#at which point you engage the warp drive

[wyrm-in-a-closet]

i love making funny calculators for things on desmos

[communist-ojou-sama]

See I think that one reason why it's important not to get bogged down in seeing capitalism as a moral system rather than an economic one is that it warps in very fundamental ways what people's concept of communism is.

When one understands capitalism as bad-ism, as the transhistorical avatar of everything alienating about organized class society and about global imperialist capital expansion exemplified in capitalist labor relations and the indolent lifestyle of the upper classes, respectively, you get wrongheaded moralistic systems like FALC on the one end, and the twitter morons who like to say "If you're not excited to do hard labor you're not a communist" on the other. Both are perspectives built upon ressentiment aimed at the moral failures of capitalist society, when the moral failures of capitalist society are Not The Problem With Capitalism.

Capitalism has fundamental material contradictions. It has progressive elements unique from any previous societal organization, and it has regressive elements grandfathered in from previous societies in order to maintain the social hierarchy that makes capitalist development possible. These material contradictions lead to ideological contradictions. This is Why the result of the fall of capitalism is inevitably either fascism or communism (of which only communism may stand the test of time). Fascism is the sum-total of the regressive elements of capitalist society realized through the capitalist technologies of production, surveillance, measurement, et-cetera. And this helps us to understand what communism actually is: it is the societal organization by which we finally break ties with the vestigial regressive elements of the class societies of old and bring the progressive fruits of capitalist society into the future. Point being, tendencies like the measurement and standardization of production, the replacement of labor by capital, the large-scale organization of capital, these are all things that are by nature morally neutral and-- when not being used to engage in labor arbitrage and drive people into destitution-- good things actually. The job of a communist society is to make use of them correctly, not to reject any of them out of some abstract moral precept.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #4 – War in Human Civilization by Azar Gat

This is my first big history book of the year, and one I’ve been rather looking forward to getting to for some time now. Its claimed subject matter – the whole scope of war and violent conflict across the history of humanity – is ambitious enough to be intriguing, and it was cited and recommended by Bret Devereaux, whose writing I’m generally a huge fan of. Of course, he recommended The Bright Ages too, and that was one of my worst reads of last year – apparently something I should have learned my lesson from. This is, bluntly, not a good book – the first half is bad but at least interesting, while the remainder is only really worth reading as a time capsule of early 2000s academic writing and hegemonic politics.

The book purports to be a survey of warfare from the evolution of homo sapiens sapiens through to the (then) present, drawing together studies from several different fields to draw new conclusions and a novel synthesis that none of the authors being drawn from had ever had the context to see – which in retrospect really should have been a big enough collection of dramatically waving red flags to make me put it down then and there. It starts with a lengthy consideration of conflict in humanity’s ‘evolutionary state of nature’ – the long myriads between the evolution of the modern species and the neolithic revolution – which he holds is the environment where the habits, drives and instincts of ‘human nature’ were set and have yet to significantly diverge from. He does this by comparing conflict in other social megafauna (mostly but not entirely primates), archaeology, and analogizing from the anthropological accounts we have of fairly isolated/’untainted’ hunter gatherers in the historical record.

From there, he goes on through the different stages of human development – he takes a bit of pain at one point to disavow believing in ‘stagism’ or modernization theory, but then he discusses things entirely in terms of ‘relative time’ and makes the idea that Haida in 17th century PNW North America are pretty much comparable to pre-agriculture inhabitants of Mesopotamia, so I’m not entirely sure what he’s actually trying to disavow – and how warfare evolved in each. His central thesis is that the fundamental causes of war are essentially the same as they were for hunter-gatherer bands on the savanna, only appearing to have changed because of how they have been warped and filtered by cultural and technological evolution. This is followed with a lengthy discussion of the 19th and 20th centuries that mostly boils down to trying to defend that contention and to argue that, contrary to what the world wars would have you believe, modernity is in fact significantly more peaceful than any epoch to precede it. The book then concludes with a discussion of terrorism and WMDs that mostly serves to remind you it was written right after 9/11.

So, lets start with the good. The book’s discussion of rates of violence in the random grab-bag of premodern societies used as case studies and the archaeological evidence gathered makes a very convincing case that murder and war are hardly specific ills of civilization, and that per capita feuds and raids in non-state societies were as- or more- deadly than interstate warfare averaged out over similar periods of time (though Gat gets clumsy and takes the point rather too far at times). The description of different systems of warfare that ten to reoccur across history in similar social and technological conditions is likewise very interesting and analytically useful, even if you’re skeptical of his causal explanations for why.

If you’re interested in academic inside baseball, a fairly large chunk of the book is also just shadowboxing against unnamed interlocutors and advancing bold positions like ‘engaging in warfare can absolutely be a rational choice that does you and yours significant good, for example Genghis Khan-’, an argument which there are apparently people on the other side of.

Of course all that value requires taking Gat at his word, which leads to the book’s largest and most overwhelming problem – he’s sloppy. Reading through the book, you notice all manner of little incidental facts he’s gotten wrong or oversimplified to the point where it’s basically the same thing – my favourites are listing early modern Poland as a coherent national state, and characterizing US interventions in early 20th century Central America as attempts to impose democracy. To a degree, this is probably inevitable in a book with such a massive subject matter, but the number I (a total amateur with an undergraduate education) noticed on a casual read - and more damningly the fact that every one of them made things easier or simpler for him to fit within his thesis - means that I really can’t be sure how much to trust anything he writes.

I mentioned above that I got this off a recommendation from Bret Devereaux’s blog. Specifically, I got it from his series on the ‘Fremen Mirage’ – his term for the enduring cultural trope about the military supremacy of hard, deprived and abusive societies. Which honestly makes it really funny that this entire book indulges in that very same trope continuously. There are whole chapters devoted to thesis that ‘primitive’ and ‘barbarian’ societies possess superior military ferocity and fighting spirit to more civilized and ‘domesticated’ ones, and how this is one of the great engines of history up to the turn of the modern age. It’s not even argued for, really, just taken as a given and then used to expand on his general theories.

Speaking of – it is absolutely core to the book’s thesis that war (and interpersonal violence generally) are driven by (fundamentally) either material or reproductive concerns. ‘Reproductive’ here meaning ‘allowing men to secure access to women’, with an accompanying chapter-length aside about how war is a (possibly the most) fundamentally male activity, and any female contributions to it across the span of history are so marginal as to not require explanation or analysis in his comprehensive survey. Women thus appear purely as objects – things to be fought over and fucked – with the closest to any individual or collective agency on their part shown is a consideration that maybe the sexual revolution made western society less violent because it gave young men a way to get laid besides marriage or rape.

Speaking of – as the book moves forward in time, it goes from being deeply flawed but interesting to just, total dreck (though this also might just me being a bit more familiar with what Gat’s talking about in these sections). Given the Orientalism that just about suffuses the book it’s not, exactly, surprising that Gat takes so much more care to characterize the Soviet Union as especially brutal and inhumane that he does Nazi Germany but it is, at least, interesting. And even the section of World War 2 is more worthwhile than the chapters on decolonization and democratic peace theory that follow it.

Fundamentally this is just a book better consumed secondhand, I think – there are some interesting points, but they do not come anywhere near justifying slogging through the whole thing.

[saintsturn]

another shot? | toxic! chris

summary: you promise yourself for the last time that you’re done with your ex-boyfriend but he just keeps making his way back to you.

cw: smut!, breeding, mentions of alcohol, language, toxic! chris

this is the first time i’ve written smut in a long time lmfao i hope this fic isn’t shit idk

not edited

lowercase intended

• • •

tipping your head back, you downed your second tequila shot of the night. you barely slam the glass down onto the bar top with a gag, your features warping into disgust – eyes crinkled. turning on your heels, you push through the crowded bar —chatter, laughter and music filling your ears as warmth rushes over your body, your chest still burning from the shot you took.

you’d decided to go out to your local bar tonight, by yourself and you were feeling kind of awkward about it , but you figured that if you drank enough it wouldn’t be so bad. all you’d done is mope around on tinder all week and argue with your ex-boyfriend over text who kept pestering you about your recent breakup- which was not ideal. this was your attempt at trying to meet new people, though you knew deep down that you probably shouldn’t go looking for men at the bar because that never ends well.

pushing your thoughts aside you began to observe the people around you as you were now sat in the smoking area in the screened in patio. there were couples courting each other, groups of friends fucking off and people chain smoking cigarettes by their lonesome. you pull your purse onto your lap, grabbing your compact mirror and lipstick to reapply. you sigh, nervously tapping your polished fingers on the high top in front of you, not knowing what to do or where to start- ultimately deciding that just going back to the bar top would be less overwhelming and so that you did.

“ahh..” you start, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “could i just do a long island iced tea?” you ask the bartender, before taking a seat at the bar and scoping out your surroundings. bold choice. you were dying to get rid of your nerves as soon as possible. your cocktail was now served in front of you, condensation dripping down the glass onto a napkin. you give a quick nod to the bartender signaling a thanks.

grazing your pointer finger around the rim of your glass you engage in small talk that the young man sat beside you initiated. you honestly didn’t care about what he had to say and you kept getting lost in your thoughts, giving him a nod or a “yeah” in response to everything he’d say. you began to feel like your idea was bullshit and frankly, you just wanted to go home at this point.

snapping you out of your thoughts, your phone buzzes, lighting up with a text message.

“m’sorry, one second,” you mumble to the guy, before checking your phone. your face twists into confusion as your eyes scan the text from ‘do not answer’ which read ‘who’s the dude you’re talking to?’. your head instantly snaps up, frantically scanning the bar area. you sigh, throwing your head back as you meet his eyes.

chris

he’s sat down on the other side of the bar, a quarter of whiskey in his glass, garnished with one large ice cube. what the actual fuck is he doing here. you avert your gaze over to the glass in front of you when you noticed that the random man you were talking to had wandered off. your heart began to pound a bit as you downed the rest of your drink with your lipstick stained straw. thoughts swirled around your head as you contemplated getting another drink. i mean it’s not like you could drive home anyways, right?

right as you caught the bartender’s attention, opening your mouth to speak you were interrupted.

“she’ll have a paloma. you can put it under chris.” you hear a voice say, simultaneously feeling a hand rub the small of your back. you quickly snapped your head around to face your ex, dread coursing through your veins. he’s stood next to you with that same fucking smirk on his face.

“chris, why the fuck are you here?” you ask, slightly clenching your jaw out of stress.

“damn, what’s wrong with you? maybe i just missed you..” he trails off, sarcastically throwing his hands up before sitting next to you. “nah, you have your snap map on. didn’t want you fucking around with other guys,” he says nonchalantly, before sliding your drink over to you. you stare at him in disbelief.

“you are literally fucking crazy,” you complain, momentarily putting your face into your hands in exasperation. chris shifts in his seat, taking a small sip of his drink.

“for you…” he starts, setting his drink down. “you know you’re my favorite girl,” he drawls, his eyes looking you up and down.

he does this every time and you hated that you still wanted him. he’d been a horrible boyfriend to you but he has such a way with words. you were just as dumb for letting him continue to reel you in and break your heart repeatedly. your eyes meet his, glassy and hung low as your heart starts to beat out of your chest.

“so, who was the guy you were talking to?” chris asks, snapping you out of your daze.

“i don’t know, chris. i wasn’t even paying attention to him,” you reply, truthfully. crossing your legs, you take another sip of your drink.

“sure. you know you can tell me, i won’t get mad,” he instigates, fixing his posture to lean into the conversation. you sigh in annoyance.

“i don’t know him. who gives a fuck anyway?” you pause, turning your body to face him. “tell me, chris. how many girls do you fuck a week?” you ask, dripping sarcasm.

chris shoots lasers into your eyes with his stare then turning away, his jaw clenching as the tension between the two of you thickens.

“don’t be like that, y/n,” he trails off, fiddling with his glass. “i only want you.”

• • •

“mmm..” you trail off. “okay, one more shot,” you slurred, drunkenly grinning up at chris.

honestly, you had no idea why you were still sat talking and giggling with your ex that you’d done everything in your power to get over. every promise you made to yourself, broken. you were obviously only enjoying yourself because you were drunk— alcohol is one hell of a drug.

“here, ma,” chris says, sliding a lemon drop shot over to you.

“thanks,” you reply with a small nod, shaking your thoughts to the back of your head as a small pit grew in your stomach. everything about this just felt wrong.

bringing your shot glass up to chris’s you cheers, before throwing your neck back for the 5th time tonight, downing the shot. the taste of tart lemon juice and sugar dance around your tastebuds, the vodka burning down your throat into your chest as you set your glass down and examine chris.

his hair was somewhat disheveled, strands of hair lying on his forehead. his eyes almost bloodshot from drinking and cheeks flushed red. you couldn’t help but stare at his lips, pink and glossy from the shot he’d just taken.

“what? you wanna kiss me?” chris asks, with a sheepish grin, leaned back, legs apart with his arm resting on the chair.

“shutup,” you mumble, looking away as your cheeks begin to burn hot. you gulp softly, when your phone suddenly lights up with a tinder notification on the bar counter; gaining attention from the both of you.

grabbing your phone, you flip it face down, immediately noticing chris’s entire demeanor changing. he’s turned away from you, jaw tensed and fiddling with a napkin left on the bar. you swallowed dryly, feeling worry set in. you knew how chris was, but in reality you’d not done anything wrong. he just had a way of making you feel bad every single time.

“so, you’re already over me?” chris speaks up, his lips pushed together in frustration.

“what?” you respond, closing your eyes and sighing out of annoyance.

“y/n, come on. you know i told you i don’t like that shit,” he spat, trying to contain his unreasonable anger.

“what the fuck, chris. we are not even together; you just came here to harass me,” you slightly raise your voice, speaking with your hands.

“you really don’t wanna see me?” he asks, his facial expression softening. “you’re not my girl anymore?” he continues, gently grazing his fingers across one of the rings you had on; in which he’d gifted you when you were still together. seconds go by without an answer and he looks down at you, his eyes darting all around your face almost as if he’s searching for an answer.

“you can’t keep treating me horribly and then act like you still deserve access to me,” you answer, pulling your hand away from his touch.

“no,” he starts, shaking his head; not wanting to hear a single thing you have to say. “let me make it up to you, yeah?” he asks softly, running his hand up your thigh with pleading eyes. you sharply inhale as your heart beats out of your chest, warmth running through your body.

• • •

“fuck, chris,” you whine out with a moan, the pain from him pinning your wrists into the sheets for a second time tonight, pleasurable.

“such a fucking good girl,” chris heavily breathes out, as he continues to sloppily pound in and out of your clingy hole from behind. the sound of your juices mixing together bouncing off the walls with each thrust.

“c’mere,” chris breathes, turning you around to lay on your back, underneath him. “need to see your pretty face.”

you let out a shaky breath, making eye contact with him before he reaches to grope your breasts; his warm hand sending electricity through your veins.

“fuck,” he pleads, under his breath— before licking his thumb and bringing it to your bundle of nerves, rubbing circles into it. “can’t get enough of you.”

you let out numerous soft moans, pressure and feelings of pure bliss building in your abdomen. glistening in sweat and hair hung over his eyes, he pushes into you once more, bottoming out and filling you up so good you can’t help but to cry out. bringing his bottom lip between his teeth, chris lifts his thumb up to your face— shoving it in your mouth. you oblige, sucking his thumb as he continues to pound into you, his pace getting faster and faster and slack-jawed out of pleasure.

“look at me,” chris demands, his hand now gripping your throat, forcing you to look at him. “this is my fucking pussy, you hear me?” he says lowly, his chain dangling above you, mouth slightly parted as he slows his pace.

you nod.

“say it,” he orders, slamming into you hard as ever without warning as you cry out in pain and pleasure.

“it’s your pussy,” you whine, your chest heaving up and down before he presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

“my fucking pussy,” he repeats, keeping a steady pace, bringing your legs up onto his shoulders to go as deep as possible.

you grunt as he hits your g-spot with every thrust, almost winding you so hard you could hardly let out an audible moan. heavy pants fill the room as chris presses down on your lower stomach, feeling himself almost hitting your cervix.

“fuck, i’m gonna cum,” you quickly mumble under your breath. bringing his hands to your thighs he lowers himself slightly to get closer to your face.

“cum for me, baby,” chris chokes out, his breath hitching and thrusts sloppy, on the verge of hitting his climax as well.

you feel the knot in your stomach come undone all over his member, your juices soaking the sheets and your lower parts, letting out a string of moans.

“fuck, there’s s’much,” chris whines, squelching sounds filling your ears as he reaches his orgasm. “shit, i’m gonna cum,” he mumbles, his mouth open and his eyes closed, letting out a loud moan as he paints your walls with his cum. you let out a moan, feeling his dick pulse— your cunt now filled with the warm liquid. chris lets out a deep breath as he pulls out, his ego boosting by the second watching his cum leak out of you almost like he marked you.

chris plants another soft kiss on your lips, trailing his fingers down to toy with the gold cartier bracelet that adorned your wrist, which he’d given you 20 minutes prior to you coming home with him after he pleaded a bunch of bullshit about you being his girl.

“you know i love you, my pretty lady. i really do.”

[simandthedimbulbv2-0]

Mmperhaps blips lore if you haven't done that? Been thinking of them nonstop .. your design for them is so fun!!<3

You got it, pal 👉👉

Lore: Was originally an overweight arcade employee and maintenance man named Bil Soupy. Often teased and dismissed for his physique and fascination with electronics, Bil spent his life as an outcast and became more than a little misanthropic. His few sources of joy were the upkeep and programming of the machines at the arcade where he worked. Over time, the cabinets consumed his life; not only did he adore them, but he also took note of the attention they received from the customers at the arcade which he saw as a kind of affection. Eventually ‘unraveling’, Bil somehow transplanted himself into a cabinet he’d been working on and left it behind for his boss to put into the arcade. The media eventually reported him missing and presumed dead, but as we know, he was doing perfectly well inside the box.  Assorted info under the cut

The ‘Blips You!’ game is almost never the same twice, but always extremely engaging, to the point of being addictive. Both infuriating and hypnotic, it has a tendency to drive people with certain dispositions to madness.

It is somehow possible to cheat, but nobody has ever been able to ‘win’ the game.

Speaking of, although he’s unwinnable, Blips likes to reward worthy opponents for their hard work with little ‘prizes’ like bonus stages, cutscenes and unique music. 

While his mechanics are pretty much those of a classic 80’s cabinet, Blips’ processor being a human brain allows him a lot more leeway when it comes to the game’s actual content. For example, he can display a tonne of colours and sprites at the same time without flickering, as well as produce more fluid animation, complicated gameplay and long running storylines. He can even ‘save’ the games of particular players if he wants, and pick back up with them when they visit the arcade again. 

Blips aspirates coins to improve his conductivity. 

Despite rarely moving, the near constant flow of electricity prevents his muscles from atrophying. He’s unnervingly strong, though not at all speedy.

His metabolism is extremely slow so he only really gets ‘hungry’ when he’s been injured in some way and requires more biomass to heal himself. Anything he can’t ‘digest’ (clothes and plastic, usually) he coughs up in a sort of owl-pellet-like clump. 

Smells fucking awful but nobody really seems to notice.

Bil’s body initially retained a human shape inside the cabinet, but over time it deformed and mutated into the disturbing flesh blob he is today. He doesn’t particularly care though; as far as he’s concerned, his looks haven’t changed much, and it’s not like they matter anymore anyway. 

