nor any BLADEs requesting to use the augment machine. It was dismal, to say the least, especially after three months of never finding the culprit.

But, given what Mira wanted - what Mira would kill humanity for - the reasoning became clear. 

L’s hands clutched the controls of his Skell, his gaze intense as Mount M’Gando grew closer on the horizon. He’d been scared of this, of Pongo following in his footsteps, becoming a weapon for the planet’s devices. But this was different, he had to concede. At least Mira had told Pongo its plan. At least they were working together towards the same goal from the start. L could only pray that things didn’t turn out like it had for him. 

“Mount M’Gando, the Beacon of Mira,” Pongo’s voice echoed over the intercom, full of awe. “It is one of three entryways to the heart of the planet, but only this one can return me completely.”

“I assume your plan was to fall into the volcano, and the heat would disintegrate your body back into its original state?” Elma asked, a question that came across as more cold and morbid than L anticipated. 

“Exactly! It should be painless, but ah...well, I have never done this before, so I am not certain!” 

“You sound too excited for a suicide mission,” Lin said.

Pongo paused. “This will save Mira and all its inhabitants. I find it hard to be sad or scared about that.”

L opened his mouth, the makings of a complaint forming on his lips, but words escaped him. Pongo was a stubborn man. No amount of convincing could change his mind on what would benefit the human race, the indigens of Mira, all life he had grown to love and care for. 

It was admirable, almost to a fault. 

Time seemed to quicken, and with the blink of an eye L had landed his Skell next to Lin’s on the top of Mount M’Gando. Pongo and Elma exited their Skells first, followed by Lin. L hesitated, taking a deep breath before climbing out to greet the stifling Cauldros air. The warmth of the volcano abused his skin, smoke and ash and fire attacking all his senses. It was a companion to the stress he was trying to swallow down. At least the others would be able to attribute his sweat and heightened nerves to the heat.

Elma pulled out her comm device, and from the screen L could make out a new message. She scanned over it before addressing Pongo. “Vandham just informed me that Pharsis may be closer to escaping than they originally believed. He’s given me an estimate of two hours until she breaks free.”

Pongo didn’t respond. He had inched closer to the edge of the volcano’s mouth, staring down at the lava below. He was faced away from L, but he knew what his best friend was thinking. His silence spoke a thousand words, a tale of love and hurt. They were both sad that his story had to end so soon.

“So...this is it,” Lin said, her voice wavering as she tried to sound strong, “Do you really want to go through with this? Maybe we can find another way…”

“No.” Pongo’s fists curled at his sides, “This is the fastest way to ensure your safety. My death will reconnect the Endbringer to Mira, and she will fortify the prison the Everqueen is sealed in.”

“We could still fly to Noctilum!” She cried, “Maybe it would recognize you and you could -”

“Lin.”

Finally Pongo turned, and L’s eyes widened as he saw tears in his eyes. “I promise, everything will be okay. One life for millions - how could I decline?”

“Don’t you DARE.”

L was surprised to hear himself say that, and judging by the others’ looks, they shared the sentiment. But he couldn’t stop himself from continuing. “We understand the weights you are trying to shoulder, but we know you too well, we know you believe your life does not compare to any others!”

“L’Cirufe, please, this is not about that!” Pongo choked on a sob, “I refuse to watch you all die when there is something I can do to stop this!!”

“Don’t forgive our selfishness, but we would rather witness the world’s destruction than to lose you!! Have you failed to understand just how wide our love is for you?!”

There was a pause as L’s confession sank into Pongo’s heart, clung to his soul. L almost didn’t register Elma’s hand on his upper arm, too short to reach his shoulder. Lin switched her gaze between L and Pongo too many times to count, shivering despite the heat.

“We know, L’Cirufe.”

L squinted, and he saw that Pongo’s eyes had turned white. They’d flashed white that fateful day in the city, his body spasming as he fought for control, but now he was collected, free of pain. L stepped forward, and Elma stayed behind. He walked past a frightened and conflicted Lin until he was a mere foot away from Pongo - or rather, Mira.

“He has fond memories of your time together,” Mira said, solemn and wistful though the memories he spoke of weren’t his own, “And it is because of those memories that he wants to do this. You...you mean a lot to him, just as you did to me. And once he returns to me, you and the life I have created will be free of this evil. He wants that for you more than anything.”

“You must be Mira,” Elma came up behind L, standing by his right side. Through all that had happened, she remained calm, though this close L started to hear her voice shake. “You’re certain that this is the quickest way to stop Pharsis from escaping?”

Mira nodded. “It is.”

“And this will kill Pongo.”

“...It will destroy this body. I can preserve his memories and recreate a new body for him once I have regained more strength.”

“For that, you’ll need more miranium,” Lin said, approaching from L’s left, “We can do that! I can pull some strings and get some of the arms manufacturers to pull their probes.”

“I can also put in a good word with HQ,” Elma grinned softly as the new information dawned on her. “Rest assured, we’ll do what we can to help you. After all, you’ve helped us for so long without reward...it’s only reasonable to do the same in return.”

Mira wiped away some of Pongo’s tears with a gentle hand before extending it to shake. “Thank you...thank you both.”

In a twist of events, Elma didn’t take Mira’s hand. Instead, she rushed forward, embracing him in a tight hug. Lin did the same, and Mira’s hands wrapped around them both, Lin’s sobs muffled by the raging volcano. It was only after a few moments, only when Mira looked up and his eyes returned to Pongo’s indigo, only when he extended a hand for L to join, that he hugged them all and shook with the fever of his bottled emotions. 

The hug ended too soon. The three stepped away from the one, but Pongo kept his gaze on them, his smile betraying his eyes. “So...this is goodbye, for now.”

“When you get back, you owe me a hot chocolate,” Lin managed to grin, wiping away her tears with a sniffle.

“A hot chocolate, and the biggest, bestest hug,” Pongo added on.

“It’s hard to say goodbye, but I’ll remain hopeful for your speedy return,” Elma said, and L saw that she was crying too, though her tears were silent and refined. They shone like crystals, the light of the volcano reflecting off of them like stars in a vast sea. 

