#it’s like my happiness is solely dependent on this screen and controller

[seikatsu-ga-tsuzuku]

Unfortunately I find myself back in the “the only thing that makes me feel alive is playing video games” era. Terrible small hole to find yourself in.

[another-rational-deception]

Heyo! Can we get Iida, Shoji and Tokoyami playing a really really scary videogame with their (gender neutral) crush, who's absolutely terrified but refuses to turn the game off because they're stubborn. Thanks and have a good day!

Bahaha this feels exactly like me. i remember playing outlast and almost chucking my controller but damnit it was such a good game, i just couldnt put it away

Also, im rereading this after i posted it at the scheduled time and I’m just now seeing that it says “crush” not s/o 😭 im so sorry LOL if you want me to rewrite it I’m more than happy to

very mild tw, i mention the twins from the game Outlast in Iida’s part, and a mention of Amy’s Story from At Dead of Night in Tokoyami’s part. Enjoy!

D*rk content/n*fw blogs, do not interact with me at all.

Iida, Shoji, and Tokoyami playing a horror game w/ their s/o

Tenya Iida

His reaction kind of depends on what type of game you’re playing

I mean, no matter what he doesn’t understand why you would want to scare yourself so bad, just stop playing

But, if it’s a gory game like Outlast, he definitely pushes you to stop.

“This is NOT appropriate! Why would you even consider playing this, this is clearly made for adults!”

(He might pull the plug for you if he sees the naked twins💀)

However, he understands that you might play it for the story (but still can’t you just read about it and not put the both of you through this)

But a jump scare game like Five Nights at Freddy’s? He doesn’t understand

At all

Why play a game for the sole purpose of scaring yourself? The story isn’t even engrained in the game itself

He doesn’t like seeing you scared, and he really doesn’t like being scared himself by these games

Offers studying or reading to pass the time instead, just for the love of god shut it off

Mezo Shoji

He might’ve needed a bit of convincing to get him to play a horror game with you

He might laugh a little bit when you jump or get scared

He still doesn’t understand why you would want to scare yourself for fun. If you want action then you can play something like Overwatch or Skyrim

Doesn’t really try to get you to put the game down, but he does suggest it a few times.

Kind of tries to subtly suggest other activities you could do together rather than waking the entire neighbourhood at the slightest movement on the screen

Though, you being stubborn, he just sits as moral support

Let’s you lean on him or sit in his lap so he can just hold you while you play

He learned quickly not to rest his head on yours when you kept headbutting his jaw when you got scared again

Fumikage Tokoyami

You don’t even need to convince him to play, he’s all in

It might’ve actually been his idea

He gives you game suggestions and such if you’re really into that stuff

He’s probably more into the psychological horrors like PT, but he can appreciate survival horrors like Outlast and At Dead of Night

He probably loves SCP because of all of the different SCPs and the thought put into them

Actually, if you’re really into horror he might want to play online games with you, like Phasmophobia or even GTFO

He laughs at you, that’s it💀

He just laughs as you. Doesn’t try to get you to put it away, he just helps you through. Jumps a few times himself, but other than that he’s having a great time

Hell, he’ll offer to play for you and let you watch, just get the fuck out of the locker and play the game

He does cringe a bit at the more explicit scenes, such as Amy’s story in At Dead of Night (Amy’s story broke my heart when I saw it😭)

He has a good time though, this is probably a common thing for you two

[closetedotaku01]

Umm could you write something for Tsukishima, Kenma, Kuroo, Iwaizumi with fem! reader who is very touch starved? (if you don't write for that many just pick whoever stands out the most) SFW please.

TOUCH STARVED FEM S/O

A/N: First off: excellent character choices for this! Secondly, thank you so much for requesting so sweetly. Such a kind ask. Thank you thank you. Especially since none of my work is public yet, I really appreciate you trusting an unknown author. I hope you have a lovely day. Finally, I’ve struggled a lot with touch starvation so this feels very close to me. Got a bit self-indulgent. I felt bad because there was no dialogue in the base writing for Kenma & Tsukki so they kinda get HC+ while Iwa’s and Kuroo’s are just standard hc’s. Info on touch starvation at the end if you want it.

TSUKISHIMA KEI

-Tsukishima is smart and perceptive.

-So it doesn’t take long for him to realize that you’re touch starved.

-He sees how you simultaneously shy away from any physical affection while clearly wanting some. Sees how anxious you are and how easy it is for you to get overwhelmed. Takes note of how you alway seem to be holding yourself, and often wear clothes that are heavy and cover your whole body.

-He does not like the situation.

-He knows what you need, but he’s not big on physical affection and not very comfortable initiating it.

-But he is soft for you…. so he’ll pull it together just for you. He starts holding onto you more in public. An arm around your waist, your shoulders, his hand in yours, always giving you something.

-The first dozen or so times it happens you show clear panic at the touch, but he doesn’t even flinch. He’s confident with touching you, and wants you to know he’s here and you can do no wrong.

-When you two are alone together, he’ll pull you into him a lot more than he would have otherwise. He WILL pull you closer to him when you sit far away.

-But he can tell you’re just having a day where you cannot handle it and on days like that he always leaves his body open so you have the chance to cuddle him if you want it, but he makes his actions smaller and quicker so as not to overwhelm you.

-Eventually you start hugging him freely, and he reciprocates just enough. Your arms wrapped tight around his waist, and he lets his arms fall onto your shoulder. It’s hardly a hug, but he rubs your back and has a hand in your hair. It sends sweet tingles of happiness throughout your body.

-You hum lightly at the contact and it’ll force him to pull you in closer.