(My initial concept for him was an actual man who was half living in and half fused to his arcade cabinet; he had the appearance of a partially flayed corpse with wires mimicking muscles under tattered skin. This was, however, a little too gruesome (and beyond my artistic abilities) so I turned to the secondary concept of the arcade machine being completely full of flesh and organs like a living creature. With a little extra inspiration from Migi (of Parasyte fame) I ended up with the flabby goofball you see here)

While usually surprisingly level-headed, Blips can go a little crazy when his game is involved. He also tends to be rather petty and jealous when it comes to attention from the arcade-goers. Hand-held devices drive him nuts. 

It sort of goes without saying, but his moral compass has become a little warped since becoming a flesh eating video game hybrid. Even so, his main interests are simply having fun and being adored.

Though initially not particularly interested in romance, he eventually meets and falls head over heels (er, screen over coin drawer?) for a certain Sexy DVD who ends up at his arcade by chance. 

and here are some of the concept sketches and later silly doodles of him outside his box

(tungl may have murdered the quality)

[mellonyheart]

Arrhg...!

Nightbringer is driving me a little crazy.

Don't get me wrong, I like it. The story is engaging and I'm learning a lot about these characters. (Albeit I already knew some of it because of my fixation with overanalyzing my favorite characters and stories. Not the point.) The new art is lovely as well and the battle sprites are all adorable! The characters, the bosses and the even the boss attack notes are precious. (On that note I would love to get a high quality image of Belphie's sheep. I love it so very much!)

That said there are still some aggravating bugs and issues.

Inconsistent flash sale items. At first it seemed like we were getting level rewards at 15 then every five levels after. I was even hoping that it would switch to every level at some point but instead it seems there was bug that made it not pop up at all. Now I'm never sure when it'll pop up. The same for the AP sale that's supposed to pop up when the player runs out. This is making it very difficult to finish the events. Speaking of events....

Fast paced events. This is less of an issue if you have lots of time on your hands but a lot of players don't. I've seen other players complain about this before and after Nightbringer's launch. I'm kinda feeling it now because I only did well in the first Nightbringer event because of the starter pack I bought. I literally can't afford another expense like that yet. I couldn't roll any cheat cards and I'm still stuck in box one! I feel deflated. And to make matters worse the main story is still rolling out so lesson 12 came out on the same day as a [censored] LOOT BOX event! Audyvzigzcxsyjbdh?!

No x2 in events. I really hope this changes eventually because I'm absolutely positive that I'm not getting to box four. (No battle sprite outfits for me. 🥲) Og Obey Me has two days of boosted points for getting an edge in events but Nightbringer does not. It's killing me. I'm super happy to be able to play the story without keys. I hope keys stay gone. I even appreciate the hard and extreme stages in Nightbringer events. But I am already struggling to get AP, can we please have the boosts back? Pretty please?

On a more personal note the story itself is giving me some... feelings. I do like the story. It's smoother than og Obey Me and MC's options are pure gold which gives the whole experience a more immersive feel. But I keep wondering where this is going. (And that's a good thing!) I'm still worried a bit about how much information is going to get retconned. Although surprisingly not a whole lot has been (yet).

The biggest thing on my mind is how fucked up it all is? MC is being told that Nightbringer wants happiness. A word that has been tossed around a lot already. But weren't we already happy? How does that make sense? Solomon is pushing MC to make a choice but neglects to explain that he knows what's going on? Or at least he knows Nightbringer and doesn't tell MC that. I don't know who to trust anymore. And what happened to all the demon's eat humans stuff? And the brothers recalling how they used to corrupt human souls? Lucifer even said he enjoyed consuming human souls! How is that going happen? Is it going to happen? Are we supposed to believe that it was made up to scare MC? Or...?

I legit want to go home. To the present. To the version of the brothers who remember all the crazy stuff we've been through. I want the version of Mammon who clearly made some mistakes but grew from them. Who has probably partied as hard as the Avatar of Lust and came out wiser and with more experience. I love him no matter what but I'm an adult. I know how important it is to experience things. To fuck it all up. To piece yourself back together and move on. I want to help him do that but I fell in love with the version of him that already did. I don't want to abandon present Mammon for past Mammon. I don't want warp time and space unless I absolutely have to. I want to punch Nightbringer in the face. I want to make out with Mammon again. I want my degenerate fade to black scenes.

Yes. Yes I am. I am a greedy spoiled brat who just wants my man back. My bed back. My bros back. My Zombie iguana back. My Mammon hellbobo back. My suspiciously matching earring back. Just let me save the three worlds or whatever so I can have my life back. 'Kay?

[theroundbartable]

I have a quick favor to ask. I'm asking a bunch of people in the Merlin fandom this. Because this will only do anything if we all band together. Anyways I just made a petition for a season 6 of Merlin. (It's located in my last few posts.) It would mean the world if you checked out the petition and maybe even signed it. Extra points if you share the petition with other people. It's a long shot but it's worth a try. Have a lovely day either way ❤️

There already are a bunch of these :/

And... Well

Source:

I have seen these petitions floating around for a couple of years and I understand why people make them.

But in all honesty, I think the said above is true. We would all be disappointed, if the characters aren't what we expect. Especially nowadays.

There are so many good shows out there that I personally simply don't engage with because of the toxicity in the fandom. And the toxic people tend to be the first to leave when a show is over. The dedicated people remain to spread their lovely messages and that's what I love about this fandom, because it's the biggest part of who we are.

Please don't get me wrong, I would love more of BBC Merlin. In any form. Be it a cartoon, merch or a new Series or whatever.

But we're also talking about the BBC. They need a lot of money to make this happen and they are not Netflix that fires reboots whereever it can, only to then cancel the series, because payment is due around season 3.

I'm afraid to be disappointed. I am afraid of the toxicity that may come with a reboot.

I'm afraid of what they may do with it. I'd like a spin off, actually, where it's just Arthur and the knights wondering what Merlin does all day and finding the most ridiculous nonsense which completely warps their understanding of the man. It would play all within the BBC Merlin time frame. Because I like the ending, actually *suffering noises*.

Or just episodes with more ridiculous shenanigans. I don't want them to *finish* the series, I just want... Well... More.

You may now wonder: you don't have to sign the petition, you can just move on.

Since You put this in my ask box, I feel compelled to reply in earnest.

To all of you who are desperate for Season 6 , the fandom already made the script, if you haven't seen it already:

https://href.li/?https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1piYrUMtbJwGkOFnt0kRNG5bp0jS4ScAm?usp=sharing

I will soon reblog the kingdom come masterpost, so the access will be easier. There is also an audio version on youtube. I should go back there too. The narrator did say they would narrate another story about the first Dragon Lord soon and I NEED THIS. okay? Okay.

To everyone who is as obsessed with it as I am... There are SO MANY BOOKS ON THE ARTHURIAN LEGEND THEY FILL AN ENTIRE LIBRARY!!!!! and there are modern retellings. There is more than fanfiction of BBC Merlin. I highly recommend "The other Merlin" by Robyn Schneider. Very well written, I'm waiting for the Sequel.

I know this doesn't really help you. I do wish you good luck with the petition. But I don't think I want another season, personally.

Everyone else got to decided that for themselves and maybe they will sign it despite my contra points. I'm really sorry.

[amyjsoba]

Star Trek V: The Final Frontier

About every other week my friend comes over and watches a sci fi movie with me and my husband. We’re working through a huge list and have more or less gone in order of date made. This was the last movie of the 1980s, Star Trek V: The Final Frontier.

It’s been about fifteen years since I’ve watched this film, so it was interesting to go back and revisit with mainly one question on my mind: is this movie as bad as I remember? The short answer is no—and yes. 

Star Trek V opens with a fairly strong beginning. Jerry Goldsmith scores this movie, and I believe the opening to ST: V is the best version of what’s now known as the “TNG Theme.” It’s got the classic opening from the 60s tacked on at the beginning (which TNG also has) and just when the music is ramping up to the main fanfare, there’s a synth that mimics the sound of warp drive engaging.  I love this. You can listen to the track here if you like. 

I also love the idea that everyone is on shore leave and is hanging out with each other. Sulu and Chekov are on a hike, and Spock, Kirk, and Bones are camping. It’s some nice character interactions that are them being found family together.

The edition of Sybok is one of those, “okay, I guess they needed to shoehorn that Spock has a brother somehow” but I found the idea not completely distasteful.

Actually, our discussion of the film after it finished was just that—the idea of someone getting a weird vision from an entity and having to fly to the center of the galaxy feels like a plot point from TOS. It’s entirely within the realm of “things that happen in Star Trek”. And this aspect of the movie is what I found less distasteful than when I watched it 15 years ago. 

The problem with the film comes with almost everything else. My friend, LE, pointed out that this narrative would’ve been more compelling if someone on the crew received the vision to go to the center of the galaxy. But instead, we get a side character who seems like they’re going to be the villain, but then just sort of...isn’t? 

That’s the biggest issue of this movie. There’s no drive or urgency. The entire cast just stands around doing nothing for most of the film. They’re along for the ride. The Enterprise gets taken over and there is so little effort to get it back. Think about all the times the Enterprise gets taken over (it’s a lot). Westly puts in more effort to get the Enterprise back when everyone else is taken over by that pleasure game. 

Spock doesn’t kill his brother, but he doesn’t attempt to fight him, either. That seems OOC to me. I feel like Spock would’ve at least tried to do something. The rest of the crew is a bit brainwashed but this is also never reversed, or discussed much. Sybok says they’re not brainwashed but...come on. They’re brainwashed. 

I also like that bit where Kirk is basically like, “I DON’T NEED THERAPY I NEED MY PAIN” which is hilarious and made me laugh out loud, because of course that’s what Kirk would say. Manly space captain! 

The Klingon villain isn’t a villain (he just gets scolded by the old Klingon general) which is also funny but then it falls flat because again, there isn’t urgency or a sense of drive. The payoff isn’t as good as it could’ve been.

And then at the end, the Klingons, crew and everyone else are all drinking together which feels weird in the context of Star Trek VI. 

Shatner was given a chance to create the story and direct and this movie is what we got. It’s a good thing he was only given the reigns one time. 

For our next film, we move into the 90s with Total Recall (1990). Our last film was Predator (1989). 

[seamusquigley]

Unencumbered and Unburdened

On resource and inventory management in Horizon: Forbidden West and Starfield.

Having just finished Horizon: Forbidden West I want to rave about one small feature; its inventory management.

Like most games with a resource economy, you can only carry so much around with you. And yet, I wasted zero time staring at boring menus trying to figure out what to drop or store.

How does it achieve this? A surprisingly simple thing. Each item has its quantity limit and if you pick up something that would put you over that item's limit it goes to your stash. When you interact with your stash there is a simple button to "fill all items to capacity."

It is liberating.

Contrast this with Starfield, a game with by far the worst inventory management I've tried in recent years. You can't carry much, your ship(s) carry surprisingly little, and you need resources to build limited storage modules at your base.

"Don't collect resources," I hear you say. "Don't upgrade my gear and ships?" I ask. "Pfft."

Starfield is, at least at heart, a Bethesda open-world RPG. It’s crafted around the same gameplay loop that drives Skyrim and Fallout. I loved those last two, spent thousands of hours playing them, yet Starfield was a huge disappointment. There is no single reason for this, but one design decision on Starfield’s approach to inventory management does significantly encumber its attempts to be fun; base storage is limited.

It's amazing how much difference that one change makes. It takes an occasional inconvenience, a periodic "Oh, I'm full, which 1-3 things should I drop so I can make it to a store and/or my base?" and turns it into a game long chore. The game is warped and twisted, no longer about exploring and getting cool gear to aid that exploration. Instead, it is a never-ending grind to get the resources you need to build more storage to store the other resources you picked up while looking for the resources you needed to build more storage…

It's exhausting.

You might be wondering, why even have a stash? Why not just have infinite player storage? Surely that’d keep the inventory management even further out of the gameplay’s way? Or why not go full reductio ad absurdum and remove resources altogether?

Tension.

A good example to explore this idea comes from the history of FPS games. Back in the era of the original Doom the player character had health. That health, if lost, had to be healed. It didn’t heal automatically, you had to pick up or use healing packs. This created a situation where a single room full of enemies could be a cakewalk or frustratingly difficult, all depending upon whether you hit that point in the game at full health and armour or at 12% health.

It was difficult for developers to design a specific difficulty for their games. They couldn’t control how you’d play up to that point. They didn’t know what shape you’d be in entering the gauntlet.

One solution was to give players a health pack just before entering the gauntlet. It does create a baseline but also starts to feel like a game is holding your hand. The solution the industry settled on was health bars that refill themselves after a few seconds of safety. This way they always know how much health you’re going to have entering a specific sequence.

The limited inventory operates similarly. The developers can craft the fight knowing the maximum amount of ammo available to the player. They can calibrate it such that it threatens to exhaust the resources available to you in the moment. And you, the player, have options if you find yourself failing due to lack of ammo.

Perhaps you’ve neglected upgrading the items that increase your carry capacity, perhaps all you need is a few extra shots. Perhaps upgrading your weapons will give you more damage per shot. Perhaps elemental weaknesses will do the same. Perhaps practise and landing more shots on weak points is the answer. Whatever approach you take, the resource scarcity has motivated you to engage more closely with the game than simply to ‘keep shooting.’

In implementing its Stash mechanic, Horizon: Forbidden west has created a game with inventory management that is in service to gameplay. Starfield, by contrast, feels like inventory management in place of gameplay.

[red-ro5es]

While looking for some other screenies I found these and it just reminded me how badly I hate Alex and the parallels between Jean & his mom.

(Spoilers & me rambling follow the cut!!)

For anyone that doesn’t know (and also just to say it), Alex’s dad (idr his name LMAO) didn’t support his mom in raising him at all. He stayed out of Alex’s life until he was over 18 which means his dad was a deadbeat until there was no way he would have to actually take care of his kid.

Now to be clear!! His dad did seem to want to help him and take care of him later on. Which is better late than never I guess, but either way waves my hand.

Alex tells him that the only one who can forgive him for his absence, lack of help, and abandoning a teen mom (if I remember correctly!) is his mother. Who has passed away and won’t get the chance to do that, not that she would want to.

But throughout the entire series !! Alex is literally showing up at jeans house begging her to forgive him. He shows up at her place of work, where she’s trying to make her first film, and her HOME. because he wants her to forgive him so badly for something she should never have to deal with again.

She is aggressively uninterested in seeing him!! In the first screenshot she is actually telling him to get the fuck away from her. The second is when he shows up to her house (part 2 I think.). By the way he goes to her house multiple times. She didn’t tell him where she lived!! she probably spent YEARS paranoid and avoiding him only for him to relentlessly stalk her 10 years later.

And yeah sure Alex didn’t know what happened and the whole time travel thing but that literally does not matter!! She didn’t want to see him and he knew this and he kept coming back.

Despite all of this he doesn’t stop until he’s cornered her in the back of an engagement party for two of their high school friends. He doesn’t stop until she is sobbing telling him she wanted to forgive him and asking him to leave one final time.

I would!! Get a restraining order?? i mean that’s awful it’s literal harassment. How can he harass the girl he traumatized, knowing vaguely that he did some awful hurtful thing. And then turn around and say that only his mom could forgive his dad. It makes me so mad. Jean did not want to see you! She didn’t want your apology she didn’t want anything to do with you! And you kept coming back!!

I know that talking to his dad was later in the series but even after that he shows that he learned nothing. He corners her after expressing that nobody should have to forgive someone who hurt them. And then once he’s back in time he still immediately seeks Jean out. Which seems unbelievably stressful & upsetting! Especially considering the context he finds her in. He didn’t know if Jean was okay with him showing up or if she ever even wanted to see him again. He did not care! He decided that he wanted to be there so he would be, because it’s what would make him feel less guilty about everything.

Also, my mind is a bit fuzzy on this last bit so forgive me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Alex’s dad try to apologize to his mom at one point? How can he understand and even defend that some people don’t deserve forgiveness only to do this.

But then again! When has he ever listened to what Jean wanted or showed genuine concern for her comfort. Or followed her boundaries. Or even respected her.

God he makes me so mad sometimes actually I hate him a bit LOL. It drives me wild when I think too hard about the warp effect, always find something new to explode over I guess :,]

[black-king-white-knight]

Vent.

Now, I understand that therapists provide an invaluable service and they’re a very important thing that I’ve known I’ve needed for many years and have tried to acquire. And will try again.

BUT.

The fucking feeling of being sent to a ‘therapist’ so utterly unqualified to deal with someone like me that I get sent into a two day (I saw him at 9AM yesterday, it’s now 11:30 the next night) depressive spiral. (Although a clue should have been that he’s a Mr not a Dr on his card.)

Like I get he was trying. But my autism, double severe general and social anxiety, BPD, severe depression, suicidal ideation, eating disorder, self-harm, ptsd, ADHD and whatever the fuck else is in my mind, plus complications from chronic pain was a little above his paygrade as an accredited social worker.

And being sent home with his refusal to engage with the reasons about the explosion of a friendship, to the extent where I’m trying to point out how my social circle has suffered due to said explosion, and how I’m trying to finish glossing over my BPD before moving on to how autism and ADHD have impacted my ability to make friends all my life because, once I make a friend I generally can combat the anxiety and depression with some help, but you know, other factors.

And I start out by... basically explaining what BPD is. (Since the explosion of my friendship largely over this was really the most recent big thing and I figured work backwards, you know? At least it’s somewhere to start.) Which really should have been a flag on it’s own but I thought, ‘Oh, okay, he’s testing my knowledge, trying to see if this might be an actual thing or just a buzzword I saw online,‘ and when I start trying to explain a Favourite Person, he’s, seemingly seriously, just like, “Well everyone has that.“

MY GUY IF YOU’RE LIKE 60 AND HAVE UNDIAGNOSED BPD THEN MAYBE YOU NEED TO SEE SOMEONE ON YOUR OWN DUDE. AND SHOULD ALSO TAKE THAT UP WITH WHOEVER TRAINED YOU AS A THEORETICAL MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONAL.

BECAUSE NO NOT EVERYONE HAS THEIR FUCKING PERSONALITY WARPED AGAINST THEIR MOTHERFUCKING WILL BY INTERNAL MENTAL HEALTH SHIT.

Anyway, back on topic, that, combined with boiling down all the shit I think I have through research and reading up other people’s personal experiences with their shit as either anxiety or ‘Doctor Google‘, (i.e. self diagnosis/hypochondria. Without me even getting through the entire list of shit that’s wrong with me before he leapt in with THAT particularly charming comment.) To say nothing of past trauma outside of my own head.

And to be sent home with an appointment I didn’t technically agree too, the fact that he started the appt by saying that it was for him to get to know me and me to decide “if I’m worth the time talking to professionally,“ but then didn’t ask and just wrote me in for another appt.

Oh also he kept my referral letter which seems really odd given my partner’s therapists have never done that. Previously they’ve just photocopied them and given them back. Which he didn’t seem to have one, but he can email my doctor and ask...?

And I’m kind of trying not to cry or tell him off as I walk out, especially because my dad offered to drive me and he doesn’t need additional stress, and when I mentioned how I considered myself broken, the social worker turned around and snapped out, “I don’t ever want to hear that word out of your mouth again, okay?“

Which, I get, negative self talk all that shit. But I was trying to talk about how my brain perceives me and therefore what I’m exposed to being inside my skull day-to-day.