Pongo reached out to L, and their hands entwined. His hands were much smaller than L’s, a collection of skin and sturdy fabric. The parts of his skin that he could feel were slightly calloused, but they held onto L with such a soft and delicate strength. It was a power only Pongo could manage, and they remained a pillar for L’s shaking palms.

“I am sorry for how we left things in Oblivia,” Pongo whispered, “Even in my shock, you did not deserve that sort of treatment. And I am sorry I will not be able to make that up to you, at least not for a while.”

“Perhaps you can owe us a hot chocolate as well,” L said.

“I owe you so much more than that, L’Cirufe.”

Pongo pulled L’s arms downwards until they were at Pongo’s eye level. Staring into Pongo’s eyes, L saw the world, the night sky made bright and beautiful and contained within a single soul. He got lost within them, and he only found his way back when Pongo’s lips met his own. It was a gentle kiss, mimicking how his hands had taken L’s. Now he knew for certain that Pongo was his world, no, his universe. He was every star and asteroid and all of the galaxies that they comprised. He was infinite, so full of possibilities and brimming with life. 

He couldn’t let go. Not like this.

And so the kiss ended, and Pongo stepped back. With a final squeeze of L’s hands, his lips parsed open, finding the perfect words to end a perfect moment.

“Promise me that you will continue to live, and to bring life.”

L could only nod. How come words failed him when they came so easily to Pongo? When his hands let go, L suddenly went cold. This was it. 

Pongo turned towards the volcano once again, and with one deep breath, he stepped into the open air, his body plummeting down into the lava below. Lin gasped, and Elma clutched the young Outfitter as she weeped. L was frozen in place. Watching. Waiting.

Minutes passed. It felt like hours, to L. But eventually the ground began to shake, and lava exploded upwards not in a show of reds and oranges, but in wisps of blues and greens. He discovered it was ether when it kissed his skin, when he felt rejuvenated and whole. It rained down on them all like the energy mist of Sylvalum, and in the distance, L saw the lights of the Telethia’s wings. It roared shortly after, having reached its destination. L watched as it circled the Noctilucent Sphere, the prison of Pharsis the Everqueen, but beyond that the small details were uncertain. When the ground returned to its normal state, when the Telethia gave its final screech before heading back in the direction of Noctilum, Elma’s comm device started ringing. She took it out, and Lin and L crowded around, praying that whatever they were about to hear was good news.

“The Telethia came around, and now the sphere’s gone quiet. Crisis averted, for now. What’d you guys do?”

Vandham’s tone was confused, but the proclamation was a much needed relief. Elma quickly told him, “We’ll brief you on the details when we’re back in the city. For now, let’s celebrate our success.”

She put her comm device away, and then spoke to Lin and L again. “Let’s go home.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. But L couldn’t help but stay behind for a moment as it fully sunk in that Pongo’s Skell wouldn’t be returning with them to NLA. He made a silent promise to return for it before the three entered their Skells and began their flight home.

~

Secretary Nagi and Vandham were informed of Pongo’s sacrifice. Elma had told them not to mourn, for if time was kind and their efforts fruitful, he would return home soon. They weren’t told why or how, simply that his sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

Life continued as normal. L’s shop took precedence in his life, and business boomed, especially after some new environmentally friendly technology found its way into his hands. Jejebba ran errands most the time, leaving L to man the shop alone most days, but sometimes a familiar face would pop by. Sometimes it was Elma, having a day off from BLADE duties to stand by and chat during quiet moments. Sometimes it was Lin, who brought along new inventions and materials to market to potential buyers. Sometimes it was Mia, who more often than not stuck around for idle conversation rather than to buy anything he had to offer. Every friend who came by, regardless of their intent, was appreciated.

L fell into routine again, throwing himself into his work. Sometimes he mixed things up by joining BLADEs for a field mission or two, but those were rare treats. Besides, the city life was exciting enough, especially after the events involving Pharsis. He gave himself a day to mourn, and distracted himself enough that his grief faded into the background. 

The nights gave him time to think, time to stew in his memories of those long and painful months. There were nights he cried himself to sleep, though he would never mention that to his friends. There were nights that an indigo-eyed Interceptor plagued his dreams, promising him that he’d be home soon. There were nights were L believed it, and there were nights that L didn’t.

But he never forgot. It would disservice Pongo’s memory, Pongo’s life, Pongo’s wishes. 

And so he pressed on. A day came that was like most others, a busy weekend full of profits. Jejebba was with him today, convincing a potential customer to buy some strange replica of a red and blue geometric sword. It reminded L of Lin’s hairpins, and he wondered for a moment how she was doing. She hadn’t stopped by in a while, probably busy with her division duties. His thoughts about his friends consumed him as he fiddled with some extra supplies behind his tent, and he almost didn’t catch the audible gasps and murmurs of excitement outside. Curious, he finished up his organizing and poked his head around the corner of his tent.

There were a decent amount of people around his shop, so L initially thought that Jejebba had done a damn good job of presenting some knick-knack to them. But they weren’t focused on the Manon. No, they were focused on another human standing among the crowd, and that man was staring at L with slightly creased indigo eyes, holding a styrofoam cup in his hand. L had to do a double take, then a triple take. 

“I know I said I owe you more than a hot chocolate,” Pongo said, “But I figured it could be a good start.”

And from there, the rest was history, mapped out in their hearts like the constellations of Mira’s night sky.

[grimes-claireboucher]

GRIMES | WHO KNEW WORLD-BUILDING WOULD BE SO DIFFICULT?

BY SID FEDDEMA

APRIL 23, 2019

You can hear it, can’t you? The pulsing, panning synth bass, ingenious and instantly memorable. A gossamer coo, almost a sigh. And then a voice in an unusually high register singing 
lyrics full of menace, at odds with a calculated syrupy-sweet, faux-naive intonation: I never walk about after dark / It’s my point of view / If someone could break your neck / Coming up behind you always coming and you’d never have a clue.  