-Tsukki is very knowing. He encourages a safe and loving environment so you stop feeling afraid to ask for affection. He actually really enjoys when you’re needy, because he can get pretty needy too.

-And if you want to talk about your touch starvation, he’ll listen. But he’s fine just giving you what he can offer. He knows you and just wants you to feel more comfortable.

~~~~~

Your whole body is on edge and you don’t quite know why or how, but everything is setting you off. The blanket on your legs is sending fire-like shivers through your body, the heater keeps playing with your hair and it’s making everything feel warm inside you.

You look over to Kei, who’s just enjoying the film. You were the one who sat far away, though now you wish you were laying on him instead of curled up against the arm rest. But his arms and legs are open wide, and despite this he’s sat up pretty straight. You like being able to see his whole body so open. His face looks relaxed, and the blue light from the TV makes all of him… glow. His glasses, the prominent features of his face, his tousled locks, all lit up and beautiful as ever. It honestly just feels like more temptation, his whole body is open and glowing like a checkpoint in a videogame and you desperately feel the urge to just crawl into him.

Kei’s voice startles you, but he doesn’t even look away from the screen, “Are you going to come over here, or are you just going to stare all night?” You see him open his arms out wider and you jump at the chance. You curl yourself into his side, letting the scent of his body and the feel of him in your arms ease the anxiety, ease the ache for contact. He’s a bit cold so you pull your blanket over the both of you as you let your head fall to his chest, your arm thrown over his midsection, one of your legs thrown over one of his. You’re practically clinging onto him.

You feel panic well up in you at the contact. It’s too much contact and you shouldn’t be so desperate and--

Kei’s arm falls around your back, pulling you closer gently. He lets his fingers trace your spine up and down, up and down. Your mind relaxes. He lets his hand drift down as he starts rubbing small circles into your lower back, and your muscles lose their tension. You’re not clinging. You’re not desperate. You’re with Kei. And you’re wanted. You know he wouldn’t have you here, if he didn’t want you here. And everything eases. You return your eyes to the movie, but your attention is solely the steady cadence of his heart in your ear as he holds you.

Kozume Kenma

-Another basically wordless adjustment.

-Kenma is also very aware of you. Sees you as a challenge for him to understand and is always studying you and what makes you happy and how to cheer you up depending on what’s bothering you. He just loves to know you.

-And so it doesn’t take very long at all for him to figure it out.

-He notices your little movements. How you stare so intently at physical affection among others as if you wish you were apart of it. But you never ask for or initiate it.

-How when you do cuddle with him you get remarkably clingy and hold tight, but if he moves even slightly you pull away almost completely.

-His way of going about this is also pretty subtle.

-Kenma will start sitting with his legs open, and tell you to sit between them, and then he’ll put his head on your shoulder, wrap his arms around you, and play a game in front of you. It’s very much full body contact, without you feeling like you’re under scrutiny, and he’s holding you so you know he wants you there.

-He’s also sure to give you his jackets because he knows heavier clothing simulates human touch and helps people with touch starvation.

-When he sees you staring at people in public who’re being affectionate, and sees that want and confusion in your eyes, he’ll pull his hood down over his face (so he doesn’t have to deal with other people staring) and hold your hand. If he can see you need it, he’ll bring his body close to yours so you’re basically against each other, side by side.

-When you two go out to nice places with friends and he can see you getting touch starved he’ll place his hand in your lap and let you play with his fingers. Tracing his palm and up his forearms a bit. It actually relaxes his nerves a bit too and he learns to love this so much.

-If you ever bring it up he’ll listen, but he never really asks.

~~~~~

Kenma’s been on the floor playing Animal Crossing on the television since you arrived. You didn’t mind. You liked having lazy conversations with him about your day or his town, or scrolling through Instagram with the calming soundtrack in the background.

Like always he sat with his controller in hand as the game was projected on the TV, back against the bedpost, while you laid on the bed. But today is getting to you. You really want to feel his skin against yours, or steal the hoodie he’s wearing, or play with his hair. Anything would do. But you don’t want to come off clingy. Or worse to put Kenma off since you know he likes his distance.

He looks back at you and you give him a weak smile and he immediately stands up.

“Come here. I want to play Smash instead,” Kenma says as he pulls his switch out of the charger.

“I don’t really want to play right now Kenma. I’m pretty tired,” you say as you watch him change out the game cartridge and slip the controllers onto the side of the Switch.

“Just…. Come here, y/n,” he says almost exasperated as he returns to his spot on the floor near the bedpost. You sit down next to him and he immediately repositions himself behind you, and wraps his arms around you. He puts his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him before repositioning them around your arms, and placing his chin on your shoulder.

You’re immediately overwhelmed by the feeling of him. The way his body encases you. You feel safe and filled, overflowing with the contact you felt bereft of only moments ago. You took a deep breath in before leaning farther back into him and letting yourself enjoy all that Kenma was willing to give you.

Kuroo Tetsurō

-Ahh finally a vocal boy. My goodness.

-Kuroo is such an observant guy and he knows a bit about touch starvation.

-He didn’t know at first that it was diagnosable or anything. But he was generally aware of what it was.

-But you’ll be chilling at his place and he’ll be lying on his stomach writing something in a notebook and you’ll be sitting against the headboard, his feet by your thighs scrolling through your phone or reading or something. He put on some music and you’re just enjoying each other’s company.

-And then he’ll say something along the lines of, “We should set up boundaries.”

-“Wait, what?”

-“Well, I know you’re not… super comfortable with me yet. And I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t like. But the “line” doesn’t feel very defined.”

-His words are so casual. He hasn’t even looked up from whatever he’s doing, but it doesn’t make much sense. He’s one of the people you’re most comfortable around.