And when I tried to list off what was wrong with me he also said like, “if I went through the DSM 5, (which he at least explained what it was) I’d find like 20 diagnoses for you, and probably 30 for me.“

Which. My guy. It’s the DS-fucking-M 5. It’s hardly a reliable source free of justified criticism.

I don’t want to say him being old was a factor, but the combo of old and sharing a building with a baptist church recruitment centre did not give me confidence I could touch on queer subjects. Like my own fucking identity.

Or that of my partner. Or my boyfriend. Or trying to explain being polyam to him.

“What’s something you enjoy doing? Do you have hobbies?“

No. I have fucking *depression* my guy.

On the subject of whether or not I exercise, “No, because my shifts at work are so physically intensive and-“ I have chronic back pain, I’m going to say so that messes with my ability to exercise.

“Work doesn’t count.“

Okay, so clearly the fact that i cry sometimes because of how much pain I’m in that walking, standing, sitting etc, all hurt, CLEARLY ALSO DOESN’T MATTER.

Like how this morning I woke up at about a 5-6. Clearly irrelevant to my exercise.

So he sent me home with instructions to do a basic bitch breathing exercise, which was inhale until my lungs are full, hold for a second then slowly exhale. And I’m to do that every 10 minutes. Because, be-fucking-cause, this making me slightly light headed is good because that means my frontal lobe is oxygenated. Which is good at combating anxiety, which he describes as just, “fear of the future“, and depression is “a sadness of the past.“

SO NICE TO KNOW THAT MY DEPRESSION IS JUST A BIG SAD NOT A NEUROTRANSMITTER IMBALANCE MR. THEORETICALLY ACCREDITED FOR MENTAL HEALTH WORK SOCIAL WORKER MAN.

So yeah. Breathing exercise that runs counter to pretty much everything I have read in my own research/heard from other people, get up at 7AM every day, (with chronic insomnia? Yay.) And go for a one hour “brisk“ walk. Then come home, shower, eat breakfast, (with an eating disorder that frequently doesn’t let me get hungry until I’ve been up for a few hours?) Then write for about two hours each day.

So basically. After my very first, (and only, even I’m not that into self-harm... not anymore at least) session with this guy, we seem to have cut straight to what my life should be like as a 30-second montage in a movie when I’m in a good place, and that’s my treatment.

Oh and we didn’t even touch on my severe financial stress.

TL:DR; I seem to have acquired a fucking homeopath of a therapist.

Honestly there’s probably more shit in that hour that I’m forgetting. Credit where credit’s due, he got shit done in that hour.

It may have been because it was 9AM, but maybe there was a reason his office was fucking empty.

Oh, and the walls were thin enough that I could hear my dad on the phone outside. Not enough to hear what was said, but charming aspect to a therapist’s office. He could hear our voices too.

To be fair to him, he was quite patient with explaining shit to me. To be fair to me tho, I didn’t need anxiety explained to me like I was 6. I will survive if you call it an amygdala and not “a very old part of the brain“ my guy.

But to be fair to me, I seem to have been sent to someone with enough mental health training to help do family therapy for stressed bc of work parents and a kid caught in the middle. Not for shit of my calibre.

Although he did have a drawing made by a child presumably, thanking him for helping them. So I’m glad that kid got seemingly good help.

BUT ALSO FOR FUCK’S SAKE MY GUY.

Also he didn’t really react to the news I’m on SSRIs. And I feel like a patient saying, “Oh yeah I’m on anti-depressants-“ should be, maybe. Potentially. Possibly. A clue that’s it’s not just anxiety and implied hypochondria.

Because I get I may not have done an ideal job explaining BPD to him. But. No everyone does not have intrusive nightmares about taking the veggie knife in the second drawer, going in through either my temple, eye, or the soft spot behind my ear and carving bits of my brain out until i hit what I wanted (or at least I hope y’all fucking don’t) so I can stop fucking fixating on someone I wouldn’t even want to date/fuck if I was given a choice my own fucking brain was trying to manipulate me into, and thankfully I wasn’t. I mean even the offer to write them into my story was one made in haste courtesy of the high BPD was giving me for being able to talk to them, not something I actually wanted to do in hindsight for all sorts of reasons.

Also our knives were part of the furnishing given by the landlords and they couldn’t keep an edge for shit.

So yeah. I need help for that especially given my poor self-control, for when my FP flares up again.

Because being able to trust the objectively of your own thoughts is. Probably still something I don’t really understand ‘cause I don’t have a psychosis or something, so, you know, I’m probably just being dramatic, but that was a fucking ride of a couple of weeks.

Idk, feel like I should report him to someone for something but fuck if I know who or for what.

Now I’mma go cry, hope my hands stop shaking and probably not sleep for 24 hours.

Oh, at least he accepted the existence of my epilepsy.

Yeeeah.

[maxwell-grant]

Who's your favorite Batman villain?

The Penguin. Was gonna put off this ask for a bit but I got surprised today with an incredible rendition of him, so now the dastardly bumbershoot waddled and squawked his way into my thoughts again and I gotta talk about him.

Penguin's not just my favorite Batman villain, he's my favorite DC character and comic book supervillain, the main reason I even want to write a Batman story someday.

I love the imagery that surrounds him, the trick umbrellas and the birds he so lovely dotes after and the WAKs and the Iceberg Lounge, which has become maligned in recent years as a sign of his downfall, but I very much appreciate as a concept in general still. I love a lot of the performances and actors who've taken him over the years. Burgess Meredith and Danny DeVito are some of my favorite performers of all time, Paul Williams has a wonderful voice and starred in my favorite film of all time. Tom Kenny, David Ogden Stiers, Robin Lord Taylor, Penguin's just had such great, terrific performances and adaptations. Batman Returns is my favorite Batman film by far and it was what got me to start paying more attention to Oswald.

I love the roles he can play in any given Batman story and how he's managed to endure all of his falls from grace by becoming an indispensable part of Batman's worldbuilding. I love his varied dynamics with Batman and Riddler and Catwoman and Gordon and his henchmen and those who get close to him. I love his style and the way he conducts himself when he's allowed to be more than just a generic mob boss. Penguin's design has, by simply staying unchanged over the decades, gone from "common rich person wear draped over a funny cartoon gangster" to "he is so out of touch and desperate for respectability that he dresses like an 1930s capitalist caricature, like a little kid's idea of what a rich and respectable man looks like, and Penguin's still stuck in that mindset". I love how absurd and plausible he is.

I like that Penguin can very easily fit just about any kind of Batman story, from the campy supervillain plots to the gritty urban crime ones. You can tell stories about Penguin falling in love, pretending to be legit because he doesn't want his aunt to learn he's a criminal, and opening up a comedy act with a talking penguin, or stories about Penguin terrorizing the city with giant robots and guided missiles and driving people to suicide. I like that he's a character who both relishes in his lifestyles of supervillain and crimelord alike, and yet is perpetually restless because the minute he acquires what he wants, he immediately starts wanting something else. He could have Batman and the Batfamily and all other supervillains wiped out and have Gotham in his pocket and maybe even become President of the United States, and he'd still want more. Because Oswald is nothing but wants, the wants of a traumatized manchild in a funny costume throwing money and toys and brute force and tantrums at the world until it makes sense, which only makes him far too fitting as a Batman villain.

Everyone forgets that Penguin was canonically the first villain to ever successfully escape Batman at the end of a story, completely bypassing the usual "villain swears revenge behind bars" ending to instead escape scot-free, and went on to establish himself as one of his biggest, most inventive and most cunning villains, second only, if not equal, to Joker. I love that he's ruthless and inventive and classy and cunning and brutal and how his main trick is using the fact that everyone underestimates the short fat man to his advantage. He's taken traits that got many of us in real life relentlessly tormented for them, and he uses them to pull the wool over those who think they are better than him.

It'ss a trick that works because even in real life people can't stop looking at this weird and silly little man and think "that guy's too silly for a Batman villain, he's not a murder clown or musclebound monster, what's he gonna do" and, yeah, that's the point, that's been the point from day one, he doesn't look scary or intimidating or even that evil, and he's the guy who pulls the rug under supergenius fighting machine Batman and becomes the top crimelord of Gotham City, a city ruled by terrors and manias and monsters infinitely bigger and scarier and stronger than he is, and he STILL made it to the top and he STILL maintains it, time and time again even when newer and flashier and scarier villains come and go. Batman is, at it's core, a fundamentally absurd character, and Penguin acts as a reminder of that. Because the minute we accept a man can terraform himself with training and money into a living legend on the level of gods, there's no reason why a tiny fat man with similar drive and resources can't likewise throw his weight with monsters and warriors far above his station.

Despite how ridiculously often he's disrespected by writers and fans alike, how far he's fallen off his former position in Batman's Rogues Gallery, and how often he's used as just a punching bag for assorted Bat-people, Penguin never goes away. He's the biggest survivor of all of Batman's villains, more so than the genuinely immortal ones, because he's the cockroach that won't go away no matter how many times you flush it.

Because once you get past the piles of money and the lounge fortresses and the armies of goons and the piles of cartoony gadget toys not too dissimilar from Batman's own, what the Penguin has is brains, and spite and hatred on a scale no other Batman villain has. He hates Batman, because Batman is nothing but yet another bully who thinks he can push Oswald around just because he's bigger and stronger. He hates the lower class for it's unsophisticated brutes and boors that made his childhood hell. He hates the upper class that's rejected and also tormented him since infancy, that he desperately spent so long trying to be a part of. He hates the monsters and supervillains he works with and has to associate with to stay alive. He hates the city that he fights to rule over tooth and nail.

And although he may never admit it, he hates himself, because he'a short paunchy man with a beakish nose who's brutal and immoral not just because those are the cards life dealt him, but because he likes what it affords him too much to give it away. Because he's never going to have the love and acceptance he desperately craves, he will never be able to accept it or keep it. Because he can never fully be a gentleman, or a monster, but instead a sad mix who belongs in neither of their worlds. Because at the end, he doesn't look like anyone else. He looks like one of him.

And still, I like Penguin because he's a Gentleman Villain. The one Gentleman Villain of Batman's rogues gallery, even if that's faded from a lot of his recent appearences that pushed the crimelord aspects to the forefront. He dresses like a gentleman thief, he's canonically a huge A.J Raffles fan, he's one of the most cunning brains of Gotham, he's got the money, resources, and adventurous spirit. Problem is, he's The Penguin. And suddenly, all that he has becomes overblown, outlandish, theatrical, and out of touch purely because it's him trying to do all those things. He's a gentleman adventurer gone rogue, the Count Fosco of the DCU, and that only makes it amusing, even endearing, when Penguin does engage in the swashbuckling antics he's so fond of.

When all his plans go to hell and so he starts fencing Batman, or when he commands henchmen with superflous fancy language, or even when Oswald gives the whole "hero" thing a shot and we see he's actually not bad at it, maybe he actually could have been one if it wasn't for the bile drowning his heart and the hellscape that warped innocent young Cobblepot into Gotham's Penguin, a name that immediately denotes something silly and ridiculous, and he carries it with pride, because he will make you respect that name.

And that's just a couple of reasons. I really, really love this character to the point of obsession and the main reason why I ever wanted to write stories for DC was to get to write Penguin and at least try to do the character a little more justice. But if nothing else, Penguin endures, regardless of what happens to him, in and out of universe. If nothing else, that's a very admirable quality in a supervillain. Oswald is the best.

[myelocin]

Postcards From: Kanazawa | Tsukishima Kei

Synopsis: The fear that comes with love is the realization that it isn't always just light. Love, rediscovered as both the fear and the drive that depicts the push and pull of whether it's worth it to say "I do," if the unknown is what's to come beyond the vow. In which it's a week until the wedding, and the both of you return to Kanazawa--to day one--as strangers.

Characters: Tsukishima Kei

Genre/Tags: Engagement!AU, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending | WC: 10,200+

A/N: this is a piece commed by @tsukishumai​ ;w; tq for trusting me w u and ur bb boi ily to the moon n back

playlist

commissions | ko-fi

The illusion of the soul is the false belief that love must always—always—be just light.

The truth is, it’s not. Love is many things. Primarily, love begins from desire. Then, that desire seeps into a drive that pushes you to keep wanting. Then finally, when it’s seeped in through the skin deep enough, love pools in the soul.

Love is bound to be raw at the very core. A desire. To say, “I want you,” and think it holds as much credibility as “I love you.”  To look at what you know is only the tendrils of something at the very most, and trick yourself into thinking that it’s enough. A beating heart—bloody red. The line just barely hanging in-between what’s selfish and selfless, before it ultimately sways and becomes selfish sometimes.

Sometimes, being right now, Tsukishima thinks.  

Sandwiched in-between you to the left, and Yamaguchi to his right, he finds his eyes flickering towards the clock a lot more often than he would have liked. Akaashi, who sat across from his seat on the table, was the first to catch on.  

He quirked a brow, presumably in question earlier, and mouthed the question if he was in a rush. Tsukishima’s never been known for having too many words, but because Akaashi pauses and insists to relieve his question with an answer, he shrugs, waving him off and mouthing back that he’s alright.  

“So,” Bokuto starts, his voice already slipping into somewhat of a slur. “How’s it feel to be the first to pop the question?”

You laugh, finding amusement in the man’s enthusiasm. Turning to Tsukishima, you sit and wait, expectant of a reaction.  

In response, he just shrugs, but a smile breaks through and redefines the nonchalance of his expression anyway. Raising the glass to his lips, he takes a quick sip before answering smugly, “It’s nice to finally settle down. You should try it sometimes.”

Bokuto waves him off, cheeks flushed and eyes already drooping from the inebriation. “Nah,” he slurs, shaking his head. The exaggeration warrants a quick laugh from Sugawara, who sits on the other side, nursing his own drink. Continuing, Bokuto huffs and takes a slight pause before he connects the last of what he says with, “—getting married is nice and all, but I don’t know, man,” he laughs. “Just feels like I’ll end up hitting a fucking blank space after I do or whatever. Not my vibe.”

Visibly, Tsukishima shifts a little, the smile on his face maintained but the lighthearted energy that earlier fueled it just slightly more drained now.  

From the corner of your eye, you notice it. Though, Akaashi’s the one who gives him a pointed stare, to which the former simply ignores.  

“But—“ Bokuto continues, as if trying to remedy the cracked part of the atmosphere that isn’t even visible in the first place—“If that’s your thing, then I’m obviously not going to judge you for that.”

Tsukishima responds by his silence. Bokuto, with his head still warped around the heavy state of his inebriation, doesn’t do so much other than sip a little more of his barely filled glass of beer, Tsukishima’s apathetic expression just a blur in his eyes now.  

“You seem happy, though,” Bokuto notes, then raises his glass towards you.

Blinking at being the sudden subject of his interest, you raise your own glass of water. The ice inside shifts, clinking against the sides of the glass, and slowly, Tsukishima watches. There’s familiarity in the way it moves down: trickling slow like the patience inside him that’s suddenly running by the clock. His palms just barely gripping the utensils, clammy. While his head, still whirs at Bokuto’s halfhearted words.  

It’s halfhearted, he reminds himself.

The thought of hitting a plateau after “I do,” in a way is terrifying.  

But he is happy, right?

The way his palms respond solely through tensing suddenly spikes the fear that maybe his ring will slip. So he looks at you, trying to find an anchor to keep the love he pushes to stay intertwined with his truth afloat as he responds, “Of course I am. I’m happy.”

You look back at him, eye to eye, though you find something waver just for a split second— wondering if there’s credibility in the saying that gold will always deliver truth.

-

The rest of the night flows easy.  

Almost naturally, he’s quick to wave off Bokuto’s invite for more drinks at the bar just down the street, tugging your interlaced hands towards the parking lot as soon as the group found its way to the exit.  

“You know he probably just wanted more company,” you laugh. Thirty minutes after making it back home, instead of jumping straight into the shower and getting ready for the night routine, you instead take out the suitcase and take your place, seated on the floor in the living room.  

“We needed to pack,” you hear him respond, his voice a little distant from the bedroom down the hall.  

You shrug. “Yeah, but we could have made time.”

“Sometimes we can’t just make things, if we don’t have any to make it with in the first place,” he sighs.

You chuckle. Perhaps it’s just one of those nights again. In the ten years you’ve known Tsukishima Kei, you found that he had a tendency to become a multitude of things.  

A stranger, at the start, because that’s where every connection begins. The neighbor who lived with his grandfather across the street from your childhood home. Kanazawa was a long way from Sendai, but before his parents had whisked him off to Miyagi some years later, he had been the friend that oftentimes spent his afternoons with you.  

Strawberry cake and tiny sips of boxed juice from the convenient store down the street, and not much conversation exchanged between the both of you. He’d tell you about the things on his grandfather’s old encyclopedia, and you’d listen with rapt attention, finding it nice how he seemed to carry a little bit of the stars the more his eyes gleamed. He just talked about dinosaurs, you remember. At ten, Tsukishima had always been a wonderer.  

Then he moved.  

From the friend who told you stories and shared his juice boxes with you under that tree, to the occasional email that would pop up on your phone, when you were in highschool and weaving your way in and out of pathways and dead-ends. Miyagi was a little like Kanazawa, he said. There was a lot of quiet in the two cities. His email would come once a week, then twice when you reckon he felt a little lonely.  

You’d reply with the same kind of enthusiasm as he had established, though you still couldn’t deny the fact that the notification with his name on it never failed to have you smiling—at least just a little bit. At fifteen, Tsukishima was far from a stranger, but he was also falling just a little short in making it to the halfway mark of being a friend too.  

The once-a-week emails were welcome, none the less. It stayed like that, until once a week turned into twice. Though most were just the customary how-are-yous and obligatory holiday greetings once the seasons came and went, one year it turned into emails about the little nothings.  

‘I had strawberry cake today,’ it once read. ‘The one we used to share tasted sweeter.’

‘I joined the volleyball team.’

‘Winter here is a little colder. I remember your puffy green jacket.’

‘I don’t know if you want to know…or if I should tell you...but our team won, and we’re going to nationals.’

Somehow, you were managed to be convinced by one of your friends that same week to travel with your own highschool’s volleyball team to assist in the preparation for nationals in Tokyo. It was just a coincidence, you used to reason. You were there, and so was he. There was a hundred other courts his team could have played at, and your priority was assisting your own team in what they needed.  

But still, you couldn’t help but wave back and cheer the loudest from your stands when he perfected the block and scored the winning point for the first set.

It was then, where you realized that perhaps Tsukishima Kei wouldn’t just be a stranger.  

Kanazawa to Miyagi, but somehow Tokyo became the in-between. Childhood friends to the sort-of friends from the other ends of the country sharing a few scattered memories in slices of strawberry shortcake and random dinosaur trivia from an old man’s outdated encyclopedia.  

He was the first to approach you after that match. A hand held out to shake, perhaps to commemorate the evident shift between strangers to friends—but it was nice.  

Because after that, friends turned into something more.  

Maybe Tokyo really was the middle ground. After you graduated and moved out of your respective cities, Tokyo became the third place of hello.  

Then things just slipped into place. He was here, and so were you. He had plans to stay, and you just signed the contract that bound you to the city for the next two and a half years. The apartment right down the hall from yours was recently vacated, and he was looking for a place to stay.  

His new work place, coincidentally enough, was just a stop away from the train station closest to your place.  