Seven years later, its power remains unmitigated. “Oblivion” turned horror into art, and, while drawn from a personal, particular experience, it spoke to a universal pain, a sense of predation and vulnerability all too familiar for women. Most importantly, it is a defiant act of resistance, a steadfast insistence on Grimes’ ownership of her own experience, and a refusal to be silenced. Pitchfork named it the best song of the decade so far. NPR named it one of the “greatest songs by 21st Century women.” Grimes was suddenly a cultural touchstone, a feminist symbol, a cherished member of the resistance. Everyone was watching.

They still are. Look at the Twitter fusillades, the talmudic readings of even the most flippant utterance, the team-joining. Feuds! With contemporaries, the media, her label. Gossip! A storm of it, following her spacetime-warping appearance with Elon Musk on the Met Gala red-carpet. And to hear Grimes tell it, being caught up in all this has been excruciating. She’s said that 2018 was one of the hardest years she’s endured.

When we speak, Grimes is in flux—emotionally, artistically, career-wise. But that’s nothing new. If I was to describe her with one word, I think it would be '“mercurial.” Or “protean.” She never stands still, never settles. She feels less like one person than like a collection of occasionally-combative creative spirits inhabiting one body. Hence the wide cast of characters in her albums, the fashion experiments, the accretion disk of material spanning mediums and genres. As I was writing this article we got word that she has changed her name—to c [lowercase italic], rather than Claire Boucher, and that the Grimes identity she’s built up over the course of her career could be next to go. For a journalist, she’s a tough subject: not only is she encyclopedic in conversation, but by the time you finish your draft, half of what you’ve written may no longer be true. While this capriciousness is a powerful creative resource, it can also make things difficult. She is a hell of a lot of fun to talk to, though—a whirlwind of ideas, opinions, wisecracks, and puckish self-deprecation.

I was given four tracks from the new album to prepare. But when I bring up the first, the disarmingly raw, strange, and lovely “Shall I Compare Thee,” she laughs. “I hate all these songs now. I might even replace them all. I’m supposed to be finishing the album this month or whatever, but I’ve been making a shit ton of new music instead. Which is a really bad idea.” She sighs, thinks for a moment. “But I’ll probably put out the songs that I said I’ll put out.” I tell her that her fans would surely appreciate seeing what she’s been working on. “Maybe, maybe not,” she replies, grinning. “I think the fans want me to stop making metal, nu-metal. Which I will! I have, I have stopped making metal!” Meanwhile, she’s dropping demos for an augmented reality side project under the moniker “Dark,” scribbling away on a novel, and thinking about a suite of “hymns, like glossolalia vocal music,” but which she “probably won’t release as ‘Grimes,’” as she explains it. She has changed her artistic approach, and is intent on unshackling her creative impulses. “I read a book on speed painting, about how you just lay it down and become satisfied with it. So I’m trying to do a bunch of stuff like that right now. It does feel better, because it just contains more life,” she explains. “Shall I Compare Thee” embodies this speed-painting creative methodology: DIY production, recorded in “like, two hours.” But the other single from the album, “We Appreciate Power,” is the opposite. It’s polished to a shine, conceptual, accompanied by a well-produced video. “‘Power’ is sort of the end of the old music I was making,” she says. “This era of super-produced and perfected sound—it’s sort of a thesis on that, a bookend.” 

She’s eager to explain the concept of the new album. However she feels about the songs at any given moment, she’s clearly excited about the story that they’re telling. “Miss Anthropocene” is a character, essentially an anthropomorphization of the concept of climate change. The name is a witty pun on “misanthropy” and “anthropocene”—the geological era defined by humanity’s irrevocable impacts on the planet. “All the media about climate change is like one big guilt trip. It’s super depressing, like, here are some facts that make you wanna go home and kill yourself. It sucks and it sucks to look at, so people just kind of look away from it,” she says. “I want to change that. In ancient Greek culture you have these gods that represent abstract, terrifying concepts. Like a God of Death. So I wanted to make Miss Anthropocene this idea of, like, the God of Climate Change. She wants the world to end and she wants to bring about the end of humanity, but she’s fun. She’s fucking fun and evil!” Grimes laughs. “Also, climate change is beautiful, even if it’s terrifying. It’s so nice to look at. The sunsets are brighter and more beautiful. Volcanoes, oil rainbows, hurricanes... destruction is gorgeous—people are drawn to it.” 

Miss Anthropocene marks the end of an era for Grimes. When it’s released she’ll be finished with her obligations to her label, and she’s excited about the prospect of working without contractual restrictions. “I’ll never sign with another label. I’ll never have to put out another album... If I didn’t have this whole requirement to release an ‘album,’ I would have just dropped a bunch of music ages ago.” The album format, she says, feels increasingly ill-suited for her shape-shifting, experimental style. “Albums are trash unless you sit down and make a really good album. I’m not really that consistent. I feel like I would work better in like EP-ish formats.” 

It’s not the only departure from musical tradition that she’s considering. Touring, she tells me, has increasingly become a stressful obligation. “I wanna retire from touring. I wanna do a hologram tour. Why do we keep doing them for dead artists instead of living ones who have stage fright?” Does she still get stage fright, this far into her career? “Oh my god, yes. It’s nightmarish. Apocalyptic. Terrifying, horrible. I can’t hear clapping or cheers—I just hear an echo chamber of death. I black out. Dissociation—I can’t tell what’s happening. After a show I’m always thinking, What happened? And people are like ‘It’s ok!’ I know people like the authenticity of live performance, and I do too. But I’m not a good performer. I’m a director who accidentally fell into this position, and now it’s too late to change. So I need to Gorillaz it—I need to find a way to not have to do the Beyoncé thing as much.” 

The sense is that Grimes is finished with facades, done pretending, done jumping through hoops to meet our expectations for what a ‘pop-star’ should be. Coming to terms with all this has been a messy and difficult process, but she’s finally feeling like herself again. She’s optimistic, if wary. And she’s ready to let it all out. Her forthcoming album, to hear her tell it, is Grimes unleashed. “I feel like at times there is an extreme rage that I haven’t been able to lay down,” she says. “A rawness that I have withheld from the public, because people always told me to make it more accessible. I’ve given that up for this, and it’s been freeing.”