-“Tetsurō, what are you talking about?” and you’re sounding a bit exasperated even though you’re just confused.

-He finally raises his head. He turns to you and sits up, cross-legged. His words are slow and uncertain, “Well like … earlier when we were walking around I… I held your hand and you flinched. And when we met up you came over and gave me a hug, but once I hugged you back you kinda pulled away. It’s fine, I just… want to know what to do to make sure you’re comfortable.”

-And you’re pretty impressed he even noticed because they were all slight movements. But you get a bit anxious. You know he’s a pretty affectionate guy, and this would definitely be a barrier. And it’s your barrier. It’s not his job to fix it and--

-“Get out of your head,” he whispers calmly as he sees the turmoil and paranoia fighting in your eyes. 

-He sees straight through you. He knows all too well how you can get.

-So with a deep breath you slowly tell him about touch starvation and your personal journey with it.

-He is deeply curious, but he’ll judge how you’re feeling.

-If you’re not doing great he’ll just nod and remind you that whatever you’re feeling is valid and it doesn’t change anything between the two of you. He’ll sit next to you, leaving a slight gap, and ask if you want to get close to him and take it from there. Asking quietly if he can advance or whatever it is that you need from him.

-If you’re fine with it he’ll ask you questions about when and how and where your personal boundaries are for now and what would make you feel more comfortable and help you grow out of it. And what he should do if you were not in a great mental place. Should he rush in and completely wrap you up in affection? Or should he give you space? He wants to know how to care for you, because he…. Cares so much for you.

-Regardless, of how the rest of that day plays out, he does loads of research on touch starvation. He learns everything he can about it. Takes note of everything he can do to help and common methods that do more harm than good so he doesn’t accidentally make things worse.

-He makes sure to ask you and check in with you before touching you and for the first WHILE that you’re together will interrupt cuddles to ask how you’re feeling. Reminds you constantly that he loves you and that whenever, if ever, you want (or need) touch you can go to him. And if he’s ever being too much he won’t be hurt if you ask him to back up. Makes sure to know how to handle people who are too touch-y for you without making a whole big scene.

-He really just wants to be there for you and have you trust him.

-As time goes on in the relationship he learns to read your tells without asking so much and you grow to need less time away from him, and being able to fully enjoy more of the time you spend closely snuggled up to him.

Iwaizumi Hajime

-Definitely the least observant out of this group (but we still love him). So he doesn’t really notice.

-And he doesn’t care much one way or another for physical affection. So he won’t really offer it if he doesn’t think you’re into it. And since you don’t really initiate, he doesn’t either. He thinks you don’t really want it so he lets it slide because he doesn’t care much.

-It takes a good long while, but eventually you start feeling completely comfortable around him, and he notices how you’ll be more needy. More physically affectionate in short and infrequent bursts.

-And so he reciprocates. Calling you over more often to hang out alone, with you close by his side, offering the slightest bit more PDA.

-But it’s still very limited.

-You eventually realize you have to have a conversation with him about it. He’s on his laptop, but he’s not doing anything important so you decide to do it now while he’s relaxed and at home so it doesn’t have to turn into some big thing.

-“Hajime?”

-“Yeah?” He asks only half paying attention.

-“Can I tell you about something… it’s kinda important.”

-He immediately swivels around to face you, “Yeah sure. What’s up? Is everything okay?”

-You steady yourself and do your best to clear your thoughts and casually bring up touch starvation and calmly explain the bare minimum about how it is and how it affects you and how you would appreciate it if he initiated the actions. And how it’s totally normal if you flinch or shy away at first, but you want to adjust because you do like being close to him.

-And he’s so chill about it.

-“Okay. Do you want to cuddle right now?”

-“Uhhh-- y-yeah. Sure. Are you okay with this all? I know it can be a lot to take in. You can ask questions or take your time or---”

-He cuts you off by taking your hand in his as he guides you to the bed to cuddle, “I love all of you. Even like this. And until you get better. So just let me hold on to you for a little while.”

-And he lets you curl up into him and is very gentle, but firm and steady with his touch. He doesn’t pull away at your sharp movements when his hands meet your side. He just make sure his touch is gentle and lets you enjoy the closeness.

-As time goes on he might ask a few questions to keep everything comfortable and make sure he’s aware of you and knows how to care for you in most situations. If he doesn’t he’ll ask quietly, and say that he’s willing to go home with you any time you feel overwhelmed.

-Iwaizumi is extremely loyal and careful with you and your needs and only wants the best for you. His loyalty and unwavering commitment to you are what help you eventually feel comfortable enough to either ask for what you need or just get it.

-You feel free to approach and cuddle him without asking or pull away without asking, because he gets you and he loves you and you know that. You taking action to care for yourself won’t change that.

Some Info on Touch Starvation:

I read a lot of touch starvation fics/hc’s when I was really going through it and they all had the touch starved person acting super clingy. Which CAN happen, but that’s usually only at the beginning of the condition only. In my own experience with touch starvation, physical contact actually gave me anxiety and panic attacks, and I became completely touch averse for a very long time before I slowly worked toward a healthier lifestyle.

Touch starvation leads to a lack of oxytocin (which is released when there’s skin on skin contact. It’s a social hormone often referred to as the “love” or “cuddle” hormone) and that can lead a person to feel very stressed and restless, so most touch starved people end up not accepting touches or shying away from touch and don’t really want to ask for it because they think they don’t want it.

A lack of oxytocin also leads to: a higher sensitivity to pain, feelings of isolation, depression, anxiety, and it makes you more prone to develop an eating disorder, clinical depression and/or anxiety, and fibromyalgia .