You had always doubted the presence of serendipity and everything that had to dictate with the celestial control of fate, but the ease that came with the relief of him signing the lease the very next week almost seemed to validate what had been just a farfetched something.  

From strangers, to friends, to lovers, then to this:

Ten years later, a ring on your finger, and an I do, bound to be said just a little over seven days from now.  

Tokyo was kind to the both of you. His mother’s close enough to visit on the weekends, while Kanazawa was just a shinkansen away from Tokyo station. A new apartment with enough space for two, plus maybe an extra, and a bakery right down the street with the best strawberry shortcake made fresh every day.  

The wedding’s just a week away. His grandfather, still living in Kanazawa was meant to travel with Akiteru to Tokyo last week, but because plans changed, the both of you were instead tasked with going there yourselves to travel with him. While Tsukishima hesitated, you didn’t. Yes was easy to say in a situation like this. Though your parents had moved to Tokyo some years ago, you were aware that his grandfather didn’t.  

The house across the street was still his, while the one you grew up in just now became a summer home your family would frequent to when Tokyo became too swarmed with tourists.  

You look at the half-filled contents of the suit case on the floor in front of you. The right side’s meant to hold your clothes, while the left was left bare for Tsukishima’s. You turn and look at him.  

“You can just grab the stuff you need me to bring for you and I’ll fold it in. We should probably catch the first train tomorrow if we wanna get there before sundown.”

What comes as a reply is only prolonged silence.  

You let what he started stay for a little, but because you had never been the type to be fond in gouging out answers from the blank spaces, you sigh, and break the impending silence before it could get a chance to even settle. “You’re quiet again, Kei.”

When he makes it to the living room, instead of coming back out with a stack of clothes, he stands by the wall with his hands in his pocket. His eyes shift from wall to wall, but skip over you.  

Knowing that you’ll just prompt another conversation again the more he keeps his silence, he sighs, swallowing the hesitation and clinging onto the bits of courage that floats by him in the moment. Grasping at the very tips of it, he forces the words out of his mouth. “Are you really coming with me?”

You raise a brow. “Back to Kanazawa? Of course. I’m from there too, you know. Plus I haven’t seen Grandpa in a while.”

He shifts his gaze to the side, thankful for the blur that came with forgetting to slip on his glasses. He’s always had a tendency to give in the moment he looks at you, so the vagueness in the blur was a welcome change. “It’s just for a week,” he mutters. “I think I’ll handle the trip just fine.”

“Plus,” he adds, the hike in the tone of his voice giving away his panic. “—I heard there was a problem with the florists? Maybe one of us needs to go in and fix it ourselves just in case.”  

In the ten years you’ve known him, you’ve always considered it a given that you’ve well perceived him by now. In front of you, he’s stammering. While Tsukishima has never been the face to poise and perfection—because at the end of the day he still is just a boy—you knew he only stammered when he was nervous.  

Perhaps trying to manipulate the situation through a wordless exchange was his way of doing so. In your head, you chuckle. Tsukishima Kei is many things, and is witty when it counts—but he could never be blunt when it came to the things he was unsure of.  

You try to gouge out his truth. Speaking straight to the point, you let him know that there’s no purpose in trying to skirt around. You turn to him, his sweater half folded on your lap. “You know I could have believed what you just said, but,” you pause, giving him a pointed look, “—you’re not even looking at me.”

“Is this about what Bokuto said earlier?”

The way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, confirms your suspicions that that it is about that, before he can muster up the courage to even say it. “Tell me,” you initiate. You’ve never been afraid to speak what needs to be said. “What’s got you so afraid?”

Once more, he hopes for the silence to speak for him. And like before—it doesn’t. Silence was never meant to fill in the blanks. What it did, rather, is add three seconds more on the clock that’s ticking regardless. Tsukishima bets on a timed clock to speak for him, and because you’ve never been the type to shrink at the presence of raw truth, you huff and poke into what obviously hits for him just a little deeper.  

“You’re afraid we’ll hit a blank space after we get married, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t look away, but little by little, his body language starts slipping bits and pieces of the truth you’ve already long sensed. “I think I just need to think this through.”

“What?” you scoff. “You planned to go to Kanazawa by yourself for a week to what? Soul search? To decide if you even wanna marry me?”

“I’m sor—“

“That’s what you’re not supposed to say,” you interrupt him. “You don’t say you’re sorry for how you’re feeling, because you’re allowed to feel it how it is, but shit, Kei,” you exhale, pausing to suck in a quick breath. “You couldn’t have just said this earlier?”

He looks away again, the guilt evident on his features. “You’re mad.”

“Do you blame me?”

This time, he turns to you. “No,” he murmurs. “I don’t, but I’m gonna be blunt here—“

“—first time—“

He gives you a pointed look, but in the moment, you don’t really have much in you to care too much.  

“I think I need space to clear my head.”

“Sounds like you’re contemplating on whether you wanna stay with me or not,” you respond. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

Tsukishima’s steady, this time. “Of course I wanna stay with you.”

“But,” you counter. “You aren’t sure if you want to marry me.”

He looks away. “What if—we hit a plateau after.”

“That’s still not an excuse to back out before we even try, Kei,” comes your reasoning.  

“You’re right,” he sighs. “It’s not.”

Then it’s you, who shrugs this time, giving in a little and throwing him what you hope he doesn’t see as a lifeline. There’s no comfort found in knowing that an out is a means of mercy when it comes to love. Why should there even be an out?

You settle for just cracking the door open instead. Though it was never locked, the fact that it remained close must have been understood differently by him.

“Let’s go back to Kanazawa separately, then,” you propose. The open suitcase in front of you still has the right half filled with his half folded clothes, so you reach in, taking it out one by one. “You stay with your grandfather and I’ll stay at my parent’s house.”

Tsukishima raises a concern. “He’ll wonder why we aren’t staying together.”

In response, you shrug. “Just make something up then.”

“Is this just a passive aggressive way to say you’re mad at me?”

You scoff. “When have I ever been passive aggressive, Kei? I’ve said shit as it is since day one.”  

He flinches, maybe because of what you said or the tone of the deliverance, but either way, you decide you can’t give much of a shit. It’s a given that you’re angry, but because being hurt just paves the path to silence more than lashing out, it’s not much of a surprise that you probably look deflated in front of him.  

“What I’m saying is,” you explain. “Let’s go back to Kanazawa as strangers. Do what you gotta do, however you’ve gotta do it to get your head sorted out, and then we’ll talk. I’m not dancing around in circles with you on this. Either we get married next week, or we don’t.”

He panics. “I don’t want to lose you—“

“You’re already talking like you’ve decided that you won’t be at the other end of that aisle, Kei.”

Words feel lacking all of a sudden, so you pause. The absence of the split second brevity has Tsukishima standing still, his breath held, throat dry.

But like always, clarity seems to weave its way through the cracks in the room and find you first. “Yes or no isn’t easy to decide between,” you finally mutter. Eyes to the half folded sweaters you meant to tuck into the other half of the suitcase, you realize that you’ll need to switch to a smaller trolley now because you won’t be needing this much space anyway. “I don’t know what I should tell you, because I don’t know that we’d be having a possible fallout a week before the wedding. But at the same time—I don’t want to say you’re despicable for feeling like that, Kei. It just—“

“—fucking sucks,” you sigh.  

“If you feel like you need a week to figure whatever this shit is, then okay,” you nod. “Okay. Let’s be strangers for a week and by the time we’re back in Tokyo, you give me a yes or no and be fucking blunt with it.”

-

Later that night when you turn your back against him and face the wall, his whisper breaks through the quiet. “Why are you still patient with me about this? You could have just left me.”

You shift, laying on your back and sighing to the makeshift glow in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling of your room. “Because I love you,” you sigh. “Loving someone just means you have to exhaust every other option before even thinking of throwing in the towel.”

He sleeps that night, feeling heavy.

-

He woke up later that morning, feeling the same too.  

In a sense, things admittedly started weird. You woke up before he did this time, when he usually would be the one trying to be quiet when he slipped out of bed. Even though early mornings had never been a thing for the both of you, there was still something unpleasant in waking up to an empty bed.

The sheets on your side were done, and your phone that usually would be pinging with email notifications by now wasn’t there.  

It’s odd, he thinks. While he agreed to be strangers for a week, the walk to the train station was the same. Silence was normal, but the five extra inches that added to the distance between the both of you wasn’t. You nodded his way when he pointed at the shinkansen’s direction, and wordlessly would hand him his usual brew when you stopped at the coffee shop just before going in.  

Seated beside you in the train, he tries to ignore the urge to poke you on the side and make conversation. Words have always come easy when it came to moments with you, he noticed.

Tsukishima’s aware that he’s always been dubbed as the kind of person who never preferred to say too much, and while that was true—to an extent—he realizes that there is some truth to the saying that silence kills.  

You’re seated beside him on the train, eyes to your phone, and earbuds in place. He resorts to just staring at you through his peripherals, caught in between wanting to satiate the want to talk to you by breaking the silence, or keeping it as is.  

This is where fear grips him a little tighter. The deal was, as you had pointed out just last night, that the both of you would move through the week pretending to be strangers again. You’d stay on your side of the street, while he stayed in his.  

It’s a given that his grandfather’s bound to ask about you, and so in the event that it does happen, you would just spend a few hours with them and pretend like everything was fine.  

You made it clear that you’d try to exhaust all the options before resorting to that, though. And it’s easy, he thinks, doing so. It doesn’t take much to fake a phone call from work or a last minute meeting with an old friend that wouldn’t be able to make it to the city for the supposed wedding.  

The lines were drawn, and the outline of what was to be expected in the next week was made clear.  

He thinks of what you said before you slept. Love, as that one drive that has you exhausting all your options before even thinking of quitting. It’s fair, he thinks. You’ve always been the rational thinker in the relationship.  

But then again, he doesn’t doubt your hurt either. A week was lengthy, he realizes, and to act as strangers again just a week before the wedding was a different kind of test when it came to your patience.  

Still, he owes you truth.

You’ve always told him to lay things bare, and even though what’s bare is ugly, because love always pushes to try—he stays, doing just that.  

Undoubtedly, this is a jump. There’s no question in the fact that the possibility of reaching the peak and coming face to face with a plateau scares him. But still, his thoughts counter, to face a drop that doesn’t guarantee a landing somehow terrifies him even more.

The sound of your phone vibrating snaps him out of his thoughts. Before you answer it, he snags a look of the name written on the screen—Akiteru’s.  

Tsukishima sighs, shooting you a cautious stare as you pick up the phone and turn to him.  

The tone of your voice is easy, though you look at him, unbothered. “Hey,” you answer. “Just got in the train, so Kei should be calling you in about three hours when we’re there.”

In comes a pause, before you chuckle a little. Unconsciously, Tsukishima scooches in, curious. But before he could get a chance to lean in too close, you pull away a little, looking at him curiously, an eyebrow raised. “I meant to tell you,” he hears you say, and as you look at him, he chooses to hold your stare.

“Kei and I will be staying separately for the week.”

Beside you, he shifts, fighting the urge to turn away and face forward.  

Assuming that your flinch afterwards was only a response to what he’s only certain is Akiteru’s sudden outburst, the prior nervousness of his stare shifts into concern. Understanding the are-you-okay that he mouths, you wave him off. “We’re fine,” you laugh. “I just miss staying at the house that’s all, and I’m pretty sure Kei wants to spend quality time with his grandfather.”

You stay silent after that, which truth be told, doesn’t exactly help with his nerves.  

“He’s right next to me,” you add. “We’re fine, I swear. Just wanna enjoy Kanazawa in different ways that’s all.”

-

To put it bluntly, the first day is awkward.  

His grandfather’s waiting from outside the gate the second you make it to that familiar street. Nothing much has changed, the two of you notice. The gate’s rusted a little by the edges, and the door’s still got the same chip on the left side he always said he’d take a look at.  

“Heard they were cutting down that tree,” his grandfather says, when it’s a little over three hours later and you’re all seated at a local restaurant for dinner. His old friend owned the place, he explained. Low lights, home cooked meals, and a family run business you vaguely remember your father talking about when you were young.  

Tsukishima pauses, eyebrows rising in question. “What do you mean that tree?”

“The one you used to run off to,” he laughs.  

Elbowing him, you nod towards his grandfather before pointing out, “We met by that tree, you know.”

His grandfather’s quick to responding, laughing at Tsukishima’s perplexed expression. “Seems like your grandfather’s memory is doing better these days than you, boy.”

You suppose that at the end of the day, it shouldn’t have been a big deal that he forgot. You’ve never been one to dwell too deep within the symbolic little nothings that’s bound to come with life. Rationally speaking, maybe you’re just a little miffed because of what he said the night before. And maybe that’s the reason why you’re taking this a little harsher than you would have on a normal day.  

But strangers, you remember. Strangers wouldn’t care if the other forgot.  

So with that, you shrug. You take another spoonful of the food in front of you and shift your body just slightly to the left—to which Tsukishima took noticed—and leaned forward. Without even saying much, his grandfather already has his attention on you, the smile on his face kind.

He’s always been kind, you remember. With a smile, you choose to keep the peace in the room at bay, willing yourself to ignore Tsukishima’s stare boring holes into the side of your head from beside you.  

“Now that I think about it, I don’t remember a lot of people stop by that tree,” you comment, as you take a step into nostalgia.  

His grandfather shrugs, absentmindedly nodding his head as he mulls over your word through a spoonful of broth. “It was in the middle of a residential area. Bound to get taken down if you ask me. People nowadays need a place to park.”

This time, you really feel his stare beside you almost intensify. Truth is, you can make sense of what you know he only fears. The point in life was to brave through the unfamiliar to establish a consistency in familiar grounds. To continuously rise from day one, only to hit the peak and possibly come face to face with a plateau instead of something greater than even the height of all highs—you admit that it’s terrifying.  

The plateau, that perhaps works sort of like that tree.  

It’s been there, so here it still is.  

You’ve both been at that tree—at the start—so here you both still are. Side by side back in Kanazawa, sharing a meal like I do, isn’t hanging on the line.

His grandfather’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “You’re not wearing your ring.”

Tsukishima’s voice is quick to cut into the conversation, his voice smooth. “She just doesn’t wanna lose it.”  

You nod along to his lie, undecided with how to feel in regards to how smooth he seemed to have delivered his lie.  

“You know, now that I think about it, it’s good that they’re cutting down that tree.”

Tsukishima speaks his mind this time. “Last week, you said you were looking forward to coming back home so you could visit that tree again.”

You don’t look at him when you answer. “I know, but your grandfather has a point. When things change, what else can you do but get rid of it?”  

“Oh nothing’s changed,” he laughs across you. “Even before the two of you were born, people would always talk about how it’s just there when the space could have been used for parking.”

“Then why put off cutting it down this long?”

“Who knows,” he laughs. There’s an unfound wisdom in his eyes that read through your soul when he looks at you. “Maybe cutting down what people already see as a permanent fixture will do more harm than good in the long run.”

“Even if it doesn’t contribute anything?”

Tsukishima thinks of his fear, then of the plateau.  

Through the rim of the glass, he keeps a steady eye on his grandfather, breath held as the anticipation for his words begin to really settle.  

“People these days just see what’s the most obvious from the surface and consider it as the only fault then run with it. Maybe it’s not the tree,” he laughs. “Maybe it’s just the people. They want convenience so they cut off everything around them instead of adjusting to it.”

The food tastes bland in his mouth, suddenly.

“Goes to show how selfish people can get sometimes,” his grandfather finishes, as an afterthought. “A shame, really. That old tree’s done nothing but give people shade.”

-

At the end of the day, you really had to give his grandfather a lot more credit than what was due.  

The second and third day was awkward. Even though you tried to stay inside for most of your day, venturing outside and meeting up with old friends was inevitable. And really, you should have remembered that he often started his day with a couple laps walked around the block.  

On day two, he hinted that he could sense something was off. Tsukishima had been a lot more silent lately, he pointed out. First, as just a passing comment, then by the third time he’d bring it up and wouldn’t get too much of a response out of you, there came more emphasis to what he says.  

He passed by the tree every time you’d round the street too. It occurs to you that passing through it was a shortcut, and contradicted his prior statements to having a route that catered towards the long way home, but you chose to not comment much about it.  

The second day was curiosity, and you figured that you could live at least just a week with it.  

The third day, on the other hand, gave you a little more trouble than you had bargained for.  

You’re on your way home from an old friend’s house, and ironically enough, both Tsukishima and his grandfather are out by their front door, tending to the weeds of a garden that doesn’t even look remotely grown.  

Tsukishima’s the first to look at you.  

Stubborn, and frankly intent on upholding your end of the deal in staying strangers, you attempt to wave them off with a passing greeting as you look through your bag, feeling around for the keys to the gate.  

“You don’t have to think of an excuse,” you hear him say. “He’s back inside now. It’s just you and me here.”

It’s funny how ever since you’ve made it back to Kanazawa, he’s been the one to break the silence a lot more lately.  

You don’t turn. Strangers, you think. The deal was to pretend the other was a stranger.  

“Cam,” he calls out again, the desperation in his voice inching more and more out of its shell. “I’m really sorry.”

You turn around, the buried anger getting the best of you in the moment. “You know the more you say that, the more convinced I am that I should just give you back your ring right now and go back to Tokyo alone. You talk like the only thing you’re sure of is the fact that you won’t be marrying me next week, Kei.”

The moment you shift your gaze from the ground to his eyes, a part of you aches at the idea that you may have to bid farewell to gold. Swallowing down the mass of emotions you hope isn’t entirely just made of anger, you steady yourself and sigh.  

It hits you that it’s been a long day.  

“It’s just you and me here,” you repeat, slowly. There’s a flutter in your heart that tells you it’s still love that stares back when you look at him. “Then why do you feel so far away, Kei?”

-

He doesn’t sleep that night.  

Day three of being strangers, but he hasn’t had anything figured out. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but what only grew was the silence. The distance is really just a few feet away—across the street and through the leaves of that tree that your father would always say he’d get to.  

The light from your room is still turned on, though the curtains are drawn.

8PM and it’s early. 8PM, and on a usual day, you’d usually be seated beside him in your Tokyo apartment’s living room, mulling over the nothings that went on in your day.  

It’s nice to talk about the rest of the world as if all they’re meant to be is just a passing blur in the background, he thinks. He’s never been much for words, but you were.  

Then again, you had always been one for truth.  

Reality is, he knows he could always swallow his doubts, walk across the street, cover the distance, and apologize to you with an I’m sorry, that covers all that needs to be addressed in a standard apology. Life can be lived as easy as that. You swallow your own thoughts, adhere to what they say needs to be done in the way they tell you how to do so, and be done with it.  

But he knows you just as well as he knows himself.  

You’d call him a coward—and truth be told, he’ll think the same.  

Present wise—he does think he is a coward.

Tsukishima sighs, knowing that blinking at your closed curtain visible from his window won’t do much of a difference. Begrudgingly, he sits up, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table.  

The streets around the neighborhood are quiet this time of night. The perks about living away from the city was the silence, he thinks. As soon as he tugs on a sweater, he makes his way downstairs, carefully, so he doesn’t stir his grandfather he presumes is sleeping on the room across the hall.  

He exhales, relieved at the barely audible creak the door clicks to as soon as he shuts it and turns the lock from the outside. The keys, jingling in his pockets, is the only sound that rings in the quiet.  

It isn’t lonely, but it isn’t comfortable either.  