She’s confronting her past as well. Miss Anthropocene was written during a period of intense self-reflection, and in the midst of personal tragedy. After losing others to addiction and overdoses, yet another close friend had passed. She hints obliquely at her own struggles with substances. It’s hard for her to talk about, but she has confronted it head-on while making this album, and is ready to be honest with the public. “I had early disturbing experiences with kids coming up to me and admiring things that were self-destructive. I was like, fuck, people think it’s cool to cut yourself or vomit or do crack. That’s not good! But then it became this stifling thing,” she says. “I don’t know. I’ve lived this hard, fucked-up life. I can’t pretend I didn’t. It started feeling like I couldn’t express myself properly, because I was so worried about being a good role model. It scares me to be hyper-honest, but we never see women getting to be that way. There should be someone out there that’s messy and fucked up—for some people this is how it is. It scares me because I don’t want little kids to romanticize certain things that are not cool. But I also don’t want to lie about the reality of my existence. I can’t make super honest or super emotional art if I’m always pretending to be cool and chill all the time.”

Grimes’ fans, who love her rabidly, have expressed worry at times in the last few years. If it seems she’s been self-sabotaging, whether online or in her relationships with collaborators and partners, it’s because she really has struggled. But unlike most of us, every step of her journey has been seized upon by a fascinated public and a cynical press hungry for headlines and clicks. And her reticence to tell us what she was really going through left all the more room for speculation. “Two of my best friends died before I was 18, and I lost like five friends to opiate-related deaths. Really close friends. I had one die when I was on a shoot, and found out while filming the second day. All this stuff, fucked up stuff, is happening. Before I would just not mention any of it. I feel like I’ve been through war when I think that all these people around me are dead. In 2016, my good friend died. They were a friend of 15 years, and I felt nothing. Just nothing. And it was so weird. But, you know, there you go. So you start removing yourself from everybody because you don’t want to face it. Life becomes too shockingly fragile, you know?” 

It hasn’t been easy for Grimes to engage with her past, but talking about it—in her art, in interviews like this one—is helping. “I’ve gotten better. I was really fucked up in 2016 when I wrote this album, but now I’m doing much better. When I was going through the Art Angels cycle, I was having severe PTSD, and everyone was like, ‘Don’t let the public know!’ I know there are people who think I’ve fucked up the last year, and I do need to be more organized and reasonable and thoughtful at times, for sure. But I feel my art is better.” 

Grimes’ favorite part of her job comes before she records a single note. “Dreaming it up feels so easy. The making and releasing can be horrible, but the dreaming is always fun,” she sighs. And that’s why she’s such an interesting figure, right? She’s a prodigious dreamer. We may love the music—I still blast “Oblivion” on an almost monthly basis, revisit the strange and compelling world of Art Angels—but it does sometimes feel almost beside the point. Grimes is building a universe, and she’s shedding the strictures that get in the way of that grand vision—the album format, her label, even her own carefully-crafted identity. “Part of what I’m doing is setting up the world-building. Reverse Harry Potter it. Soundtrack comes first, then the fashion, then everything, everything, everything. Then the book, right before I die,” she says, not really joking. Reaching this point of liberation hasn’t been a smooth process. Grimes is unfailingly honest with herself, her own worst critic. But she feels free, she’s happy with what she’s creating, and her ambitions have only grown. We just need to get out of the way and let her dream. 

[maidenariana]

Post-Op with No Regrets

Post-Op with No Regrets

by Ariana Danielle Wojcik  11/15/2018

You have probably seen certain headlines or heard certain talking points being discussed over the airwaves such as these:

“Sex Reassignment Doesn’t Work!”

“De-transitioners and Transgender Regret”

“Sex Change Horror Story”

et al.

  Exactly one incredible year ago today, and three years after beginning hormone replacement therapy, I underwent gender confirmation surgery or GCS. My results and my story are the polar opposite of these frightening headlines that are part of a narrative being pushed by certain groups.

Folks, lean in close and listen.. it works!

My life is good, great, and wonderful with respect to my surgery and its results. If this surgery is in your future and you are nervous about it and have read the horror stories, know that most of us come out of it with the results we were hoping for. It is major surgery, so you have to expect a long carefully monitored recovery. For me, it was so very worth it. In addition, the common feared road blocks of transition from legal name changes, identity document updates, workplace transition, the disapproval of certain family members, dealing with the loss of loved ones, laser treatments, online attacks, disapproving stares, being purposely misgendered and dead-named, countless blood tests, injections galore, electrolysis (even in the nether regions before surgery), the nightmare of dealing with insurance companies and billing departments, were all things I had to face. I would still say despite all of that, it was all worth it!

There are many risks, just as there are with any major surgery. There are possible side effects that could cause life long issues. This is all known and will be explained to prospective surgical candidates in minute detail by any surgeon performing this operation. This surgery is never undertaken lightly and represents the end result of years of refinement and accepted medical practice.

This does not sit well with those who want to vilify not only transgender people, but their doctors, therapists, surgeons, and parents. Transgender people are under attack at every level and this includes a targeted effort on whether or not transitions should even be allowed. As an example, I suggest you search for information about the plan of attack of the anti-LGBT hate group ironically named the “Family Research Council”. The problem with all of the efforts from groups like the FRC is that their hatred and dismissal of the existence of transgender people is based on their own “beliefs” and not on reality. The medical professionals who actually study and understand this topic fully support the practices of hormone replacement therapy, and gender confirmation surgery for those that require either treatment. They do this because it is the right, and extremely successful treatment path for many transgender people. Transgender people exist and have been a part of the human condition throughout history. Attempting to erase us from history will not succeed. These groups like the FRC are wasting their time, breath, and money from donors who often do not even realize they are funding hate.

Many transgender women contact me every week asking questions about my transition and surgery, often expressing worry that surgery is a long shot to be successful. When external efforts to cast doubt and fear on transgender health practices cause confusion among those who deeply need help, it is time to speak up. I am writing all of this to try and address those concerns and to discount some of the stigma regarding this surgery and transition.