There are a lot of ways to deal with touch starvation, even if there are not people around you (pets, heavy clothing, warm showers, going to hair/nail salons regularly, etc. can all help get or simulate the contact you need.) Some of this is harder because of Covid, but please take care of yourself if you think you might be touch starved! It’s actually a serious condition and should be treated as such.

[fatesdeepdive]

Entry 14: Groans of Increasing Discomfort

Heading back to the castle, it seems I’ve accumulated a ton of new buildings to buy. I can buy a statue of Mozu which probably costed more than her entire village, a ballista and shuriken launcher to use in castle battles, a bunch of puppets to give me nightmares (they fight for you in castle battles too I guess), a shop to buy new units (both generics and clones of the soldiers I already have), and a hot spring. Because fanservice. You can run into other units in there, everyone is in their underwear and blushing, half of the decisions that were made in this game’s development were solely for the sake of horniness, yada yada yada. I actually tried to leave and the game stopped me, because Sakura was showing up and it’s necessary to get that bath time with the teenage girl. The hot springs does have a use, admittedly, but it won’t become apparent for a few chapters.

Support: Lady Corrin/Reina

C: Corrin sees Reina talking to an old man and asks her about it. Reina explains that he reminds her of her parents, who cut her out of their life when she became a soldier. And also, apparently, don’t give a shit about her being the personal retainer to the goddamn Queen. Actually, wait, hold on. Where the hell was Reina when Mikoto got blown up? You know what? Her parents should be ashamed of her, she’s a terrible bodyguard.

B: Corrin tells Reina she should visit her parents. Which makes sense; Corrin points out that she’s an orphan and wishes for any relationship with a parent, no matter how strained. Reina tells Corrin that she became a soldier because she really, really, really likes killing people. Corrin volunteers to find out how Reina’s parents are doing.

A: Corrin tells Reina that her parents are doing fine. Reina retcons the last conversation by revealing that she became a soldier to protect her family’s peasants. Nowadays, though, it’s all about that murder.

Review: This one was fine. Corrin wanting to help Reina is a nice bit of characterization, but there isn’t much more to say about this one.

Now, you may be wondering why I referred to Corrin as Lady Corrin in the last bit. Reina actually has completely different supports depending on Corrin’s sex. Most characters have identical supports with Corrin, or if not that just minor dialogue changes (For example, Camilla and Laslow, off the top of my head). But characters like Reina, who can only support Corrin, get two conversations. I suppose it’s for the best, considering those characters would otherwise be incredibly out of focus as opposed to merely extremely out of focus.

Support: Lord Corrin/Reina

C: Corrin sees Reina carrying an apron, which weirds him out, because of the whole murder hobo thing.

B: Reina reveals her sheltered noblewoman housewife in training turned soldier backstory and says that the apron was a gift from her parents before they cut her out.

A: Reina says that her parents cried when she became a knight and that she keeps the apron out of gratitude for them.

S: Corrin, off screen, goes back to Hoshido to talk to Reina’s parents. Apparently they’re proud of her. And he asked to marry her, which she accepts, because she cannot imagine life without him. Apparently.

Review: So, these are kinda the same support? I mean, the actual words are different, but they cover the same information. It’s weird that they were split into two conversations. Whatever. The second one is better, because it gives this really fun characterization of Reina being a friendly team mom when she isn’t stabbing people so she can hear them gasp their last breaths. Also, it resolves the plotline. On the other hand, the S-Rank is really mediocre. Reina saying she relies on Corrin daily is ridiculous, given what we’ve seen. Overall, the problem with Reina is that she just has these two conversations. And one with Kanna, I guess, but that one is recycled from other characters. If Reina was a more fleshed out character that interacted with other characters, she might work as a character. But, as it stands, all she has is her recruitment and two mediocre supports.

Support: Hinata/Takumi

C: Hinata kicks down the door to Takumi’s room so he can tell him that he’s going to start a fighting tournament so he can beat people up.

B: Hinata beats people up.

A: Hinata reveals that he’s beating people up to cheer up Takumi, because Takumi looks happy when he cheers him on. I feel like he could have, I don’t know, asked Takumi how to cheer him up in advance instead of just assuming and doing something he said he didn’t want, but whatever. The two bond over Hinata beating people up.

Review: I think this one helped me hone in on why a lot of Fire Emblem supports don’t work. Supports are, by their very nature, just dialogue. So, when you get a support like this, that relies heavily on something happening, it ends up as telling not showing. That’s why the best supports rely on dialogue rather than explain something that happened off screen.

Support: Kagero/Saizo

C: Kagero and Saizo get into an argument over how to train royal guards, with Kagero pointing out that Saizo’s hard as nails “be ready to die for the monarchy” speech just stressed people out. Saizo blames the new recruits for being inexperienced.

B: Saizo endangers the life of his men to succeed on a mission and Kagero calls him out on it. Saizo points out that victory requires sacrifice and war is unforgiving. The two of them point out that they’ve had this exact argument again and again, and it’s the reason they broke up when they were dating.

A: Kagero and Saizo win a big battle together and admit that they work well together.

S: Saizo points out that their relationship failed because they kept trying to change each other and forgot that they loved each other. The two of them decide to give it another shot.

Review: This one has a much more solemn and reserved tone than most supports, which helps it stand out. It isn’t great, but it has a good tone and I actually don’t dislike Saizo and Kagero as a couple. Them being a flawed couple that broke up over their differences, then trying it again after maturing and becoming more rounded people is a lot more realistic than most relationships in this game.