Kanazawa has always been a town he’s considered as a piece of constant that’s meant to drift inbetween.  

Neither like Tokyo or the towns by the outskirts of Okinawa, it stays as is. Twenty years ago, the crack on the sidewalk was there, and now, twenty years later, it remains.  

There’s comfort in recognizing constants, Tsukishima admits. The tree just down this road, the crack on the asphalt, and the fact that your room is still the second window to the left visible from his on the second floor.  

When he was younger, he remembers he often would stand under your window, caught in between wanting to knock on your door and ask permission from your parents if you could accompany him for the afternoon, or just wait around until you’d come down yourself.  

While he left a lot of things on chance, the conscious choice to stay rooted in the spot by your window remained constant.  

The gravel under his feet crackle everytime he’d take a step. The moon’s hazy behind the clouds tonight, he muses. While you’d wish for the stars, he found a temporary safety in the midnight clouds. A timelessness felt when it’s midnight, stays.  

Before he turns to the corner that would lead home, he stops midway—recognizing the tree from a good few meters away.  

There’s a sense of feeling an urgency to let something go, the more he stares at it. Nearing autumn, the colors start to change, and just like that, he’s reminded of the impermanence in life.  

As the earth eventually changes throughout the years, he fears that perhaps in love—it would too.

-

“You’re out late,” is the first thing Tsukishima hears as soon as he enters the room.  

From the genkan, he peers over the shelf, noticing the lights from the kitchen is what floods into the dim living room. Slipping on his house slippers and making his way around the corner, Tsukishima gets a feel of the warmth that’s radiating from the familiarity of the space.  

After his grandmother had passed, his grandfather stayed in Kanazawa. Though his mother often expressed her desire for him to move with the rest of the family in Tokyo, every time, he’d only wave them off and say that there’s too much rooted here for him to just up and leave.  

Walking into the kitchen, his grandfather’s the first to raise a mug his way and offer a smile. “I’d ask you if everything’s fine, but I think I’ll just wait around and see if you’re even willing to tell me.”

Tsukishima chuckles airily. “Sounds like you wanna ask anyway.”

He takes a slow sip. “Okay then,” he nods, smiling like he’s just struck a deal. “First question is—are you okay?”

In response, Tsukishima smiles, pulling the chair and taking the seat across his. He nods. “’Course I am.”

His grandfather’s eyes don’t leave him. “You’re not wearing the ring, and neither is Cam.”

Suddenly feeling like he’s caught in between a blocked exit and the spotlight, Tsukishima freezes, but wills himself not to look away. “Just needed some space, that’s all.”

“To think?”

He sighs. “To reconsider.”

“Ahh,” the older man sighs. “Cold feet. Pretty normal, if you ask me.”

He raises a brow in question. “It’s normal?”

“To be nervous, yeah,” his grandfather laughs. “But looks like it’s a different case for you.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond, his eyes fixated towards a spot on the wall that feeds more into the blank space of his thoughts than anything more.  

“You’re afraid,” Tsukishima hears, and as soon as the retaliation he tries to string together at the very last minute don’t come—he realizes the core of all the chaos in his head is meant to be just like that—

Blank.

“What are you so afraid of, boy?”

In the silence, he lets the rawness of his truth slowly spill. “What if I hit a plateau after this?”  

His grandfather wastes no second in countering.  “How is it life if we just keep climbing? What’s the point in doing all that work if we never get rest?”

Tsukishima laughs. “You know, by that logic it can just go the other way around too.”

He settles in his seat, trying to appreciate the silence instead of looking for company in the noise, before he adds, “What if we decide we don’t love each other anymore?”  

“That’s not all there is to a plateau,” he laughs. “It’s a valid fear, but being afraid isn’t all there is after you marry someone.”

“Then what’s there?”

With a smile, his grandfather leans back, raises the mug to his lips, and relaxes—his eyes looking fondly at a faded photograph hung beside the wall clock. “Everyday,” he answers. “What’s there after I do is just everyday.”

Sensing that his grandfather means to say more, he chooses to retain his silence. Sighing softly, his grandfather keeps his smile steady as he continues to speak. “Everyday you wake up. You roll over in bed, you think about the checklist you do to consider a day done, then you come home, eat a meal, rest a little and start the whole day over the next day. Everyday’s like that.”

He shifts, leaning forward with his arms crossed supporting his weight on the table as he eyes his grandson with a smile. “Best part is, you can do all that with someone you love. Makes the boring part of the plateau a lot more bearable.”

“You wake up with them and complain about how boring the rest of your day will be, then come home and eat a meal with them. Wash the dishes, share the silence, and just go to bed knowing you’ll wake up with somebody.”

The smile on his face is honest, then he shrugs. “It’s nice, though. The plateau after you hit a certain point in life is just inevitable, Kei. You can either complain about life alone or complain about it with somebody. At least there will be two pairs of slippers by the genkan waiting for you everytime you come home. You’ll say you’ve made it home and someone will greet you. You’ll roll over in bed at 2am and someone will be there with you. The point of climbing in life is to get somewhere, not ascend past the norm.”

Tsukishima stays quiet, pondering over the truth in his grandfather’s words. “So life’s just meant to stay in the middle?” he asks, slowly coming into terms with his grandfather’s redefinition of the plateau.  “Life’s meant to find a consistency in everyday,” he corrects.

A few moments pass before he stands back up, pointing to the counter with a thermos. He knows it’s yours. The old one that your mother refused to throw away, because there’s a crack by the lid and a couple faded sailor moon stickers stuck by the side.  

“Look at that,” Tsukishima hears. He turns his head just in time to see the old man offer him a patient smile, the message in his eyes delivered without a hitch. “That old thing’s seen a couple of decades, but it still gets to you when you need it, right?”

It’s not so bad to have an old thing be your constant, right?

-

Twenty minutes after his grandfather climbs back to his room upstairs, Tsukishima’s seated on the side of the table beside the window. Peeking through the half-opened blinds, he can still see that the light from your room is still flicked on.  

Without mulling over the decision, he takes his phone out, scrolling through the contacts until he taps your name. A swipe without too much pressure, because even his thumb’s memorized where your name is by now. Kind of like muscle memory, he supposes.  

Bypassing the unannounced rules about what to do as the strangers you had claimed from the start of this week, it results to the lack of hesitation as he types a quick text and presses send without a thought that would counter it.  

I love you, it reads.  

From his spot in the kitchen, he leans back and smiles, pouring himself a cup of the tea he knows you brewed yourself on the nights where he can’t sleep.

The lights from your room stay on for a few more moments before it dims, but before the metaphoric silence could take root, the screen of his phone lights up.

Stop walking around at night. Drink the tea and try to get some sleep.

Exhaling almost in relief, it’s the slow beating of his heart that resettles him back into the love he’s known everyday.  

It’s not quite the end, but it isn’t exactly somewhere unpleasant either.

-

Two days before you’re meant to return to the city, instead of spending the day in your room—like you had initially planned—you somehow found yourself in the passenger seat of his grandfather’s old car, with a grocery list in hand.  

You sigh, understanding what his grandfather’s trying to do.  

As you look down, there’s nothing much written in the grocery list. He had complained about some back pain earlier, followed up by his insistent request of desperately needing his groceries done so when Akiteru was to arrive later on, dinner would be taken care of.

Beside you, with his hands on the wheel, Tsukishima sighs. “We could have just ordered in food for dinner. It’s just Akiteru coming,” he mumbles.  

Keeping your eyes to the window to your left, you shrug. “He likes making the ordinary special, I guess.”

Tsukishima stays silent after that, mentally thankful for the green light and the empty roads. The more stops, the longer silence would stay. And even after the sort of middle ground from the night before, he doesn’t know what to say to you.  

After making a quick turn, he pulls up into the parking lot and kills the engine. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he turns to you, with an expectant look. “You can just stay here if you don’t wanna go in with me,” he offers. “It’s a short list, I can be in and out in a bit.”

You wave him off, already slinging on your bag and opening the car door—the list on your hand. “It’s alright. I think I’m more familiar with this area than you are, so we can just meet back in the car in thirty minutes if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t need me to come with you?” he raises a brow.

You shake your head no, but upkeep the smile on your face anyway as you exit the car and close the door.  

-

Something about what you say sticks with him, the more he thinks about it.

He can distinguish the hesitation laced each of your decisions. You look past him, but not exactly at him. You speak to him, but keep the conversations short. Though conversation was rare between the both of you this past week, the times that you did speak to him, your words often were clipped short.  

It’s your means of upkeeping your end of the deal, he realizes.  

You’ve always been one for communication, but then again, patience can only stretch so much.  

He respects your wish for distance and walks the opposite way from the grocery store, towards a building he doesn’t really known. It’s a gallery, he realizes. Three steps past the entrance, he notices that he’s one of the few that’s in the room.  

Traditional artwork line the wall, hung in frames that have rusted throughout time.  

Tsukishima stares, eyes drawn to the pieces of art he recognizes from the few scattered memories in his childhood that relate to his time in the city.

A fieldtrip, when he was seven. He remembers leaving the house upset over the yellow hat he had to wear, and the rain boots his teacher wouldn’t let him change out of. Unlike the present, rain was present that day. He stood beside you in line, and had to tilt his head up at the piece of art he always thought was the prettiest out of the bunch.  

And now, almost two decades later, he still thinks the same.  

He smiles at the memory, finding the comfort of returning to what’s familiar, pleasant.  

As if caught by an epiphany, and suddenly enveloped in a sense of a rediscovered home, here, within a room that’s familiar, he finds purpose in the permanence of love.

Love, that’s never meant to be stretched into the likeness of what the poets declare as the absolute form of love after “I do.”

Staring at the piece of art with the rusting frames, the strokes within the canvas still depict the same story. It still is beautiful.  

It’s doesn’t become more—but it stays as is.

And maybe that’s what his grandfather was trying to convey.

To fear a certain phase in love is something that comes and goes, but it often never stays. It can linger, but eventually, it too, fades.  

What stays is what’s rooted.  

Primarily, just you. Truly, just love.

That tree in that old street, these paintings on the walls, and the kind of serenity that washes over him at the thought of you.  

The fear in life comes in the form of thinking that beyond the peak lays a plateau. Beyond “I do,” what’s next to come is love, dwindling until “I don’t love you anymore,” is the only thing left to be said.  

It’s fear, that spoke to him the past few weeks, so this time, as he gives in, he listens to love.  

It’s quiet.

But through the smoke in the room, the message that’s meant to deliver truth comes in full clarity. Illuminated, it appears before him as it is. A painting that’s struck him as beautiful then and now, and the thought of you as the face that’s always been the first to greet him every morning for more than just a few years now.  

An old man stands not too far from him, hands clasped behind his back as he stares—with a smile on his face—at a similar painting on the wall. Sensing Tsukishima’s presence, he looks over and redirects the smile his way. “Been coming here for years, and looking at this still feels the same.”

Poking at the doubts, Tsukishima responds, “Are you afraid that it won’t get old?”

The gentleman laughs, though soft enough so it doesn’t echo too much in the halls. The joy lingers around Tsukishima, on the other hand. “To have something grow old with you isn’t a bad thing. Day one, this piece was beautiful, and now, almost forty years later, I look at it and think the same too.”

A beat of silence passes, but the man speaks once more.  

“My wife, when she was alive, showed me this piece. Maybe I look at this and still find it beautiful after all these years because I think of her, but I don’t think trying to focus on that matters much. The feeling’s the same, even if it grew old.”

Reciprocating the older man’s goodbye with a nod to the head, it’s then where he laughs, a little bit more of the truth unraveling as each moment comes and goes. Thinking of his words, he dwells on its meaning.  

Standing there, alone in the museum hall, the smoke clears, and he presents himself his words of blended truth and patience.  

Love is timeless, his thoughts say. The plateau after the peak is as possible as the drop, but life’s meant to be lived in the lows and in betweens as much as the highs. Time moves in waves, and perhaps love doesn’t always grow stagnant. It can be timeless, even though the frames rust. His hair will grey, and maybe you’ll stop linking your pinky with him beneath the sheets during the rainy season’s thunderstorms, but the root of love stays.  

Within the plateau, time will move, and you’ll both grow old, but the taste of the tea you’ll brew for him will remain the same.  

And thirty minutes later, when he makes it back to the parking lot with you waiting by the door, the love that steadies his beating heart will be the same too.  

Steady, present, and timeless.  

-

Eyeing the dashboard, you’re the first to break the silence. “Why’d you buy a postcard?”

Rolling into a stoplight, he eases on the brakes and shrugs. “Lived here for so long, and I don’t even own a postcard from here.”

“Me neither,” you blink.

A couple minutes pass, and the car’s rolling again, but he misses a turn. Assuming that he’s just not used to the usual route, you stay quiet—until about he pulls up to a familiar street.  

Parked to the side, through the windshield, you find yourself face to face with a familiar tree. “Kei.” He hums.  

The coming autumn has a few leaves beginning to change its colors, you notice. The summer hues, unbalanced, as bits of red begins to bleed through the green. “You were supposed to turn there, not here.”

He shifts the gear into park, then takes his hands off the wheel, leaning back. “I know.”

It’s quiet after that, but it isn’t all that unpleasant either.  

This is the part where the questions begin to poke at you, the what-ifs in love let out in the open as you voice a little bit of your vulnerability. And because the truth is daunting, you hope he understands you through the metaphors. “Do you really think they’ll cut it down?”

He doesn’t allow the silence to take more than a moment. “I think so,” he nods his head.

“It’ll be good though, I think,” you add, nodding your head.  

It’s quiet in the room even though the words of your truth coaxes the unhealed wound to resurface. As it comes into light, it doesn’t sting.  

Sitting shoulder to shoulder beside him in the car, the tree that witnessed the first hello stays rooted, and watches.  

He doesn’t turn to you as he speaks, but in a way, you feel as if a farewell was the finale that was meant to be delivered somehow. “It’s good,” he starts. “Letting go of something that needs to be let go of.”

-

Tokyo

-

Tsukishima’s the first to speak.  

“I’m not good with words,” he starts.  

There’s a hush in the crowd, so you stay with it, knowing you’ll only add to the silence should you choose to respond. It wasn’t your turn anyway, so you will yourself to be still and listen.  

“Hey Cam,” Tsukishima continues, choosing to begin his vow with a hello. “I think a lot about what love’s supposed to have meant, mean, or eventually mean in the long run. I thought too much about it to the point where it…” he trails off, blinking at the piece of paper before flicking his eyes up to you with a slight shrug. “—to the point where love began to scare me.”

For a brief moment, he closes his eyes, confident in the fact that when he opens them, he knows he’ll see the world in clarity this time. With the smoke cleared and the scattered pieces of all his doubts set in order, the words of his truth may not speak of the most tender poem of love—but within the lines lies his truth.

As he lays his truth on you, he holds a breath and lets it all go. “I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” he laughs, exhaling softly, his shoulders shaking a little. “Never occurred to me how much of a liar the downside of your thoughts are when you listen to everything that isn’t love,” he continues.  

Your shoulders relax, and even through the blur of the veil, you can tell his eyes are steadily watering.  

“I’m sorry,” he says, the microphone just barely picking up what he says. You nod your head anyway, wishing you were holding his hands instead of the bouquet. Reassurance comes in many forms, but you know he’s always been the type to receive it well through physical touch.  

A kiss on the cheek, your head on his shoulder, or your hands squeezing his. But the smile you give him suffices for now, you think.  

“I wanna wash the dishes with you for the rest of my life. I’ll wash, and you dry. Nothing much happens in our day usually, but nothing has to. I’ll listen to you talk about how shit the traffic is in the city, because I know you’ll listen to me talk about the same complaints I have from Monday to Friday anyway.”

You realize he’s written his vows in the back of a postcard—the one you saw on his dashboard a few days ago, from Kanazawa.  

He sniffles a little then looks up, laughing to himself at how emotional he’s getting. Allowing more than just truth to trickle out slow is a part of love too, he realizes, so with a soft laugh, he lets the tears be and speaks again. “What needed to be let go of was let go of,” he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for this long.  

In a sense, maybe he has. Sometimes fear grips you tightly enough that it shifts your point of view from one thing to another. What’s love, becomes fear. Then what’s fear, becomes the smoke that buries the core of truth too deep within the haze.  

“I let go of the thought the thought that after marriage, if nothing great would come then that would be the end of love,” he breathes. “I stared at that tree and thought of Grandpa’s words again and again then wrote my apology and I love you on the back of a postcard that only had one a couple of blank lines at most.”

He waves it for you, then to the crowd, to see. The words, jumbled up together look almost incomprehensible written so closely together, but in a way, you have a feeling that he’s just speaking the rest of his truth as it comes in the moment.  

The truth in love, you realize, is that its truth comes, fully unraveled the moment the initial plan falls apart.  

He puts down the postcard, and just looks at you.  

“There’s a lot I don’t think I will ever understand when it comes to love, but maybe I’m here to just feel it and not try to decipher it.” He pauses, ignores the few tears that roll down, and shrugs his shoulders, admitting to himself that the truth in his love is the first thought that comes.

“Love doesn’t have to the greatest,” he tells you. “I just wanna wash dishes with you for the rest of my life and hear about how traffic was unbearable.”

You smile, and your assurance reaches him.  

“I think that counts as love too,” he finishes, the smile on his face tender.

-

As he leans in after I do, he murmurs a question in your ear that you’ve been expecting since the start.

You could have just left, he said. How did you deal with me and still choose to stay?

Your answer was said without a hint of hesitation. With a shrug, and an honest smile, you told him, “Because I love you.”

“I think we both had to let go of the thought that to love always means to have the biggest reasoning behind it. We do things for love, and because of love. That’s just how it is,” you shrugged.

Oddly enough, it’s in that same exact moment where he remembers Bokuto’s question from that dinner a week and some days ago.  

How does it feel? he recalls, and even though words have never found him first nor met him in the middle easy, he gathers what he can and just settles on the conclusion that it just feels like love.

Wherein love, is this.

An identical band on his and your finger, and the taste of I do pleasant on the tongue. I love you, as a truth that’s easy to fathom and healing to hold, and the fear of what comes next just a passing thought that goes as soon as it comes.  

Later that evening his grandfather sits him down and asks him what he really thinks about why people have been putting off cutting down that tree for a few decades now.  

With a laugh, the hesitation that often turns decisions is made clear to him. “You know I think that people would decide things and think they’re so solid on it before even being face to face with it. The second they get to that tree with a chainsaw, I promise you they changed their minds. You think you go there and cut off or let go of one thing, then realize you’re cutting off something else in the end. They go back to what’s been there and realize that it’s not the problem at all.”

Tsukishima sighs, and his grandfather watches, the smile on his face easy. It’s like watching some emerge from a smoked out room, he thinks. Clarity’s always been a blessing, and he’s glad his grandson’s finally found it.  

“Sometimes going back to the start is the one thing you need to be reminded that it’s worth it to keep going.”

“Sounds like you’re not talking about the tree,” his grandfather comments.  Looking at you, Tsukishima smiles. “You could say that too.”

[defendersoftheearth]

Episode Reviews: “The Necklace of Oros” and “Torn Space”

For several centuries, the Walkers have safeguarded the Necklace of Oros, a powerful artefact from another dimension. Now an alien named Graviton has come to collect it, and, naturally, he’s teamed up with Ming. Since Jedda currently has the necklace, she’ll be their target. Conveniently enough, the young Defenders head out to an amusement park that’s secretly owned by Ming the Merciless — and if that last part sounds seriously weird to you, you’re not alone. According to Kshin, the park was around before Ming and Graviton hatched their scheme. Apparently, Ming was just hoping that the kids would walk into it someday. The question is, did Ming have it constructed himself, or did he merely buy it from someone?