Can you find examples out there of people who regretted transitioning?

Yes, you can find a small number of cases of people who experience regret. In fact you can find those rather easily because those cases are purposely and inaccurately touted by motivated anti-LGBT groups as the “consistent and unfortunate experience” for those who have this surgery. This is not accurate. Thousands and thousands of transition related surgeries are performed every year by surgeons across the globe. There is a growing number of surgeons in the United States and the numbers of surgeries performed is only growing, not shrinking. My surgery was performed in Chicago, IL by one of the more recent additions to the experts in this field.

Do I worry that no surgery could ever make me a real (insert societal definition of a certain gender type here)?

Nope, not a concern. I underwent gender confirmation surgery because it was right for me. My doctors, (yes plural), my surgical team, my therapist and psychiatrist (a therapist and psychiatrist are both required by the WPATH standards of care) all agreed that this surgery was right for me as a medically accepted treatment for my personal health and well being. Who is anyone else to think they have a right to get in between that circle of people? My doctors, surgical team, therapist, psychiatrist, and I are the only ones that should have input into whether or not gender confirmation surgery is right for me. Every other person on the planet should rightfully decline from attempting to insert themselves into that discussion. To do so is to tamper with things they do not understand. This goes for people in government, religious institutions, water-cooler discussions at the office, people online, family members at Thanksgiving dinner, really anyone. Do not presume you know better than the true experts involved in a person’s care.  The surgeons who perform this medically necessary surgery should never have their professionalism questioned in the slightest bit.

Detractors will try to argue semantics about whether or not this surgery actually changes a person’s sex/gender often interchanging the two as if they are synonyms (they are not). By now most people have probably heard the commonly used quips, such as the often tweeted “you can’t change chromosomes” (which of course is now widely accepted to be an inadequate single determining factor of one’s gender). We could spend time refuting every “argument” but I simply see no need for me to do so. Do you know why? I AM HAPPY. Now at age 44 as a “late transitioner,” my life is just one of many that are the ultimate refute to all of those who attempt to misinform and to spread hate regarding transition and surgery.

Four years ago, I was suddenly happier than I had ever been just weeks after beginning hormone replacement therapy or HRT. Having your body and brain in sync with the correct hormones alleviates so many of the issues that transgender people face. It is something that has to be experienced to fully understand it. I was more in sync after starting HRT than I had ever been as a human being. It only got better from there as the hormone replacement therapy advanced and slowly over time did its work to reshape my body. It is funny how many of the detractors out there do not even understand what hormone replacement therapy actually entails. Our hormone levels are closely monitored by our doctors and this means that at any given time we know our levels are the same as those of any non-transgender woman. With that comes the expected changes to our bodies. Yes, we do actually grow breasts and our body shape can dramatically change only with HRT. I have had people admit to me they assumed all transgender women get breast augmentation, not knowing that we “grow our own”. It’s a second puberty after all and a “body reset”. We experience not only the obvious breast growth and softer, thicker hair, but softer skin, changes in things like our overall temperament, sense of smell, sense of touch, range of emotion (such highs and lows now!), energy levels, and most importantly, we find a sense of peace within ourselves. It’s miraculous what finally having the right hormones for our transgender bodies does for us. The happiness I experienced was so palpable that it just flowed out of me constantly. Despite the difficult circumstances brought about in social transition, the physical transition is life giving and life affirming. Gender confirmation surgery, for some like me, takes all of that happiness to another level of magnitude. No regrets.

What were my reasons for having surgery? 

Was I “so gay” that I just had to have surgery so I could have sex with men?

Nope, it’s all about just being me. “Just be you,” became my mantra. Even if I never had sex with anyone else again, surgery was still my path. In fact, sex and future sexual prospects were of very little concern to me as I sought help. The gender (binary or non!) of any current or future sexual partners of mine is my business, but the point here is that a certain type of sex act was never a driving factor in the least bit in my decision to transition or to have surgery.

Was I some loser who could not cut it “as a man.”

Nope, I already had the “American Dream.” By American societal standards, I had it all. You would have known me then as a college grad with a successful career supporting a family on one income with a lovely house, two cars, a nice yard, and a garage. The problem was, there was the painful fact that I experienced all of that while not ever being free to be me. I stopped myself from being me because of fear and denial and eventually I had to address it because my health was starting to fail as I rotted from the inside out.

Was I a “pervert” that wanted to dress in women’s clothes because it excited me sexually, so much so that I would undergo surgery for the privilege?

No. Are you serious? Not even close. The stigma and hatred towards transgender women specifically gets a lot of fuel from the lie that we are perverts or sexually driven (As a side note, it is interesting how transgender men are not targeted the same way). Far right religious groups are nothing but consistent when it comes to attacking sexually driven behavior of all kinds. Please understand that I am not judging fetish driven cross-dressers here. I am merely pointing out that there is a difference between us. Heterosexual cross-dressers are men who choose to wear women’s clothing because it excites them. They can spend time enjoying that practice, but then they happily go back to their often very manly and very “normal” life. When people open up their minds and accept that people can be born transgender, then they can also understand that what is different about us is that we are simply wearing the clothing that is appropriate for our gender. I was actually being forced to crossdress in men’s clothing most of my life because I was not being honest with myself about the fact that I was a transgender woman. Nowadays, I regularly get excited about finding a super cute dress on sale and will tweet about it and post pics on Instagram for my girlfriends to see. “Look at the bargain I found!” They get excited and I get excited. I just don’t get that excited. Am I being clear enough there? It doesn’t turn me on. Get it now? The same goes for heels and tights. Nope, no heels or tights fetish here. I like practical boots and sandals. I work in an office you all, so wearing tights is called for with certain outfits, it does not mean I am a walking, quivering, mass of constant sexual excitement because I own and wear tights. I should be so lucky if it were that easy! Do some transgender women have a particular thing for heels or tights? Sure they do, but then any given human being regardless of gender can also have a “thing” for tights or heels or other things. All people have kinks, it’s a part of life. I am so glad we do, otherwise we would be a boring species. I am merely further pointing out that the stereotype that transgender women are by default fetishists regarding clothing and sex fantasies is complete garbage. We may have other kinks just like anyone else, but don’t falsely assign to me things that just aren’t there!