Birthright Chapter 12: Dark Reunion

The gang arrives in Cyrkensia, a city in Nestra, a country that I forgot existed because this is the only part of the game where it is mentioned. Cyrkensia is a popular vacation spot with a big opera house that appeared in the intro.

A kitsune named Kaden goes up to the party and explains that he’s in town to repay a favor to someone. This introduction feels like when you introduce a new player halfway through a D&D campaign and they quickly explain their deal after walking up to the party.

Kaden introduces his friend Layla, who explains that she’s a singer at the opera house, but can’t perform tonight because her mother is dying. Also she’s singing for King Garon, the evil king who is on vacation a week after starting a brutal war. Azura volunteers to perform in Layla’s steed so the party can do some patricide. Now, you may be thinking, did the game do the stupid trope of having Azura and Layla look identical? Surprisingly, no, they didn’t. Everything else about this chapter is so cliche I assumed they would, but they actually remembered Zola has illusion magic that the party never uses. Also, because we helped the person Kaden has to help, he now owes us a favor, and will totally kill dozens of soldiers in a war he doesn’t give a shit about if we ask him to.

Kaden

Kaden is a Kitsune, this game’s equivalent of Laguz or Taguel from past games. He wields a special weapon called a Beast Stone that allows him to fight by turning into a big ass fox. His personal skill heals units who heal him. He’s a glass canon who does extra damage to cavalry, giving him an interesting niche. His human design is fine, but not remarkable. His fox design is cool, especially regarding the blue fire that floats around him; that said, the spikes on the legs are weird. Personality wise, he seems to be a go lucky idiot who stumbled into joining us.

When the party arrives at the opera house, Corrin notices Elise, who looks sad. Azura, who doesn’t look like Layla for the player, goes on stage. Azura sings the only song she knows, the magic one that breaks mind control, which makes Garon...groan in increasing discomfort, which makes me also feel discomforted. Also Azura does a bunch of crazy water magic, which is a bit extra.

Garon orders his troops to capture us, because Zola betrayed us. Gasp. Shocking. Zola does admittedly beg Garon to spare us. Garon kills him for even suggesting it, right in front of his young daughter, because Garon is a cartoon supervillain. Zola dies begging Corrin to forgive him and Garon calls Corrin weak for having sympathy. Takumi threatens to kill Garon, but Corrin points out that they need to leave if they want to live. Which is smart; Garon has ridiculously high stats.

This battle sees our units fighting on boats floating in the opera house, which is a cool setting for a battle. On turn three, some reinforcements arrive. Xander, who’s still pissed about the whole traitor thing. With him are Peri, a cavalier with cotton candy hair, and...is that Inigo? That’s Inigo, from Awakening. That’s fucking Inigo! What is Inigo doing here, and more importantly, why is he working for the very obviously evil bad guys?

There’s a Dragon Vein you can use to freeze all the water, which would make this level easier, if it wasn’t already a broken easy level. To beat this level, you need to get Corrin to a specific spot. Corrin can’t walk on water, so you need to fight through an onslaught of tough enemies. There’s just one problem: Hinoka or Subaki can carry Corrin directly to the end. I fought the enemies, because why not, but I didn’t have to.

I ignored Garon because he’s able to one shot literally every unit in my army, but I did decide to take on team Xander. Side note, I looked up Garon’s battle quote after the fact, and he says this to Corrin: “I may not be your father, but I will slap you down like a child.” I take back everything bad I ever said about Garon.

Peri, as it turns out, is a sadistic sociopath, because Nohr. Inigo...excuse me, Laslow, blushes when we stab him. And Xander steals Inigo’s famous crit quote from the Princess Bride.

Peri and Laslow went down easy, but Xander was almost as bad as Garon. Even with his bonus against cavalry, Kaden only did one point of damage per hit. I had to resort to the classic strategy of throwing disposable soldiers at him until he was weak enough for Corrin to Dragonstone.

This was a great map, with a creative setting, multiple ways to approach it, tough bosses, and an exploit that makes it completely skippable. Still, it’s the only Birthright chapter with a creative goal, so it deserves a little credit.

After escaping the opera house, Xander chases after us, despite being defeated ten seconds earlier. Elise gets in his way, telling him that if he’s going to fight someone, he should fight her. As Corrin runs, Xander warns that it is her destiny to fight him.

After escaping Xander again, Corrin finds Azura collapsed on the ground, exhausted. She’s going to die at the end of the game, isn’t she?

[mailorderfictionalcharacter]

to love & be loved

@startreksecretsanta and @spinifex-ao3, I present my humble gift for the 2020 Secret Santa Exchange. 

to love & be loved is a Raffi-centric short fic. It can be read on AO3 here, or below the cut. 

There was this thing Raffi's therapist recommended. She said that we tend to view mental ailments as a result of a singular issue, when that was not the case. This isn't unique to the so-called mental conditions; physical ailments are always the result of multiple convergent factors, many of them largely outside of our control. Whether you break a bone running down a corridor depends on the gravity levels, the angle, your physical ability to catch yourself (or not), your species' biological attributes, and so on. But because the bone is easier to fix, we don't place as much value on all these could-have-happeneds.

So her therapist recommended that she looks at her alcoholism, even at the collapse of her family, and traces its lineage. To assemble the history in whatever way she preferred; a narrative, an artwork, a quasi-scientific graph, a mission report. Raffi tried and failed.

She ended up with a start chart of the Milky way, no, too big, zooming into a few classic earth constellations. She grabbed her stylus and pulled it across the screen, trying to connect disparate factors.

Childhood??? --- > my son --- > my husband left me

kicked out of starfleet --- > Starfleet = War?

Starfleet = JL? -- > betrayal?