Anyway, Ming owns the park. Never mind how. Naturally, the place is loaded with booby traps, which the kids manage to escape. This serves as the main action sequence, taking up a good deal of the episode. However, I actually found the battle toward the end a little more engaging. In the final moments, Graviton teleports to Monitor to try taking the necklace. One wonders why he couldn’t just warp into the cave where the Walkers had it hidden. Caught off guard, the adult Defenders are unsuccessful in stopping him. Finally, Jedda taps into the necklace’s power, and manages to scare Graviton away. A big highlight of this episode is the flashback that tells us of the necklace’s origin.

In “Torn Space,” part two of this tale, the action really picks up. The Defenders take control of their laser cannons and have a pretty nice skirmish with Ming’s robots. Then Graviton reappears, and opens up a portal that threatens Earth. Ming calls the team, and gives them a tip: they’ll need to “reverse the polarity” of their power generators, enabling them to blast Graviton with a big laser beam. It doesn’t really work, and they end up draining a good deal of the power from their base. Naturally, this is what Ming wanted, and he sends a new squad of fighter planes to attack Monitor.

As with the previous episode, the middle action sequence gets the most focus, but it’s the part at the end that’s actually more fun. With Monitor’s power momentarily down, Flash has to defend the base on his own, setting up a very tense and heroic aerial dogfight. It’s too bad that the writers waste so much time on the Graviton sequence, because this air battle could’ve been longer and more complex. I wanted to see Flash evading beam after beam, using a variety of weapons, and turning the robots’ attacks against each other. Still, what we get is decent enough. This is probably the closest that Flash ever comes to dying, as Garax destroys his plane and, in a very unsettling moment, targets him again as he’s parachuting down. Flash has to free fall and hit the pool around Monitor to survive. For the sake of believability, the artists probably should’ve made this drop a little shorter.

The Phantom has a pretty nice moment as well, as we learn that he can project his power outward to attack someone, with a little help from Mandrake. At the end, Rick and LJ get the base up and running again, and the team manages to drive Ming’s robots away. Jedda slips into the portal with Graviton, but manages to escape after it closes. Though the necklace remains the focal point, it really isn’t all that interesting at this stage. However, the conflicts surrounding it certainly are, and that’s probably the way that things should be.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Can I request the hostage prompt with whirl,cygate and megatron with a human so

Ohoho I've been waiting to do this one... Hope everyone enjoys some silliness mixed with sweetness!

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Whirl

·You've always had a kind of strength Whirl recognized and admired, it's one of the reasons he fell for you in the first place, but even you aren't sure what exactly gives you the fuel to snap with enough force that it freezes your captor at their active communication station. Maybe you're just tired of being chained up, but their arrogant demeanor is more than likely what pushed you over the edge, specifically with that last taunt at Whirl that used "Cyclops" as the punchline for the millionth time. Swears are beautifully melded into an avalanche of fury that starts with you demanding this lazy idiot think of a better insult for your partner than something involving his looks, because "You think YOU'RE hot shit?! There's corpses in here with more charisma than you!"

·Fear doesn't even register as you keep on tearing apart your captor in every way you can. Nothing is off limits with all the taunting Whirl has been forced to endure on the other end of the communication line, and thus you bring out every below the belt insult you can think of. The bad bot's jaw is slack as you continue, looking to their dazed face and declaring "Not to mention you're dumb enough to go after MY mech, you think a loser like you is gonna stand a chance against WHIRL?! Just last week he tossed a combiner off a bridge because he called me "fleshy", what do you think he's gonna do to YOU?!"

· The communicator is still running when your kidnapper leaves it to try and intimidate you into silence, a move that makes you laugh in exasperated dismissal. "Oh, now you're gonna THREATEN me, really? Did I not make myself clear? You've pissed off the deadliest mech in the universe, and he's got the entirety of the Lost Light helping him search, your next few hours would be a lot better spent deciding how you want what's gonna be left of you interred!" Though you're not even knee height compared to your captor, he actually seems to flinch at your words, especially with you raging so close to his gobsmacked face. The rush of finally shutting him up spurs you to continue your roasting with increasingly petty and crude comments on your partner's significantly superior looks.

·In a stroke of fantastic fortune or misfortune depending on your perspective, a tactical explosion tears into the underground base just as you start to elaborate on Whirl's many other impressive skills. Bots rain in to overwhelm your kidnapper and his automated defenses in a coordinated ambush, one quickly ruined when your absolutely giddy paramour rushes forth without a care to take out the captor in a flying jump kick with a howling battle cry. Rather than eviscerate his now vulnerable enemy, Whirl leaves the crumpled kidnapper where he lies, heedless to the battle still raging all around as his optic sparkles as he beholds you. Like a damsel being swept off their feet you're plucked from your chains and pulled into his careful claws.

·All but gushing with euphoria, he explains that your brilliant distraction tactic gave them the ability to trace your location, and that he heard every word of your spark warming defense on his behalf. You can hear the unhindered adoration in his voice, but you also get a chance to see it as he practically dances through the combat with you held in one arm. By the time your kidnapper is the only one left, he looks lovingly into your eyes and primes his gun with a tender whisper. "Want me to kill this glitch just for you, babe?" The other bots quickly interfere to insist on taking him in for a proper trial, something you're quite alright with as you explain all you really want is to get some rest. Whirl insists on carrying you all the way to bed, whispering sweet nothing's and more or less being the most affectionate anyone has ever seen him.

·Afterwards you're told what it was like on the other end of the communication line. He'd been inconsolable at your kidnapping, and it had taken multiple bots to prevent him from tearing apart the ship as the messages came in. But the moment you'd started shouting? He'd been initially frozen like the rest of them, but had eventually leaned in beside the communicator to listen, his optic getting mistier at every passing curse word yelled on his behalf. Some described his demeanor as that of a lovestruck teen listening to their crush sing a love ballad, though they emphasize his emotional reaction to hearing you was undoubtedly genuine, as it was probably the first time he'd ever been defended so passionately by anyone. The endless doting on you he engages in afterwards leaves you little doubt this is true.

Cygate

·Having two loving partners has always been a blessing, which is probably why you're so easily driven to a blind rage in the face of your captor's endless attempts to mock both of them through the brief communications he sends to the crew, which are also made more unbearable by his ever increasing list of demands for your return. At his latest taunting of their "freakish" romance, you hit your boiling point. The communicator is still running when you lay into the callous bot for having the audacity to insult anyone's choices when he's set himself up in a literal evil lair. "There's body parts just thrown around like confetti in here, and you LIVE like this?! Do you think you get to decide who's weird in this scenario?! At least those two were decent enough to have each other as roommates, you couldn't convince anything living to shack up with your creepy ass!"

·At the total silence you somehow find the fury to keep going, but harder and faster this time, your self restraint little more than a memory as you dangle from the chains keeping you still. "Is it a jealousy thing?! Are you just that peeved off you're single? That you had to steal me to cut them down from three to two? Bad news dumbass; they're STILL beating you on the dating front!" It's not helping your situation, but tearing in to the jerk who's dragged you into a cave and spent so long bullying your partners feels too good for you to stop, especially with the stupid look of indignation and confusion twisting his expression. Not to mention he gives you plenty to rip into even as he tries in vain to make you shut up.

·"You think you scare me?! Do you even know who I'm dating?! Do you think they'll let you get away with this stunt?! One of them can destroy your stupid face with one punch, the other is Cyclonus, and you've gone and pissed them both off!" While it may be a little underwhelming to threaten the guy with what others will do to him, you're hardly in a mood to complain when his expression briefly gives way to one of horrified realization. Yet that hardly calms you down in any significant way. Did he drag you to some nowhere planet and chain you to a wall without even bothering to consider the consequences?! Your back is killing you and the bots have been enduring his incoherent demands for hours, and perhaps you could forgive that if not for all his haughty taunting, which drives you to once again begin raging.

·"Did you even have a plan?! Do you actually have any idea what you're up against, or did you just think you'd swipe a human and earn an easy paycheck? Because if you had even an inkling of what my mechs are capable of, you'd be headed for the nearest space bridge and warping as FAR away from here as physics allow!" While it's a new level of ridiculous, even for your crazy life, the absurdities of the nonexistent plan simply make you see red. It's one thing to be kidnapped by someone who at least has goals, but to be chained up in a cave by some idiot who doesn't have any plans beyond profit and bragging? That'd be enough to tick you off in itself, but the additional insults he's levied at your partners bring your tirade into molten levels of anger that seem absolutely bottomless.

·You're practically red in the eyes when the whole place quakes, and by the time you realize your captor is booking it he's already made it to the door, though his escape ends there when it opens to reveal the bots you've been wanting to see more than anything. A single strike from Cyclonus sends the kidnapper clear across the room, and he's followed by a battle ready Tailgate roaring out his fury as the security systems come on. The chaos of automatic turrets does nothing to distract you from the little blue bot pummeling your captor, and it only makes the arrival of a familiar purple mech that much more heroic as he snaps your chains and pulls you into his arms. The battle is little more than a formality before the barely conscious villain is cuffed and prepared for transport to trial, something your two partners are only willing to allow under the threat of personally hunting him down if he tries to escape justice. Before even leaving the cave you're smushed in the middle of a passionate hug.

·Tailgate alternates between ecstatic buzzing and relieved weeping at your rescue, while Cyclonus never loses a soft smile but keeps finding opportunities to hold and touch you as if he needs to be reassured you're here. It's heartwarming, but according to the rest of the crew it all started at your unplanned radio takeover. No bot had been prepared to hear their favorite human erupt in such unbridled rage, but those two had been shocked in the most wonderful meaning of the word, their expressions reflecting awe like no other until the ship had actually arrived at your location. Cyclonus had actually gone slack jawed while Tailgate had threatened to faint in his arms, but joy had painted their reactions more and more as time had gone on. The tiny powerhouse and the colossal mech out of time were still effusive in their praise every time you three were together, neither having ever known someone could truly love the two of them so completely.

Megatron

·Knowing that Megatron has a sizable target on his back and a lot to be criticized for doesn't make enduring your captor any easier, which is probably why you end up reaching a boiling point after a few hours of listening to the bot who's tied you up try to claim some kind of moral high ground. A tiny human being protective of a titanic gladiator may be illogical, but you can't seem to care when you finally hit your limit, the chains keeping you in place rattling from your sheer force of rage. Because seriously, so long as we're criticizing people for immoral actions, can you cut in about the time some raging jerk tied you up just to taunt another bot and get some cash on the side? Your simple but glaring barb immediately gets the attention of the much larger alien as they stare at you in shock.

·At his bafflement you become entirely unhinged. "Really? What, do you need me to spell out the irony of all this?! You're calling MY MECH a monster, but I don't see him running many evil lairs at the moment, do you?! Kind of rich, you claiming the high ground while I'm literally CHAINED TO THE WALL and our only present company is CORPSES, don't you think?!" The various and still unexplained dead bodies dotting the cave remain as the only audience you know of while the communicator is abandoned, your captor leaving it behind so he can approach and try to growl out some kind of intimidation. It has no effect beyond making you more furious than ever before. Had the chains not been holding you down, you'd have certainly tried to swing at his stupid face while you snapped.

·"Are you trying to scare me? You, a two bit kidnapper who holed himself up in a cave, and I'm supposed to be impressed?! I'm DATING Megatron! One look at a bot that terrifies the galaxy and I decided I wanted a piece of him!" You're almost proud as you declare your undying love for your gigantic partner, something that has earned you a lot of grief from others but has made you happier than you've ever been in your entire life. While you ordinarily don't attempt to argue on his behalf, per his request, it's impossible not to just grill a jerk who thinks he has the high ground to criticize literally anyone. Plus your open and passionate fondness for the former warlord seems to be scaring your captor more than the mech himself ever could, something that brings a devilish twinkle to your eye as you continue to threateningly gush over the bot you adore, if only to pay this jerk back for all the gloating he made said mech endure.

·You're absolutely effusive as you passionately and quite aggressively go on about what a gentlemech you're dating, with ample divertions to the many ways his incredible strength and size are used for much more protective and noble purposes, like holding you close or crushing bad guys. It isn't long before you're spinning a terrifying yarn about the time you were caught in a firefight and he tore a hunk of the wall clean off to shield you from the danger before proceeding to beat the attacking forces with the corpse of their leader. The kidnapper is actually backing away slowly, which turns to backing away quickly as you begin to describe Megatron's romantic poetry skills and how some of his greatest talents lie not on the battlefield but in the bedroom, by which point he's preparing his security systems to cover his escape.

·Perfect timing, from your perspective, makes the sudden explosion of every door a beautiful and inspiring sight. In what has to be the most well coordinated ambush of all time, your friends of the Lost Light storm the cave and annihilate the resistance so fast you only have to blink before a very restrained Megatron is cuffing your petrified kidnapper and tossing him to Magnus so he can be taken into custody. When he turns to you he's actually smiling, and there's a lot behind the expression. Relief, gratitude, exhaustion, and a million other emotions swarm in his optics as the chains keeping you bound crumble like dust in his grip, and you're lifted in his cupped hands like a priceless treasure. Though he's mostly quiet for some time after, you can hear how absolutely smitten he is with you every time he speaks, and the lovestruck look of pure affection never seems to leave his face, which you see often as he appears terrified to lose you.

·A couple of other bots feel compelled to tell you; he was on the warpath when he found you missing, and many had been taking bets on how little would be left of your kidnapper once the former Decepticon got his hands on him. Yet, as soon as he'd overheard you, something about his whole demeanor had changed in an instant. He hadn't just softened, he'd been visibly moved by the passion of your defense and the fire of your love for him. The very idea that he could be defended had been unthinkable in his mind. Yet you'd faced a much larger foe without fear because you'd been so angry on his behalf, what could he possibly have done to deserve such a thing? His gratitude is apparent every moment the two of you spend together, from his rather out of character cuddling to his impressive increase in poems written to describe his adoration of you. Though it isn't at all necessary, you do enjoy having been able to let him know how deeply you cherish him.

[captain-josslett]

Broken Melody - Part Thirty Two

Masterlist

Summary: Grammy Award winning Emma Danvers is the first to say she has a pretty good life. But what happens when it implodes around her and it looks like things will never be the same again?

Words: 8.6k+ (opps)

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, PTSD moments

Pairings: Emma Danvers x Lena Luthor, Alex Danvers x Sam Arias

This Part: Two weeks before the surgery, the Danvers sisters find out something about their Mom and the Superfriends go bowling!

Surprise! Two days later! What is going on? I had a lot of fun writing this. Sorry it got so long!

Thank you for reading and let me know if you wanna be tagged or any general feedback will be greatly appreciated. Please! I like knowing your thoughts.

Taglist: @finleyfray, @life-is-hella-unfair, @natasha-danvers, @supergirl-writingz, @camslightstories, @thinking1bee, @aznblossom

2 Weeks Before The Surgery

Emma slowly wakes up and stretches her whole body while voicelessly yawning. Generally her sleep hasn’t been as disturbed as before, but Emma is still finding she doesn’t feel as refreshed as she should when she wakes up.

Her hand reaches out for Lena, but finds the space next to her empty and cold. She blinks her eyes open and silently sighs when there is no sign of her girlfriend.

Lena had warned that she may have to work on Saturday due to the volume of business piling up. But she'd already said she needed to recharge.

Still.

Even though Sam and Lena have been hiring more staff to work the caseloads and Lena has been supervising the team leaders in the labs. The workload just seems never ending for L-Corp at the moment.

Causing Emma to barely see her girlfriend this week leaving Lena to usually stumble tiredly into the apartment after Emma has gone to bed. She’d sleepily brush her teeth, flop into bed, sometimes fully clothed and make Emma jump awake by the bounce of the bed. If Lena was still clothed in her tight business clothes, Emma would carefully change Lena into her pyjamas so she could sleep more comfortably. Emma would then kiss her on the forehead due to the raven haired beauty already being asleep.

Then Lena would wake up before her alarm, leaving Emma to sleep in as Lena quietly sneaks out of the apartment to head to L-Corp before sunrise. There wasn’t even much time for them to have lunch together but Emma would savour the moments she could have with Lena.

However, last night when Lena stumbled through the bedroom door, Emma had still been awake and once Lena crawled into bed and into Emma’s arms, she had groaned that she would take Saturday off to recharge.

‘Guess not.’ Emma thinks sadly while rolling out of bed to use the bathroom. She wobbles slightly as the room spins but Emma was getting used to the sensation.

Afterwards she grabs her phone and sees a message from her Mom

Eliza: Morning Sweetheart! Was wondering if you and Lena wanted to grab breakfast/brunch/lunch with me? Depending on what time you wake up of course!

Emma’s heart warms at how her Mom always wants to include Lena in their outings, which evidently, has started to dwindle. Emma glances at the time on her phone and sees it’s just gone 10:30am.

Emma: Yes please! Although it will be just me cause Lena has to work. 🥺

Where would you like to go? Do you want me to pick you up?

Due to everything happening Eliza had decided to rent an apartment that was close to the DEO and in a location that was in the middle of her daughter’s apartments. Emma was still impressed that her Mom managed to achieve all this in such a short time. But once her Mom’s mind was set on something, she went for it and no one would dare tell her to go back to Midvale.

Eliza: That’s a shame. How about that beach cafe you rave about so much?

Emma snorts at her Mom’s text.

Emma: Mom, I rave about a lot of beach cafés…

Eliza: Is that sarcasm I detect?

Emma: Noooo

Eliza: Anyway, you choose sweetheart, I am ready when you are. Just let me know when you are leaving.

Emma: Great! Give me 15 mins!

Emma quickly places her phone on the bed and races to the walk-in wardrobe, having had her shower the night before she waited for Lena to come home.

Suddenly the room spins and warps around her. Emma closes her eyes, waiting for the moment to pass. Thankfully it does and she continues her task. Choosing blue skinny jeans, a white t-shirt with gold stars on and a black hoodie. She stuffs her feet into black converses and grabs her phone, texting her Mom and places it into her messenger bag.

Emma: Just leaving now.

But as Emma heads for the door she notices a piece of paper on the island. Intrigued, she zips over, banging her knee into the corner of the unit. Unknowingly cracking the hard unit slightly.

‘Mother fucker!’ Emma’s mind screams as she rubs her knee before focusing on Lena’s handwriting.

‘Good Morning my love,

I’m sorry for leaving you like this but I have to go into work. I will hopefully be able to come to the bowling alley. If not, please apologise to Nia and give her a hug from me.

All my love, Lena x’

Emma lets out a voiceless sigh, she knew Lena was not in the apartment, but seeing the proof frustrates her. Disappointment in her girlfriend starts to creep in, she hopes Lena can make it to the bowling alley, not for her, but for Nia. Who has been bouncing around like a puppy with how much she was looking forward to spending time with the Superfriends to celebrate her birthday.

Due to Lena’s connections they’ve managed to hire a VIP private room with a few lanes, meaning once they are through the doors they don't need to have any face modifiers activated.

Because of Lena’s note, Emma grabs Nia’s birthday gifts and card, just in case Emma doesn’t return to the apartment before the party.