Was I ever suicidal?

No, I was not healthy though. Until I made the decision to finally admit to myself and the world at large that I was transgender, my health was at a steady drastic decline. By the time I finally began to accept myself, I was overweight (over 65 lbs lost by this point), with high-cholesterol and on cholesterol medication, considered pre-diabetic, and I was experiencing heart palpitations regularly. I reduced and eliminated all of those negative health conditions by transitioning and beginning to actually care about myself and my body again.

  Eventually, staying in shape and being mindful of what I put into my body became easy once I began to accept and love myself for who I was.

  You can see much more regarding my transition on my advocacy website and specifically you may want to check out my Gender Reveal Pictorial and my Full Timeline.

Other Questions to Address

Did you worry about dying alone and unloved if you underwent surgery?

No. Despite what people like Ray Blanchard think. The often quoted transphobe once tweeted “One social problem of MTF trans can’t be solved by legislation: Finding attractive men or women who want to sleep with them”. I did not worry about dying alone and I am very happy to report that dating has been an amazing experience since I began transitioning (both pre and post op). Dating is all about conquering your own fears about the act of dating itself, whether you are a transgender person or not. Also, people who are confident and comfortable with who they are tend to have the most success when dating. Aside from dating, I have built a large group of friends since beginning transition. Being happy with myself allowed me to connect with people more easily and through a purposeful effort of making social connections by attending events and joining groups I was interested in. I now have a much larger collection of friends than I ever have had in my life.

What should you do when you see a quote from someone with a PhD who detracts from the practice of HRT and GCS?

Know that they likely have a paper trail of transphobia or are part of an organization that is backed by known LGBT hate groups. Do actual research and see what is behind their statements, and you will likely find an agenda. My agenda in writing about this is not to promote “turning people transgender” as if that was even possible. My agenda is to speak out against the lies, stigma, and misinformation that for a long time prevented me from being myself and being happy living the life I was meant to lead, which I am now privileged to be doing. I made it through. I am a success story like many others who came before me. I have zero regret and zero shame about the fact that I was born a transgender woman. I also have zero regrets regarding undergoing surgery. Rather than falling silent and again hiding, I wish to clearly tell my sisters out there that they need to know transition and even the big scary surgery that is possibly in your future was all worth it for me.

At long last, I have achieved the basic equilibrium of self that everyone else in the world who is not transgender has a much better hope of finding. Most of you reading this had the privilege of being complete after your first puberty. It took me two, followed by an amazing surgical procedure to find that equilibrium of self. Other than those differences, we are all just people. Transgender people deserve the same level of respect that you would provide any other person. You may “not understand” us, but have you actually tried to? Are you instead believing the negative things being said about us? We do not seek special rights or privileges that take away from your rights. Our fight is about our safety and our basic rights (the same rights you hold to be self-evident) being protected.

How do you remain positive despite the climate in this country and in the world at large for transgender people?

It is amazing what freeing yourself from the concern of what other people think of you can do for your well being. Most human beings have a tendency to want to conform to what those around us expect of us even if it is completely contradictory to who we are as a person. Overcoming that fear of letting people know who we really are is a key part of every human being’s growth and speaks to their level of maturity as an individual. By overcoming that fear and beginning to transition, it is easy for me to project positivity because that just flows from me now. Being right with yourself is a major key to happiness. It makes you a better person. It makes you a better partner, parent, friend, boss, employee, and a better citizen of the world.

  Do you still experience lack of acceptance from friends or family? 

Unfortunately, in certain cases, yes I do. However, that sadness will never eclipse the happiness and overwhelming level of acceptance I have received from so many others, but most importantly, from myself! By the way, one of the best days in my life mid-transition was when after giving them many months to adjust by wearing only androgynous clothing, both of my children told me, “You can come pick us up ‘as yourself’ today!” One of the first things they said upon seeing me ‘as myself’ was, “Oh it’s not really that different. You are still just you.” Yes. They nailed it. Also, I have reconnected even with many friends from my past whom I had made the mistake of pulling away from before I transitioned.

Do you think there is an age that is too young to transition?

I would not for one second attempt to insert myself into that circle I mentioned before of doctors, surgical teams, therapists, psychiatrists, and their patients, and in some cases the parents of young patients. It is for them to decide on the best care and approach and timing. As a young child, growing up in such a different time period, I was unable to express what was going on inside. The explanations were all hidden from me back then and I did not know how to vocalize any of this. I learned to fear it all at a very young age. I could never have imagined the wonderful possibilities my life would hold at that young age or even well into my thirties when I was still fighting against fear, stigma, and self hatred instead of acceptance. You have no idea the damage that causes over time and the wonderful release of it all once it is gone.

How do we get past the stereotypes that stop us all from communicating?

I was able to transition in place while still working with my long standing employer. It is a company based in Alabama and I was at first worried about the attitudes and reaction I would receive from the people in my company who live down South. I have to apologize, because this was an example of me believing in stereotypes. I was so wrong to do that. Thank you to all of my co-workers for proving I was in the wrong to worry about that. We all to some extent can let stereotypes influence us, which is why I bother to try to educate the general public about people like me. Some day, I hope you all have the privilege of knowing someone who has transitioned. Chances are that you already do and may not know it. Please consider looking past stereotypes, misconceptions, and those using hate as a weapon and become a more vocal supporter of transgender people. You might just learn you are already a friend to one of us.

Well, at least now you know one. My name is Ariana, and I am Post-op with No Regrets!

LGBT Hate Group List provided by the SPLC: https://www.splcenter.org/fighting-hate/extremist-files/ideology/anti-lgbt

Post-Op with No Regrets was originally published on arianadanielle.com - Visit this page for full size images and the most recent version of this story.

[ivedonestranger]

Chapters: 24/?