She couldn't talk about any of it. She brought in a star chart with a handful of annotations explaining her biggest failures and regrets. She could barely explain why she wrote them down without crying, her hand itching for the phantom weight of a glass, even filled with water. So mapping the lineage of her alcoholism & her life became their goal. The implication being that you cannot fight a monster you cannot name.

***

Raffi's therapist was an Andorian woman with deep blue skin, almost an indigo tone. She was tall and friendly in a way that was sometimes clean and professional and sometimes cute and childish. On Earth, she took the name of Julia for some of her clients. Her actual name was J''ul/sth, but more humans were able to pronounce the vowels in Julia, so Julia it is. Julia was a fiercely intellectual woman and would cater her services to different conceptions of what it means to be mentally unwell. She was familiar with centuries of earth, Betazoid, and Andorian theories of mental illness, many of which weren't even addressed within the medical model preferred by Starfleet. Even in her darkest hours, Raffi could barely think a negative thought about Julia; her competence, her expertise was... illuminating.

For someone who had been judged by her own spouse as incapable, for someone who struggled to take care of her hair or to sweep a floor, it was intoxicating to have this brilliant woman focused solely on her for an hour each week. Julia never condescended. She had this assured confidence that Raffi was an interesting person, still worth talking to. It was the sort of thing that could give you hope, if you let yourself believe. It was also the sort of thing Raffi fucked up.

***

Julia was not a believer in abstinence from alcohol as the definition as sobriety. She pointed to it as an outdated Earth concept that had far too long of a shelf life for the evidence behind it. She encouraged Raffi to define her own boundaries about what substance use or lack thereof meant. And Raffi remembered when she could go to a bar for the music and the sensory experience of one or three Saurian brandies without the all consuming urge, twisting under her skin, telling her to escape from her life. And that was their goal. But Raffi didn't tell Julia which bar. She went to a local bar, one that straddled the line between bar and pub and played live music, an eclectic mix of whoever was willing to play for cheap, across genres, cultures, and species. Tonight was a young human teen, not a singer. They were remixing Vulcan instrumental music, very peaceful and precise, with bright and happy sounds. It was almost gauche, the way the emotions would intercut through the melodies. The sort of thing that art and music journals would comment on, asking if it was subversion or a childish rebellion, a blending of cultures or a mocking. The sort of thing that goes good with brandy.

And it was good. It was good for an hour, slowly nursing two drinks. It was good until she saw her, walking in kind of tipsy, skin flushed a warm blue. Surrounded by friends, bar hopping. On a youthful adventure. She felt ashamed, in that moment. That this woman half her age was supposed to be giving her advice, pretending to listen to her problems. That she could never be one of those friends, all so young, with a world to explore.

When Julia caught her eye, she walked over to say hello. And when Julia's friends asked her who she was, Raffi called herself a friend; not a client, not a patient. She doesn't know what it says that Julia didn't correct her; probably that outing a client was a breach of professional ethics. Raffi has more brandy, to wash away the deception, the feeling of herself as lecherous and pathetic and weak.

Raffi wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, entangled in long blue limbs. For a moment, this brings her happiness. The idea that she was wanted, that the woman who knew so much about her made love to her.

It was only for a moment.

She shifted out of the bed, cautiously. She left to the sound of gentle snoring and the feeling of breeze and slick on her public hair.

She didn't go back to therapy, after that.

--

She met Benjamin Sisko, Emissary to the Prophets and legendary war hero, at a Starfleet Intelligence conference. It was near the end of her career; there wasn't much longer she could hold onto the idea of the person she used to be, of whatever Starfleet begged from her. There were always threats on the horizon and she had become numb to it all. But Sisko interested her.

In a way, his life was quite possibly her worst nightmare. The idea of being essentially forced into a religion because, by the way, you are now an important figure in our religion and its impact on interstellar politics... what a nightmare. That wasn't mentioning being pulled out of linear time by powerful aliens worshipped as gods. At least -

At least when Q had showed up that one time, JL and him had a bit of a rapport.

But he didn't seem unhappy. She was used to seeing the haunted faces at conferences, as people who were raised in peace and sent out to explore ended up soldiers for war. Starfleet Intelligence was different, it attracted a more cynical bunch. The sort who wouldn't show it. But Sisko seemed... happy. He didn't look like a man who was kidnapped in order to appease powerful beings, or even someone straining under a PR lie. He looked like he had transcended beyond it all. And yeah, she wanted a piece of that.

But she couldn't ask for it. It was a crazy request. It was her imprinting her desires and pains onto a stranger's life.

It surprised her, after the conference, when he approached her and asked if she knew any Bajorans.

“Just the one.” Something in her felt compelled to add, “he wasn't religious.”

“So I'll be the first one to surprise you like this.”

And he grabbed her by the ear, what the shit, and said, in a low voice. “Your pagh is strong.”

***

After Agnes Jurati confessed to murdering a man, on their ship, the scientist had cried, and asked her, “Why are you still being so nice to me?” There were a lot of answers Raffi did not give. She did not say that she had a son and a husband who wouldn't let her love them and her desire to care for someone was apparently stronger than the realization that they were a semi-brainwashed murderer. She did not say that at this point, she didn't feel like she could judge anyone, morally speaking. Or that maybe this was pragmatism, keeping your friends close and your potential enemies closer. Or that at the very least, there wasn't much she could do to fuck up Agnes' life anymore, which is a marked improvement from the rest of her relationships.

Instead, she let herself feel soft. “Because, sometimes we make mistakes. And even if we can't fix them, I think we should still let ourselves love and be loved.”

[cartoonfangirl1218]

3 times Bette was afraid to touch Barry and the one time she wasn’t

Obvious AU where Bette is still alive. I felt that there was some potential with her so here it is.