Her phone bleeps and Emma quickly takes it out as she exits the apartment.

Eliza: Okay Sweetheart! Drive safe!

Emma rolls her eyes at her Mom’s message and resists sending a sarcastic comment back. Instead she smiles down at her phone while she enters the elevator and activates her face modifier. She chooses a face with a beauty mark like Marilyn Monroe and she can’t help but pull a sexy pout while studying the new face in the mirror of the elevator.

Soon the doors open into the garage level and Emma approaches the L-Car, while mournfully staring at her bug. She gets into the car Lena designed for her and drives to her Mom’s apartment.

Eventually she pulls up outside Eliza’s building and finds her Mom is already waiting outside, with J’onn by her side. They haven’t noticed her arrival as they continue talking. Emma watches them with interest, noticing the smiles on their faces and how close they are standing while facing each other. Her eyes lower and widen at the realisation that they are holding hands.

Emma gets out her phone and records a short video of the pair interacting, zooming in on their joined hands before turning the camera on herself and raising an eyebrow. Immediately she sends the video to her sister’s group chat and another to Lena.

Emma: Morning love! Hope work is going okay? So… Picking up Mom for brunch and I’ve come across this… I don’t know how to feel… I want to squeal in happiness and simultaneously wretch! Oh Rao… We’re gonna have to give him the shovel talk aren’t we? 😬

Suddenly there is a knock on the passenger window, making Emma jump in her seat. Looking over she realises her Mom is standing by the door, waiting to be let in and Emma unlocks the door.

“Morning Sweetheart.” Eliza says while  sliding into the car and gives her youngest daughter a tight hug.

When they part, Emma looks around for J’onn.

“Oh he’s already left, doesn't want the shovel talk just yet.” Eliza jokes as she puts on her seat belt, Emma tilts her head, wondering how he would know that. “He heard your thoughts as you were messaging your sisters and Lena.”

Emma snorts and shakes her head, of course J’onn would have heard her. She  drives the car away from the pavement and back into the traffic. The pair stay in comfortable silence as they listen to the radio with Emma tapping along to the beat. Eliza has been learning some sign language but knows Emma won’t be able to communicate while driving the car.

About half an hour later they pull into a car park by a very long beach and Emma grabs her phone to communicate with her Mom. She sees multiple messages from her sisters but decides she will look at them later. Instead opening the notes app and writing a message out for her Mom.

‘Do you mind walking 20 minutes to the café? I can see if there are more spaces near it, but they are generally full.’

Emma shows her typed out words to her Mom.

“Of course sweetheart! I know I’m old, but I’m not that old!”

Emma shakes her head in amusement. Not liking the thoughts of how her Mom is growing older, that her blonde hair is getting lighter and more lines are appearing on her face.

As Eliza goes to pull the handle on the door Emma stops her, causing Eliza to look back at her daughter.

“Sweetheart?”

Emma circles her face, indicating she needs to engage her face modifier.

“Oh! Of course!” Eliza quickly taps her temple and her face morphs into another.

Emma silently sighs as they both get out of the car, hoping the face modifiers can be made obsolete soon. When Emma closes the door she stumbles slightly as the world spins but she manages to catch herself on the car. She looks over at her Mom, but luckily it seems like she doesn’t notice.

“So! Which way do we go?” Eliza asks as she links her arm with Emma. Her daughter points down to the path leading down to the beach and the pair walk in sync along the coast.

Both breathe in the salty sea air and enjoy watching the waves as they gently crash against the shore.

“I’ll never get over how beautiful the sea is.” Eliza comments and Emma nods in agreement. The colours were especially beautiful today, more turquoise than blue.

“Do you remember the amount of times you’d drag us down to the beach? How you wanted to go, even when it was raining?” Eliza smiles brightly at her daughter and Emma nods. Remembering the amount of pictures showing Alex and Jeremiah sat together while Emma enjoyed being in the sea. “And then once you found out about surfing, that was it! Your Dad and Alex put their foot down when you wanted to go all the time.”

Unable to respond Emma just smiles at the memories and the utter thrill she felt when she managed to catch her first wave. How her parents cheered and Alex tried to look unimpressed, but her eyes gave her away that she indeed was impressed and proud of her sister.

Eliza continues reminiscing as they walk towards the beach hut café Lena and Emma had gone to a few weeks ago.

“Oh this looks wonderful!” Eliza says as she steps through the door and follows Emma to a free table by the window. Eliza sits and takes in the beach decor of the cafe. The white walls and ceiling with the wooded furniture and beach elements in the decoration.

Emma grabs her phone and types out a message for her. ‘Yea Lena and I love it here.’

“I can see why.”

Their waitress comes over and greets them, handing them menus for them to look over.

“What drinks can I get ya?” The waitress pulls a pencil from behind her ear.

“Oh a pot of tea for me and-” Eliza looks over at Emma who points at an apple juice and a bottle of water.

“Great! I’ll get those for you and leave you to decide on y’all food.”

“Thank you.” Eliza watches the waitress go before turning back to her masked daughter. Who sits looking out of the window and even though her daughter’s face is hidden, Eliza can see something isn’t right “So, how are you sweetheart?”

Emma picks up her phone and starts typing.

‘I’m okay, nervous about the surgery but also excited. I miss talking to you.’

“And I miss hearing your voice.” Eliza reaches out and takes Emma’s hand. “But whatever happens I’ll be here to take care of you. Even if we need to go home and get some of that mountain air into you.”

Emma smiles at the thought of going back to Midvale. She goes to type her reponse when a message from Alex pops up.

Alex: Emma answer me!

Alarmed Emma opens their group chat and starts from the beginning of the thread where Emma sent the video.

Kara: Wait what?!

Alex: When did this happen?!

Emma snorts as she reads through the continuous back and forth between her two sisters as they try to piece together their Mom’s relationship with J’onn and how they felt about it. Ranging from many different emotions, Kara seemingly being more accepting, while Alex pleads Emma for more information and her location.

“Kara and Alex?” Eliza chuckles as she watches Emma’s expressions as she reads. Emma nods and grins back at her in confirmation.

Emma: Sorry I’m with Mom atm and didn’t see your hundreds of messages.

Kara: Where?

Emma: In a café ☕️

Alex: Which cafe?

Emma: Not telling 😜

Emma places her phone back on the table as the waitress comes over with the drinks. The pair order their food and Eliza can’t help but notice how Emma’s phone keeps lighting up.

“What’s that about?”

Emma hesitates but clicks on the video she recorded of her Mom and J’onn.

“Emma!” Eliza’s eyes widen as she watches. “Did you send that to your sisters?”

Emma nods guilty.

“Oh well.” Eliza takes a sip of her tea. “I did think you all already knew something, Sam and Lena seemed to have cotton on.”

Emma tilts her head and tries to remember any conversations she had with Lena about this topic. But she comes up empty.

“Oh what a surprise!” Eliza places her cup down and smiles over at the door.

Emma twists in her seat to see Alex rushing through the doorway with her phone in hand and Kara standing right behind her.

“Look! All I’m saying is that tracking Emma’s phone feels like an invasion of privacy.” Kara whispers as they move further into the cafe.

“She’s with Mom, it’s fine.” Alex snaps back and notices the table with two blondes. One beaming at her and the other looking confused. The redhead quickly marches over and sits next to, who she presumes, is Emma. Kara drops into the chair next to Eliza and straightens her glasses.

“What a nice surprise! I thought you said you were busy this morning?”

“Plans change.” Alex quips back.

“They sure do, are you joining us for brunch?”

“Do you want us to?” Kara looks directly at Emma, knowing they are taking her time away with Eliza. Emma nods and shrugs, signaling she was okay with it. “Okay, I’ll get some menus and drinks.”

“Make mine a scotch.” Alex calls after her and turns back to her Mom. “So, how long has it been going on?”

“Alex.” Eliza tiredly sighs. “We are just enjoying each other's company and supporting one another through this time.”

“But why him?” Alex asks in frustration.

“Why not him? We’ve been through so much together and I know he views you as his daughters.”

“Makes sense.” Kara places two mugs of coffee on the table and the menus. “The waitress will be over in a second and will bring our food out together.”

The table falls silent as Alex and Kara look over the menu while Emma’s eyes glance between her family, surprised by Alex’s simmering hostility.

The waitress comes back over and the sisters order. The waitress turns to go but pauses and turns back around. “I don't mean to be rude but aren't you Emma Danvers’ sisters?”

“Erm-” Kara’s eyes go wide when they realise their mistake of not activating the face modifiers.

“Don’t worry, we won’t say anything! It’s a pleasure! Also, when you see Emma, please tell her we miss her and look forward to serving her again.” The waitress beams at them before heading to the kitchen to process their order.

Touched by her comment Emma’s eyes begin to fill with tears and she looks out of the window at the sea to hide them from her family. But she misses the knowing expressions on their faces.

“So.” Alex clears her throat and focuses on her Mom. “Is it serious?”

“I would like it to be.” Eliza says honestly, making Emma wipe her face and turn back to look at her.

“But what about Dad?” The redhead says quietly, almost sounding vulnerable, as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Alex, in some ways, I will always love your father, despite everything that happened. But he’s gone and we had spoken that if anything ever happened to either one of us we would want the other to move on. For a very long time I didn’t feel at all able to, but I’ve finally got to the stage where I finally feel like I can.”

Emma sucks in her bottom lip and reaches out for her Mom’s hand. She nods and gives her Mom an encouraging smile, giving her blessing on the matter.

“Thank you sweetheart.” Eliza places her other hand over her daughter’s.

“When did it start?” Kara asks, blinking at her family as if trying to make sense of it.

“For me, I’ve always-” Eliza pauses, trying to find the right words for her daughters. She feels Emma gently squeezing her hand in reassurance. Eliza takes a deep breath and continues. “I’ve always liked him, in either form.” A small, sweet smile plays across her lips, Emma mirrors it as she watches her Mom closely.

“But when did it start?” Alex asks sternly, causing both Kara and Emma to give her a hard look.

“Girls, it's fine.” Eliza lets go of Emma’s hand and motions for Alex to give her her hand. But Alex keeps her arms crossed. Eliza sighs before continuing. “The truth is, our relationship developed while you all were still in the DEO. I mean, everyone had been so kind and welcoming, Nia especially made sure I always had a drink or she’d give me these little cakes from the bakery I like. Brainy, bless him, seemed at times unable to process what he was feeling. At one point I came into the lab and he was just so-” Eliza lifts her hands and motions them forward to emphasise the words. “Angry. I held him as he wept for the three of you. In some ways I fell into the Mom role for all of them. Sam likes to think she was the Mom too, but there were times I had to remind her to take care of herself.”

“And then there was J’onn. He saw the pain I was in and was the one who held me, told me that everything was going to be alright and we’d get through it together.” Eliza’s eyes mist over with tears. “For the first time, in a long time, I felt safe as he held me in his arms and the feelings we have for each other grew. We understood each other, our pain at our daughters' situations and the love between us grew.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Kara asks curiously.

“It wasn’t really the right time.” Eliza’s mind shoots back to when Kara and Alex had been imprisoned in their cells. The hatred burning in their glowing red eyes and the agony within Emma’s bloodshot ones.

“Or after that?” Alex asks, trying to process what she is feeling.

“Maybe, selfishly, I wanted to have this to myself for a while. Because I knew you’d react this way.”

Alex’s nostrils flare and she leans forward. “Well maybe if you had been honest in the first place-”

Emma’s hand on her arm cuts her off and she turns to angrily glare at her.

“No, Em! Mom should have told us.”

“You’re right.” Eliza’s words make her daughters’ heads snap to her. “I should have told you, but I didn’t. However, now you know.”

“Please Alex, Mom deserves to be happy.” Emma pleads.

“I agree.” Kara softly says and places her hand on Eliza’s shoulder.

Before Alex can say anything the waitress comes over with their food. They start eating with the tension simmering between them.

“I’m sorry.” Alex murmurs quietly, her head down as she cuts her food.

“I know.” Eliza reaches across the table and takes Alex’s hand “And I am too. I know how much you still love your Dad and that will never change.”

Emma places her hand on Alex’s arm, completely understanding what her sister was feeling but also wanting her Mom to be happy.

“Soo, talking of love.” Kara begins, trying to steer the subject away from Eliza but soon loses her nerves as three pairs of eyes focus on her. “Erm-”

“Someone caught your eye?” Emma signs and raises an eyebrow at her sister.

“Maybe.” Kara giggles shyly.

“Who?” Alex widens her eyes slightly. “That new guy working with James?”

“What new guy working with James?!” Emma signs to both of her sisters and looks at her Mom in disbelief.

“His name is Benvolio Rossi, Ben for short, he was named after his Grandpa who migrated over from Italy and Ben moved here a few months from New York. I saw him around the office but didn’t talk to him until recently. Well, Nia kind of pushed me over to him and we ended up chatting, flirting and getting coffee.” A shy, beaming smile grows on Kara’s face.

“Picture?!” Emma signs excitedly and claps her hands.

“Okay!” Kara pulls out her phone and goes onto Ben’s facebook profile. “Here he is.” She turns the phone around.

“Eh.” Alex shrugs half heartedly and shoves in a mouthful of food.

“Alex!” Kara yells at her sister.

“What I’m a lesbian! Man things don’t do it for me.”

Emma snorts and motions Kara for her phone, so she can look at the picture properly. She tilts her head as she studies his face, feeling a sense of familiarity as she looks at him.

His olive skin glowed in the sun and his face was chiseled and handsome with shiny black hair, groomed stubble and warm brown eyes.

“Em?” Kara asks, intrigued by the curious expression on her sister's face. Emma hands the phone to Eliza who also wants to look.

“Oh he’s handsome.” Eliza exclaims. “Wow!”

“Yea.” Kara says with a goofy smile. “But-” Kara turns back to Emma. “Why were you looking at the picture like that?”

“I feel like I’ve met him before. Was he press at the gigs?”

“Well he does everything but, yea, I imagine he would have been at some of your gigs.”

“Cool! What’s he like?”

The conversations soon flow onto Kara’s new crush as the Danvers eat their meal.

-- -- --

Time passes and the family realise they need to be leaving soon to get to Nia’s bowling birthday party.

“Shall we go together?” Emma signs as they exit the cafe.

“Sure.” Alex says and holds out her hand for the keys. “But I’m driving.”

Emma looks at her scandalised and backs away from her eldest sister. “Excuse me?! I’m a better driver than you!”

Alex stalks her as Kara and Eliza link arms, trailing behind them and chatting amongst themselves.

“Don’t be so ridiculous! I’ve been trained-”

“Whoop de doo!” Emma holds her hands up.

“I can’t believe you actually just signed that!”

Emma shrugs. “Are you forgetting that I had two minors on my driving test and you had fourteen?! I still wonder how you managed to convince that poor man of passing you.” Emma signs cheekily and quickly lifts her top slightly with a raised eyebrow and sticks her tongue out to the side.

“Oh now you’ve done it!” Alex yells and Emma immediately turns around and runs after seeing the spark in her sister’s eyes.

“Run Emma!” Kara yells as Alex chases after her, both laughing as Emma dodges her attempts at catching her.

“Those two.” Eliza chuckles and shakes her head as she watches her daughters jump down onto the beach, sand flying everywhere from their chase.

Eliza turns her head to look at Kara, who watches her blonde and redheaded sisters with a big grin and laughs along with them.

“So, Ben, does he know anything?”

“No.” Kara says quickly. “I mean, there was one incident.”

“Kara!”

“Okay, maybe four.” Kara admits and quickly continues talking. “But they were completely out of my control and I don’t think he knows anything.”

“Does Alex know about these ‘incidences’?”

“No…”

They both look over and watch as finally Alex manages to grab a hold of Emma while the blonde slips on a sand mound and Alex jumps on her back, wrapping her arms around Emma’s shoulders.

“Onward valet steed!” Alex yells and points at the path.

Emma blows out a breath of amusement and trots back up to Kara and her Mom, glad that she could take Alex’s weight.

“How far away is the car?” Alex asks her Mom with a grin.

“Well after you're messing about, probably ten minutes.”

“Ah kay. Peanut let me down.”

Emma answers by shaking her head as she starts walking and tightening her grip on Alex’s thighs.

“Em-ma!” Alex laughs as Emma picks up her speed and runs further down the path.

-- -- --

Soon the Danvers are pulling into the carpark outside of the massive bowling alley and Emma can’t help but feel excitement as she gets out of the L-Car.

She quickly double checks everyone has their face modifiers activated, which Emma can’t wait to deactivate when they enter their private room.

“Ready?” Eliza says, smiling at her daughters.

“Yup!” Kara bounces on her toes and grins happily.

When they approach the doors Emma winces at the overwhelming sound of the bowling balls slamming the pins.

‘Why’s it so loud?’ Emma thinks but tries to hide her discomfort from her family. The blonde zeros in on Kara who also looks slightly pained. Emma then focuses on Kara’s glasses and realises the damper isn’t turned on. Reaching over she presses the hidden button to turn them on and Kara visibly deflates in relief.

“Thanks Em.” Kara breathes out.

“You’re welcome.” Emma signs and wishes there was a similar device for humans as she can’t help but flinch when they enter the building.

“Hello ladies!” A man greets them at the desk.

“Hi! We’re here for Princess Leia’s birthday party.” Alex informs the clerk with the hidden codename, who nods and waves over one of his colleagues.

“My colleague here will escort you to your room. Have a great time!”

“Thanks!” Kara squeals happily and follows the clerk up towards some stairs that are roped off and being guarded by security personnel.

Emma raises her eyebrow slightly at Alex as they pass them. Knowing they were Lena’s doing to make sure no members of the public will intrude on the Superfriends and messing with Emma’s timeline of recovery.

The most recent post to Emma’s social media accounts were of staged physiotherapy sessions, showing Emma slowly walking between the rails. So to have any other photos of Emma moving around more freely would cause a media frenzy that no one wanted to face.

Lucy had sent strict instructions to all the Superfriends that photos can be taken but they will have to wait to be posted.

“Here we are!” The clerk leads them to the doors where another security guard is standing by. “Shoes should already be in there plus many different balls for you to choose from.”

Emma lets out two quick breaths of laughter, causing Eliza to tap her shoulder in disapproval. Which makes both Alex and Kara chuckle while they walk through the doors.

Once inside the room Emma turns around and signs with a smirk on her face. “Balls!” Making her sisters laugh louder.

“You’re here!” Nia rushes over to them and flings her arms around Kara. “Isn’t this amazing?!”

Emma looks past Nia and has to agree, the room was an upgraded version to the main area downstairs. It almost looked brand new and was filled with tables of food and drink.

“Kara, save some for later.” Eliza instructs in a motherly tone as Kara makes her way over to the feast.

“O-kay.” Kara pouts and rushes over to grab their shoes instead.

“Oh! And Emma?” Nia beams at the blonde when their eyes connect. “Please disengage your face mask immediately!”

Emma nods and taps her temple. The Superfriends cheer and immediately Emma enjoys the freeing feeling on her face when the modifier disappears.

“That’s sooo much better!” Nia opens her arms wide and Emma beams at the brunette while she gives her a hug. When they pull apart Emma notices that her family have disengaged theirs too.

But then Emma’s eyes search around the room for Lena.

‘Where is she?’ Emma worries when she can’t find her girlfriend.

“Sam said Lena was right behind her, so she should be here any minute.” J’onn answers and takes an apprehensive step towards the blonde.