Fandom: Teen Titans (Animated Series), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jinx/Raven (DCU) Characters: Raven (DCU), Cyborg (Character), Robin (DCU), Beast Boy, Batman, Green Lantern, Diana (Wonder Woman), Superman (DCU), Blue Beetle (DCU), Jinx (DCU), Koriand'r (DCU), Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), See-More, Dorcas "Godiva" Leigh (DCU), Jason Woodrue, Bulletman, Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Zatanna Zatara, Komand'r (DCU), Stephen Strange, Karen Beecher, Kyd Wykkyd, Gizmo (DCU) Additional Tags: Multiple Crossovers, World Domination, Epic, Dark, Canon Temporary Character Death, Minor Character Death Series: Part 1 of The Midnight Saga Summary:

Though there were some in the know when it came to multiple realities, very few understood how expansive it was. Not only were their realities that changed fundamental parts of the known quantities, but there were also realities out there that were entirely different. Worse, there was something between those realities, and it wanted to get in.

All it needed was someone to open the door. She was his way in.

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

It was time.

The feeling flooded through Raven like a dawning truth, and it caused her eyes to pop open. She felt the thrum of excitement, the primordial terror of failure, and the fact everything was about to change permanently.

Raven and Jinx's naked bodies were intertwined among the blankets and pillows in her room of the Fortress and the pinkette mode in protest when Raven pushed her off. The woman walked over to the windows and throwing them open to allow the light to flood in. The rain from last night left everything glistening in the morning light as the sun came up.

It was time.

"Wake up, Jinx," Raven ordered as she pulled on her dark dress and fastened the control gem around her throat.

"Just five more minutes, Mistress," Jinx muttered rolling on her stomach and burying her head in the pillows. The Midnight Empress scooped up the leather belt and gave a good swat across the sleepy girl's exposed posterior which caused her to yelp and fall out of bed.

Fastening the belt around her waist, Raven leaned down to the surprised and sleepy girl.

"It's time."

The knowledge that the world was on a knife's edge was not lost on Robin when Batman signaled for the pullback of his team from Boulder. They all knew the alignment of the realities would give their lost friend a clear shot at opening the portal to Sovereign's prison.

The Quinn jet that had picked them up screeched through the sky towards the rendezvous, only miles away from Boulder, Colorado at the foot of Apache Peak. They did not want to sit on top of the portal point in fear of the rupture, destroying their chance to stop the evil creature. Robin leaned forward with hands together while Cyborg and Gizmo were going over some of their gadgets.

"You get the briefing, Robin?" Clint asked in the jumpsuit beside him. Robin nodded without looking at the bow and arrow wielding Avenger.

"We're air support on the southern flank. We're to keep Midnight's troops busy so Superman and Shazam can close in on Sovereign."

"And the Midnight Empress."

"Yes."

"You gonna be okay, kid?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Had they ever had a choice. Weren't he and his friends just curled up in Titan's tower only over a year ago eating pizza and watching movies? Now, he was part of an army that was trying their best to murder a woman that he once cared so much about.

'Not murder. Stop.'

This was war, and this was something that needed to be done to preserve the rest of reality.

"T minus 13 hours before optimal alignment," Iron Man's voice came through the speakers. His suit of armor flying in formation beside them. "Then, the party begins."

The Armies of Midnight rose like a dark cloud from the Fortress. The heroes and metas that allied with her taking the lead of Millinium's minions. The giant cyber bug himself was not far, towering over her thin frame like an ever-present watchdog with the power to level streets. Raven strode out among the troops, humans who had joined her cause, Metas who saw the truth of Sovereign and the cybernetic bugs that followed Sovereign's oldest ally.

Even clans of the Kaz-Kal, space insectoids from another galaxy had joined her cause, probably sensing the impending doom if they continued to resist. Blackfire and Jinx stood in the front of their legions, their heavy black outfit mirroring her own in their own unique cut. Jinx was showing some skin while Blackfire's resembled more battle armor of Tamaran.

"Lead, Archon," Millennium's voice thrummed in low pressure. "We shall follow you."

Wrapping herself in the golden light of her power, Raven rocketed into the sky, and the swarms followed. The first fight of the final battle about to begin.

The wind whipped and cut at her, but Raven pushed through, her mind focused on the goal, to land in the center of the point and ripped a hole in the fabric of space. The thoughts of Robin's laugh, Starfire's ill aligned words, and Cyborg's battle cry flitted across her mind, but she shunted it aside. There was a greater good to be fighting for, a greater good that required sacrifice.

'Can you do it?'

Sovereign's voice came through to her mind as clear as a bell. The alignment was almost perfect, and his presence could be felt.

"Can I do what?"

'Can you kill them if you face them?'

"I'll do what I have to do, my Sovereign," she answered, pushing her friend's faces out of her mind. "Whatever it takes."

Conveniently, the mathematics pointed to the entrance of the portal being in a field at the foot of Shoshoni Peak, and it had allowed them to dig in and hide among the sparse wood and rock faces. SHIELD and ARGUS agents with all sorts of weaponry, metas that Robin had never seen, and weapons of all sorts had been set up. Robin strode out of the Quinn Jet, his armor activating and the mask extending and wrapping his face. His titanium gap still billowed, but he resembled more a soldier than the hero of Jump Suit. The suit's optics kicked in overlaying the scene with augmented reality.

Cyborg strode up beside him and pointed to a cluster of trees.

"That's gonna be the best place to intercept any of the air attacks. We're gonna need to keep as many as we can off of Iron Man as possible."

Traveling a few more clicks, His new Titans found their spots and quickly hunched down to hide. Gizmo dropped a few scatter probes that masked their signature from any sensors. Starfire huddled in close to him. She had donned the full Tamaranian armor and face mask. Koriand' r had insisted as this was a fight for the existence of her own people too. Her eyes flitted to his mask a few times as they silently waited. Bumblee had shrunk down to a smaller size and up in the tree.

It was now time to wait.