Their was a loud crash bang, but Bette didn't even look up. Probably another brawl between the new recruits. No one wanted to use the tazer less they accidentally shock themselves when she tried to head butt them.

It had been days since she been in the normal world, and she was slowly accepting this was what her life was going to be like until she died or until she gave in.

She had been dead for precisely a day before returning back to life. According to Eiling, she had been shot and blown up. But with the help of a man named Savage, they connected to a group called the Time Masters and hired the Pilgrim.

The Pilgrim was a woman able to stop time, another meta-human of some sort, and she went to the split second after Flash had run off and she blew up. Retrieved her body and with some extensive bomb-detonations, DNA analysts, and other stuff that Eiling didn't comprehend well enough to explain to her, she was alive.

Bette couldn't really wrap her mind around the whole Time Masters thing, and Savage or the Pilgrim but she chose not to dwell on it. After all she could make explosives with everything she touched who was she to judge.

The one thing Eiling made sure to keep were her powers. Unpredictable as ever. She had been too dazed and confused to really fight back when they brought her into the room.

The room was large, probably ten feet wide, ten feet in length. All white with padded grey walls and a large see-through window spanning the front next to the door.

They put her in the middle of the room. Strapped her to two chains hanging from ceiling into a elevated T or crucification-position. It prevented her from being able to move her hands around to touch the chains on her wrists or touch anyone/thing else.

She was hanging with no firm grip on the ground and she teetered on the toes of her boots. Preventing her from getting enough leverage to make a proper kick or at least that would make an impact.

She stayed in this position for hours on end, her back straining and arms aching from being stretched as her body longed to touch the ground. They wouldn't even let her eat with her hands, they spoon-fed her and gave her water. She was only unstrapped to go to the bathroom.

Which was a toilet and sink located at the upper right corner of the room. She was thankful that no perved had decided to look but it was still degrading. Treated like a wild animal, and going without the privacy of a stall.

Eiling was determined as ever to make her into a weapon, and he hadn't let up his threat that he would force her. Every day she would be tazered, hit, kicked, and water boarded.

This wasn't new for her, she had dealt with this while she had been serving on the Gulf Cost. Interrogation techniques and pain and she had become immune to most of them. She took comfort with the fact that they wanted her alive to be their living weapon so as she gasped and panicked for breath as the water bag placed over her head, suffocating her. She remembered they wouldn't go that far.

Although sometimes she wanted to give in, such as the nights they tried the sleep deprivation tactic, brights lights, loud noises, cold water splashed over her every time she was about to nod off. What would happen if she said yes?

Maybe they would finally unstrapped her? Maybe they would let her go into a regular room and sleep for once and maybe get a home and call me and special missions? Finally know what the date is?

Those thoughts were quickly pushed out when she reminded herself that as a living weapon, they wouldn't see her as a person.

Only a fighting machine. They wouldn't let her go back to her old life nor help her control her powers. It wasn't worth losing her humanity and independence to fight enemies if she didn't get a say in it.

She had joined the army to fight for the American way, but fighting for the government. She had a feeling fighting solely for the government might be killing more than terrorists but more anyone who tried to fight against it's precious leaders. Her stubbornness kicked in and she used all her will and tactics she learned at training to refuse.

"One thing different in this scenario," Bette snorted to herself, "There's no army to come looking for me. No one even knows I'm alive."

The crash sounded again, along with Eiling shouting and Bette curiously looked up.

She saw a red blur rush through the facility and Bette gasped. The familiar red blur, who had tried to help her all those days, possibly months ago.

He had honestly tried to help her with her powers, and one of the only ones who didn't look at her with absolute fear when he found out about her powers.

Flash looked through the window at her. He knocked Eiling's head against the glass and kicked open the door.

"Flash" she whispered, horsely. She jingled the chains uselessly and cringed as her torso recoiled in pain.

"Bette you're alive!?" Flash asked incredulous.

"Clearly," Bette snapped, Flash unsnapped the chain and she fell to the ground.

"Let me help.." Flash reached for her hand.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, scorching away from him, "I can handle myself."

She gripped her hands tightly, making sure not touch the floor, and pulled herself up by her elbows. Then promptly felt a searing pain in her ribs and buckled to the floor.

"Bette, we need you to get you out of here. You can't walk." Flash insisted as she crawled on her elbows and knees to the door.

"I don't have gloves on. I don't want to hurt you." Bette hissed.

"I can handle this, come on" he tried to reached under arm and attempted to get her to standing position but she kept squirming out of his grasp.

"Trust me." The speedster said with urgency. Bette looked at him, and relaxed her muscles. If anyone would get her out of this. He would.

She offered him her wrist. He took it and took her to the outside world in a woosh of air.

She found out it was 2016, she had spent two years in that place and has sustained from 7 cracked ribs, a severe concussion, a slight fear of water, broken ankle and dislocated knee cap.

There had been other people kept captive at the place, but she had been the only one to stick around with Team Flash.

Caitlin offered her a new set of gloves and although she couldn't participate in missions until she was healed, she helped out the Labs with random jobs and surveillance.

It had been quite dull, but once she was fully healed from her injuries, Cisco suggested as a professional trained solider, that she could teach them to fight better.

She had been training them but Caitlin and Cisco soon ducked out after the first session, claiming that their expertise lied behind the computer screen and they rather be able to sit on their chairs without sore butts.

Barry, she learned his name was, continue to train with her since he was the one doing most of the fighting. She had to admit, despite some posture and technique problems since he depended on his speed, but he had the basic skills down and the superspeed reflexes helped him a lot.