‘Hi J’onn.’ Emma thinks coolly, her smile fades as she crosses her arms and sizes him up.

J’onn hesitates for a moment until Emma’s face breaks out into a grin and she holds her arms out to him.

‘Come here!’ Emma’s mind happily yells out.

J’onn laughs in relief and wraps her in a bear hug.

‘But seriously though, you hurt my Mom and I will hunt you down! Even if you go back to Mars or something!’ Emma threatens while still in his arms.

“I promise I won’t hurt her.” J’onn whispers gently in her ear.

‘Pinky.’ Emma demands, stepping back and holding out her pinky finger.

“I pinky promise.” J’onn says seriously and wraps his big pinky finger around Emma’s.

“What you pinky promising about?” Kara asks as she bounds over to them to give J’onn a hug.

“Well, that I won’t hurt your mother.”

“Yea cause if you do I will fling you into the sun!” Kara says seriously and Alex comes to stand by her side.

“Or I kill you with said pinky.” Alex threatens while drinking a beer.

“Alex!” Emma signs and rolls her eyes at the bottle.

“What?! It’s my day off and it's past lunch time!”

Emma shakes her head and goes to collect her bowling shoes. She frowns when the only pairs left are her and Lena’s.

Reaching into her bag Emma pulls her phone out and still sees no messages from her girlfriend.

“So, shall we wait a little longer or get started? We have the room for five more hours, meaning plenty of games of bowling.” Brainy asks everyone as he rubs his hands together. Allowing his feelings of glee to come through.

“Yea, why don’t we start and we can always bowl for Lena until she arrives.” Nia smiles at everyone and races over to the scoring computer to input everyone's names. Kara follows her as they debate whether to use their real names or make nicknames up for everyone.

“If she comes.” Sam mutters under her breath as she angrily pulls her phone out. Both Kara and Emma turn their heads to stare at her in confusion, not quite believing what they heard. Surely Lena wouldn’t miss this?

“Emma, have you chosen a ball yet?” Lucy asks, making Emma jump by her sudden appearance.

The blonde shakes her head and goes over to the rack where the bowling balls are kept.

Emma looks for a ten pound bowling ball, the kind she normally uses and finds a cool looking purple and black one. Emma reaches down and prepares herself to pick it up, not wanting to twinge a muscle for not lifting the heavy ball properly.

Only when Emma puts her fingers through the holes and pulls, she overcompensates, hitting herself in the chest and crashes backwards onto the floor with the ball in her lap.

“Em?!” Alex’s voice shouts as she rushes over to Emma, still sat dazed on the floor, with Sam right behind her. “Are you okay?”

Emma nods, feeling a bit shocked and embarrassed. A blush starts colouring her cheeks as the Superfriends turn to look at her in concern.

“I’m fine. Just being clumsy.” Emma signs, trying to laugh it off and goes to get up.

“Here.” Alex grabs the bowling ball and holds it while Sam helps Emma up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sam asks, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies the blonde’s face.

Emma gulps but nods that she was indeed okay. “Just embarrassed for causing a scene.”

“Alright.” Sam nods as well before smiling and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Ready to be beaten Danvers?”

Emma snorts and kicks her leg up behind them to hit Sam’s butt.

“Hey!” Sam yells and does it back to Emma. The blonde lets out a heavy breath of voiceless laughter.

Alex grins and shakes her head while she places Emma’s ball on the rack by the ball return and laughs at her girlfriend. “I think Em was saying no.”

“Are we bowling as teams or individuals?” James asks as he goes to pick up his bowling ball and looks up at the screen with the names on.

On team one: Nia is Dreamgirl, Brainy is Brainakins, Kara is Glasses, Emma is Stargirl, Sam is Hotmama and Lena is Irish babe.

On team two: James is He-man, Winn is Futureboy, Eliza is Aurora, J’onn is Martitan, Alex is Director of Sass and Lucy is Army Green.

“Why not both?” Eliza offers and smiles when she sees the name she has been given. “See which lane is better but also amongst ourselves in general?”

“I like that idea.” J’onn agrees.

“Of course you would.” Alex grunts before taking a swig of her beer. Only to splutter when Emma digs her elbow into her side.

“Nia? You’re first up on our team!” Kara points at the screen and everyone cheers. Emma claps her hands loudly to make enough noise. “Go Dreamgirl!”

“And remember, no powers!” Lucy orders from the stool by the computer and picks up James’ camera to take some photos.

“Yes ma’am.” Nia nods as she grabs her ball.

“You ready Dreamgirl?” James playfully taunts Nia.

“Bring it He-Man!” Nia grins back at him while lining herself up.

They both go at the same time and the game begins. Laughter, whoops and cheers fill the room as pins crash to the floor.

Kara completely misses on her first try due to the red sun dampers.

“I can put the rails up if you want?” Lucy jokes cheekily.

“No thanks, just need to get used to it.” Kara huffs out and shakes her hands. Her second attempt was much better and Emma claps loudly for her.

Next it was Emma’s turn and she makes sure not to overcompensate this time when she picks the ball up.

“Go Emma!” Lucy cheers and the blonde gets herself into position and aims.

Emma takes a few deep breaths and steps forward, releasing the ball at the lowest point. It shoots from her hand like a cannonball and knocks down all the pins.

Emma jumps up and down in excitement and the Superfriends cheer loudly behind her.

“Well done sweetheart!” Eliza pulls her into a hug. “Just how Dad taught you.”

Emma nods and goes back to sit down. Her eyes flick to the door, wishing Lena had seen her first strike. Naturally her hand reaches for her phone. She silently sighs when there are no messages or responses from her girlfriend.

Emma: Hi Lee, guess what?! I just did a strike! Your name is on the board, so you can start playing when you get here ❤️

Emma also takes a photo of Sam about to play her shot to send to Lena. Hoping this will cause some kind of response.

But her phone doesn’t bleep, causing Emma to run a hand through her hair.

“Hey, I’m sure she’s okay.” Alex notices Emma’s concern and tries to reassure her. But also looks over at Kara, silently communicating with her. Kara nods and gets up to bowl.

“Alex?” J’onn pulls the redhead’s attention away from Emma. “It’s your turn.”

“Yea! Go Director of Ass!” Sam winks at her girlfriend, causing Alex's cheeks to blush.

It soon gets to Lena’s name and everyone allows Nia to take Lena’s go and do her own.

They play seven more frames and when it gets to Lena’s name again everyone pauses.

“Kara? Do you wanna have another go instead?” Nia asks, trying not to show her disappointment.

“Er, sure! But please excuse me, I’m going to use the bathroom.” Kara squeezes out of the booth and rushes to the door leading to the restrooms.

Emma doesn't think anything of it until the door opens again and Emma turns her head to see a wind swept Lena walking in front of Kara. Emma's eyes move up and down her girlfriend’s body and takes in Lena’s fitted maroon coloured dress with black high heels.

Their eyes connect and they both feel a rush of giddiness.

“Finally!” Sam shouts as she places her hands on her hips, cutting off their moment as Lena’s eyes snap to her best friend. Causing everyone else to look over to where Sam was looking.

“Lena!” Nia squeals and rushes over to the raven haired beauty.

“Sorry Nia.” Lena apologises while they hug.

“Don’t worry about it. Contracts blurgh!” Nia gags and giggles.

“Exactly!” Lena laughs and follows Nia into the booth. She immediately sits next to Emma and kisses her lips. “Sorry I wasn't there when you woke up love.”

Emma shrugs and flattens parts of Lena’s hair that's still a bit messy from her flight over, making her girlfriend laugh.

“Thanks!” Lena chuckles and looks up at the names on the scoreboard. “I’m guessing your Stargirl?” Emma nods proudly. “Wow love. You’ve got a strike on almost every go?”

“I know?! I don’t know how.” Emma signs happily. “I even managed with a heavier ball!” Although for Emma it didn’t feel much heavier, even though it was meant to be six pounds heavier.

“Well your arms are getting more toned.” Lena nudges her shoulder into Emma’s. She had noticed Emma’s body changing and put it down to the running and weight training Emma is doing to fill her time.

A familiar twinge of regret hits Lena’s stomach at how busy she has been lately. ‘It won’t be forever.’ Lena thinks, trying to reassure herself.

Lena breaks her out of her thoughts by Emma flexing her arm and raising an eyebrow at Lena, causing a rich laugh to burst out from the raven haired beauty’s lips.

This heavenly sound makes Emma’s heart flutter and she beams sweetly at the woman she loves.

“Lena? It’s your go. Unless you want me to take it for you?” Kara asks and points at the scoreboard.

“Oh sorry!” Lena apologises and looks up at the board. “Who chose Irish Babe?” She laughs as Kara and Nia point at each other. “Right, I better get my ball and shoes.” Lena places her hand on Emma’s thigh and goes to stand up, but Emma takes her hand, stopping her from moving.

“I got them for you.” Emma pulls them up from under the bench and hands the shoes to Lena. “Also I got you a size eight ball but there is also a nine if you’d rather use that one.”

“Thanks love.” Lena places a gentle kiss on Emma’s lips. After she immediately kicks her heels off and goes to put her shoes on. Suddenly a pair of neon lime green socks appear in front of her face. “You think these socks go with this outfit?” Lena questions Emma who pouts out her lips and nods.

“I mean the shoes go exquisitely as well!” Emma signs, making Lena chuckle and puts them on anyway. Everyone wolf whistles when she gets up to bowl making Lena break out in a huge smile.

“Looking mighty fine there Luthor!” Sam hollers in a southern accent, causing everyone to burst out laughing and Lena to stare back at Sam in a mock glare.

Lena bowls and manages to get a spare. Emma claps enthusiastically when the last pin tumbles to the ground.

Lena smiles as she heads back into the booth, giving everyone high fives. Sitting down she snuggles into Emma, who wraps an arm around her waist and they watch the Superfriends bowl. Lena cheers along with everyone and takes a few deep breaths. Ridding herself of her work anxiety that had no place in the bowling alley.

They play a few more games before having a break to eat.

“Finally!” Kara yells dramatically and zooms over to the table. Emma is sure that if the sun red dampers weren’t on, Kara would have flown over.

“Kara!” Both Alex and Eliza yell in disapproval at Kara running to get the food.

“Sorry! I’m just hungry!” Kara whines while piling the food on her plate.

“Hey! Leave some for us Kara!” Winn calls across to her, making Kara squint her eyes at him.

The Superfriends get their food and sit together at a table set out for them and eat. Laughing and chatting about anything and everything. James takes a few photos before Lucy takes the camera off him to give him a chance to eat.

“Hey Lena! Em!” Lucy positions herself across from the couple and aims the camera.

The girlfriends smile widely at her and wrap an arm around each other's waist.

“Beautiful!” Lucy comments and keeps taking pictures as Lena kisses Emma’s cheek and the blonde beams at the camera. Emma turns her head and softly kisses Lena’s lips.

“Hey hey! Keep it under the R rating please!” Lucy says seriously and Emma flips her off.

A few of the Superfriends laugh and Emma smirks at Lena before pressing their foreheads together. They both close their eyes and breath deeply in.

Soon mostly everyone has finished eating and Brainy stands.

“Shall we play some more games?” Brainy asks, looking around at his friends.

“Yes please!” Nia squeals and runs back to the booth. Everyone follows other than Winn and James.

Emma and Lena sit close together and Emma goes to take a sip from her cup.

Suddenly the lights go off, causing Emma to violently jump, spilling her drink down her top.

“Happy-” Winn starts singing and everyone else joins in as he brings the cake over with lit candles. “Birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Nia! Happy birthday to you!”

Emma tries to smile as everyone sings, instead she lets out a long, heavy breath. She jumps again as Lena places a comforting hand on her thigh.

“Sorry love.” Lena whispers into her ear as the lights come back on.

“Emma! What happened to you?!” James laughs as he notices Emma’s wet, brown t-shirt.

Emma shrugs and looks down embarrassed. Missing the glares some of the Superfriends send to James. Lena grabs some napkins and tries to dry the worst of it.

“Who wants some yummy cake!” Lucy claps to draw the attention away from the blonde and goes to get the knife.

“Oo me!” Kara raises a hand and bounces in her seat like a nine year old kid.

“I’m sure the question was rhetorical Kar.” Alex snorts in amusement.

“Yea, but I want cake.” Kara shrugs with a grin.

Emma tries to smile as well but she finds herself rocking slightly as she tries to calm her racing heart.

“You’re okay.” Lena's calming voice whispers into her ear. “You’re safe. You’re with me and people who love you. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

Emma nods, resting her head on Lena’s shoulder and nuzzles into her neck. Trying to seek comfort and feel safe.

If the Superfriends notice they don’t say anything about it or draw attention to Emma, leaving Lena to help Emma though her trigger as they share the cake around.

When Emma sits back up, looking less pale, Nia hands their plates with pieces of cake over.

“Thank you.” Emma signs gratefully and digs in, trying not to focus on her embarrassment at what happened.

Once the food is eaten and cleared away the bowling begins again. Although the group of friends are not as quick as before but still as competitive.

“Seriously Emma!” Lucy yells when Emma does another perfect strike. “You need to show me your technique or something.”

Emma holds her hands up in surprise and just motions her bowling.

“Nah I’m not fooling around anymore with this ‘I can’t bowl’ act!”

Emma can’t help but voicelessly laugh at Lucy’s competitive side making itself known.

“Ooo, she’s laughing at you Luc.” Alex grins at her sister.

Emma holds her hands up again in surrender at Lucy’s enraged face.

“Hey relax.” Kara tries to soothe the brunette down and rubs her back affectionately. “It’s all about the fun of playing.”

A few nod but suddenly everyone bursts out laughing and continues for a while. The Superfriends never play just for the fun of it. Mostly everyone in the group are extremely competitive.

“Good one Kara!” Winn wipes the tears from his cheeks.

-- -- --

Finally they complete their last game and Emma is the clear winner. Although she is still very confused at how she managed it but takes the praise.

The food and cake is distributed into takeaway boxes and the Superfriends say their goodbyes and birthday love to Nia. With Emma and Lena being the first to leave.

“Do you need a ride?” Emma signs to Alex.

“No, Sam is- I’m, er, going with Sam.” Alex stutters and goes a bit red as she smiles shyly. Causing Emma to smirk and shake her head.

“Yea, my director of ass.” Sam whispers into her girlfriend's ear.

This makes Emma snort and sign at her sister. “Use protection.” Emma winks.

“Protection? Protection from what?” Kara asks after watching Emma’s hands.

Emma snorts loudly again but Lena drags her away before she can hear anyone's responses.

“Modifier.” Lena yawns before they go through the door and waves farewell to everyone. Emma taps her temple, shivering slightly as the mask crawls across her face.

The couple walk down the stairs hand in hand and out into the evening air. Emma leads her girlfriend to the L-Car and opens the passenger door for her.

“Thanks love.” Somehow, despite her exhaustion, Lena still slides gracefully into the car, even with her drooping eyelids.

Emma gets into the driver's seat and leans over to plug her girlfriend in. A hum of acknowledgement leaves Lena’s lips and her eyes finally close.

Emma can’t help but smile at how cute she looks and turns the electric engine on to head for home.

-- -- --

In no time at all they are pulling into their space under the apartment building. Lena looks like she’s already in a deep sleep and Emma wonders if she can carry her up to their apartment.

Remembering how easy it was to piggyback Alex, Emma decides to go for it. She quietly unplugs Lena’s seatbelt and gets out of the driver's side. Emma quickly goes to Lena’s side and carefully opens the passenger door, hoping Lena wouldn’t fall out, but thankfully she hasn’t moved.

Leaning down Emma attentively runs her right arm under Lena’s legs and her left under her back. She manages to lift Lena and the bag of food, carrying her girlfriend bridal style out of the car. Carefully she heads for the elevator, thankfully that the L-Car locks automatically when the keyholder walks far enough away from the car.

Somehow she manages to press the button to call the elevator and again for the penthouse apartment.

‘Nice one Emma!’ She praises herself and kisses Lena’s head when the doors close.

However, once the elevator doors slide open, Emma voicelessly groans. She exits the elevator, debating what to do to unlock the door and open it.

“You know you could just put me down?” Lena says sleepily as she blinks her eyes open.

‘Of course you're awake!’ Emma rolls her eyes and gazes down at her girlfriend.

“Well?” Lena asks with a yawn, waiting to be put down.

“Get my key.” Emma mouths, causing Lena to squint up at her.

“Get your key?” Lena says back and Emma nods. “Where is it?”

“Bag.”

Lena reacts down to Emma’s messenger bag by her side.

“You know this would be a lot quicker if you just put me down.”

Emma shrugs and grins happily, liking the sensation of holding Lena close.

“Got it!” Lena pulls it out and stretches for the lock. Emma moves a bit forward to make it easier for her. “Thanks love.” Lena yawns out again and unlocks the door, partly opening it.

Emma kicks it open fully and manages to step through before it swings back.

“Impressive.” Lena chuckles while nuzzling into Emma’s chest and closing her eyes.

Emma lets out a voiceless laugh and carries Lena into the bathroom.

“No, just dump me on the bed!” Lena whines but doesn’t complain when Emma places her feet on the tiled floor and pulls her dress up and underwear down. “Ooo kinky.” Lena says seductively while cracking an eye open as Emma guides her onto the toilet.

Emma shakes her head with a smile at Lena’s comment and goes to grab Lena’s pajamas and a fresh pair of underwear.

She hears the flush and Lena whining out her name.

“Em-ma!”

‘Le-na!’ Emma yells back in her head but she quickly makes her way back to her girlfriend, who was sleepily brushing her teeth.

Emma closes the lid on the toilet and places Lena’s clothes on top, Lena watches her every move and as Emma begins to sign. “We are staying in bed tomorrow. No excuses!”

Lena clears her mouth and places her toothbrush back on the counter. “Bed all day? Lucky me.” Lena says sultry and lifts an eyebrow.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Not like that you bad girl.”

“Hmm but you’d want me to be your bad girl huh?” Lena slowly tilts her head and leans in, kissing Emma’s lips slowly and passionately. Emma could taste the fresh mint of the toothpaste on Lena’s tongue.

But Lena soon breaks the kiss, closes her bloodshot eyes and rests her weary head on Emma’s shoulder.

Emma carefully bends down and grabs the clothes so she can place Lena back on the toilet lid. She lovingly changes Lena’s clothes and kisses any exposed skin that she comes across, making Lena hum and smile.

Once Lena is changed Emma reaches down and picks her up again. Attentively carrying her over to their bed. Next she pulls the covers back and carefully places Lena on the bed and tucks her in.

Lena hums sleepily in approval but doesn’t open her eyes or makes any other movement or noise. Seemingly falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Emma smiles down at her sadly and kisses her forehead.

“Hope, dim the lights to the lowest setting.” Emma signs to the AI before reentering the bathroom to get herself ready for bed.

After she’s brushed her teeth and hair, dressed in her tank top and shorts, Emma quietly tiptoes back into the bedroom. The corner of her lip pulls up when she can hear Lena softly snoring.

When she reaches her side of the bed Emma carefully pulls the covers back and slowly gets into bed. Trying desperately not to jostle Lena.

“Hope, lights out.” Emma signs once she’s settled.

The lights slowly fade and the window dim to blackout.

Emma swallows as she turns towards Lena, listening to her steady breaths as she sleeps. Almost becoming Emma’s lullaby when her own eyes slowly grow heavy and close.

(Part Thirty Three)