The waiting was the hard part. The holo chronometer counted off the seconds, and the sun slowly rose into the sky, bathing them in its light. It had begun to get hot to the point that his suit's environmental systems kicked in to try and regulate. Birds were singing, and animals flitted to and fro as if nothing unusual was happening.

A few deer had taken up to eat in the center of the large field oblivious that they stood in the center of an intergalactic portal point.

"This waiting is killing me," Gizmo growled, his binocular lenses zoomed out giving him a strange insect-like look.

"Trust me; we're going to want to wait as long as we can. Once it starts, it's going to be all in." Cyborg responded. "There's no booyah in what we're about to do."

"Robin?"

Dick Grayson turned to his friend Starfire, who had come up close and lowered her voice. "I understand how difficult this is for you, but if you face Raven and find that you cannot do it. I will kill her for you. I am willing to take that burden."

"Star..." Robin started as a wave of emotion, choked him. She had spoken all their fear. Each had pretended not to hear her words, but he knew that they had.

"I'll make it quick. A snap of the neck and she won't feel a thing. It's the least I can do for someone who has meant so much to us."

"I'm not giving up on her," Robin said firmly.

"Dude," Cyborg said as quietly. "She's gone. If we don't kill her first, she'll take us out. You saw her eyes. Our Raven is gone. It's the Midnight Empress we're about to face."

Starfire returned to her spot to keep a lookout, and for the next hour, the image of Raven's lifeless body and the sound of her neck snapping played over and over in his mind's eye. It couldn't come to that. It couldn't.

"Heads up!" the speaker in Boy wonder's ear kicked in. "We've got incoming and a lot of it."

Robin looked up at Bumblebee as she zipped down and returned to size, her entire body covered with yellow and black armor, weapons at the ready.

"What is it?"

"They're sending in the grunts. Clouds of cyber minions and Kaz-Kal. They're going to try to overwhelm and hold so they can bring the bitch in."

"Alpha-2 this is central," Batman's voice came over, grim and somber. "It's a go. We see Midnight Empress in the center of the cloud. Pull those flankers away and give us our opening."

"Understood," Robin responded standing and turning to his team. "Let's do this."

Charging out, all of them shot into the sky. The jet pack lifted Robin off the ground while Cyborg's jet boots, had him going alongside Gizmo. Almost immediately the sky became alive with multi-colored energy bolts emanating from hiding spots cutting into the swarm and dropping them in droves. It seemed though that for every one killed, three appeared in its place. Bombs and bolts cut through them, and The New Teen Titans all banked north drawing a good swarm of them away. Below Robin could make out the descending mass being met by the colorful metas of the Avengers.

"Damn, all hell just broke loose!" Falcon called as he shot overhead, machine guns blasting away.

'No, hell is coming.'

In the center, Raven watched from her floating perch in the sky. The swarms had begun to descend, and as she had expected, Iris had set up, and they were mowing through her troops efficiently. She had expected as much. With their positions shown, the sorceress turned to Jinx and Blackfire and gave them a nod. With glee, the descended leading their armies with them.

The Midnight Empress watched closely as the battle raged, watching for her opening to cut through and to land. She could feel the urgency, the draw of the alignment growing closer. Raven could taste the anticipation coming off of her imprisoned comrade.

"Now!"

Without hesitation, she shot down towards the spot, and her guard followed. They twisted and turned as they descended, and she could feel the enemy focusing their firepower on her. Heroes flew by in blurs as the Kaz-Kal, allies, and cyber minions put themselves between them and her. She alighted on the ground and fell to her knees. She drew held her arms out, and the world became silent.

What was next was sheer pain as the power exploded out of her and into a forming vortex. An energy beam sliced through her shoulder spurting blood, but she could not care. Sovereign had come.

Forcing her eyes open, Raven saw the black portal that warped reality as if being pulled inside and from the distant stars. A form appeared and stepping out, floating in the air was a young man with brown hair, simple features but brilliant glowing gold eyes. He glided forward with a grin of pure ecstasy on his face.

"I. Am. Free!" he said with a laugh that seemed to reverberate through her.

"Sovereign!" Raven choked out a warning as she saw Superman come blasting from the woods, every ounce of energy thrown into the Kryptonian's influence. She knew that the blow he was about to deliver could shattered meteors, but when it connected with Jason's face, he barely flinched. Superman halted in front of him with a mixture of surprise and realization of how powerful the entity was.

"Hello," Jason said, a look of glee on his face. He backhanded Superman which sent him soaring away and impacting the side of a mountain. Shazam, in his red outfit, tried to hit also but found himself caught by the arm and hurled into the ground below, leaving a crater on impact.

Raven floated up to him, and he turned his eyes on her. His smile softened, and the girl's heart thrilled with excitement. It was horribly stupid of her, but she was glad he was handsome. Her Jason wasn't striking or adonis, but his eyes seemed ancient but kind. He ran his hand down her cheek.

"You've saved me. Thank you."

"Anything."

"Now, hold them off while I begin my process of bringing peace."

He floated upwards with arms outstretched and instantly, she felt a strange tug on her body and mind as if the world itself was beginning to shift and phase.

"SOVEREIGN!"

Raven turned to see Superman, bloodied and bruised charging in again with Wonder Woman right on his heels. Jason gritted his teeth and turned to face the attacker but caught the glint from the corner of his eye just like she did.

Batman stood there with Coulson with a strange bazooka, and the realization hit.

"No!" Sovereign's scream of anger reverberated through her.

Instinctively she flew up to him to shield him, but he dropped and grabbed hold of her. Instantly, she felt white-hot as if his hand was somehow cooking her body completely. She screamed in pain as he held her fast with no way to escape. The feeling broke abruptly when a bolt of red and blue energy struck him and dropped him to the ground. Raven could feel the power being ripped from him. Iris had done it. They had found a weapon to hurt him.

Dropping as fast, she caught the entity who had fallen unconscious, and as Superman darted towards her to grab her, she threw open a portal, fell through and snapped in shut cutting of the shout of rage from the Kryptonian. The next thing she knew, she hit the marble floor of the Fortress hard, the sorceress head slamming with a sickening crunch and though being ripped from her.