"Okay Bette, stop I'm woah" he ducked her roundhouse kick "I'm done."

"It's only been 20 minutes," Bette protested, taking another head-butt at him. It felt so good to be exercising again.

"Can you let it up a little?" Barry asked.

"Do you think Zoom would let it up a little?" She elbowed him in the shoulder.

"Fine," He panted, and aimed another upper cut at her. It would have been an easy block, but she hesitated and he sent flat on the ground.

"What happened there, bombshell?" Barry asked as she got up. She smirked, Cisco had started to nickname her Bombshell after she explained that one of her best talents in the army was as a bomb detonator.

"Nothing. I mean.. I would have blocked it, but you know...hands. I'm so used to touching myself." She cringed, "Sorry that sounded so wrong."

"Well you have your gloves now. So come on throw something at me. Punch.” "I'm okay, really." Bette wiped her pants.

"Oh come on punch me. You've got to get use to touching things again, so try to hit me." Barry insisted.

"It's fine, I'll stick to kicking."

"Bette," Barry whined, exaggeratedly "Punch me. It's not hard. I won't even defend myself. See" he clasped his hands behind his back.

"Even more of a reason not to," Bette protested with the image of his head exploding into a thousand little pieces.

"But I'm use to it. It'll be fine. People punched me lots of times" He grabbed her wrist, and attempted to squash it against his face.

"Then have them do it. I'm not going to," She pulled her hands back. "You can't fight without punching people" Barry chided, shoving her backwards.

"Really? Because I was beating your ass two seconds ago." Bette snorted, dogging another swipe at her. She tried to flip his legs with her own when he grabbed hers midway and threw her over.

"Oh look who's beating your ass now," Barry taunted, as she tried to up kick him again, once more with the same results and again.

"Damn Bette, keep fighting like this and we'll have your butt imprint on the floor." Bette growled in frustration.

He kept knocking her over and circling around her with his damn superspeed until she finally snapped and sent a smooth undercut to his jaw.

He fell to the floor with a thud, Bette bend down to his side,

"Oh my god, Barry I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it so hard!"

"You did it" he cheered with such a happy grin that Bette had to laugh "Great job," He reached for a high five.

"'Another time" Bette glanced wearily at his hand and cracked her knuckles -

Eight weeks later, Barry had taken to what he called Operation Touchy and Bette sincerely wished he would choose a new name.

Ever since the punching incident he felt that she had to get acquainted with physical contact again and every week, after training he would "introduce" her to a new sense of touch. After punching, it had been slapping, after that it had been handshakes. It was sort of ridiculous and unneeded if you asked her but he kept trying.

There was another factor too.

The more time she spent with him, the more she came to admire him. She didn't want to admit it, but she was starting to get a small crush. At first she had tried to convince herself it was a misplaced feeling and that she only was grateful for helping her, no love whatsoever.

Besides he was dating Patti, she was not that kind of girl to ruin someone's relationship. He would be better off with Patti, she was as normal and awkward as he was. They were perfect together.

But then they started to get to know each other. That was one way not to get over someone. He started to tell her about his mother and how he had come to live with the Wests. He talked about his bio-engineer dreams, and school and how he used to get bullied when he was younger.

He also introduced her to some of his favorite shows, and after he found out she had no idea who Dan and Phil where they spent the entire afternoon looking up videos. He would send an occasional but very energetic email, saying "THEY POSTED A NEW ONE? IT'S HILARIOUS GO LOOK? LOL FUNNY!"

She admired his optimism very much, she never met anyone so happy, and it brightened her day to hear him crack a joke in midst pressure. One time he had sent a Dubsmash of him dancing to Gangam Style/Harlem Shake/Whip n Nae Nae and she almost collapsed on the floor, laughing.

She had never seen anything like a grown male attempting whip Gangam style then do the worm and trip over a bowl of popcorn.

Today he "introduced" her to poking. Which she was pretty sure just an excuse for him to annoy her.

Afterwards he invited her to watch Mean Girls at the Lab because Patti was working a night shift.

"Isn't this a chick flick?" Bette asked as he placed a bowl of popcorn on the desktop.

"Well, yeah but it's written by Tina Fey!" She looked at him blankly "And stars Lindsey Lohan" he added like those two names would be an obvious answer to why a PG-13 move from the early 200s would be so awesome.

"Watch and you'll understand," He sat on the rolling chair beside her and accidentally knocked his knee against hers. An act that shouldn't have been so electrifying for her but it was. She blushed and grabbed a handful of popcorn.

Bette felt a little disappointed that he didn't seem to have noticed their knees touching but she hissed at herself, "Patti Patti Patti Patti.” "What was that?" He asked her.

"Nothing" Bette chirped, and blushed again.

Eventually she fell asleep at some part about a Halloween party and she thrashed restlessly. She had been having nightmares ever since she got her powers, usually world-about-to-end-all-thanks-to-her-types but sometimes she had general ones of fallen friends as their body parts were sent flying fifty feet in the air or when they were beheaded and militated by the Taliban.

Currently it was a flashback to being water boarded, over but this time Eiling wasn't letting up. She felt the burn of his bullet going into her chest.

"Wake up!" A disembodied voice called and she woke up. Barry was holding her by the shoulders and shaking her awake. "Are you okay? You were about to fall off your chair."

"Uh yeah, a nightmare. Regular PTSD stuff, ignore me." Bette waved him off and tried to settle herself back into a comfortable position.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked.

"No. I'd rather not, I, Eiling that..um. Death hurts nothing much you can say about that.”

"Right, I get it" Barry nodded sagely. He reached his arms around her and she stiffened, unsure what to do.

"Now this is called hugging" Barry said, soothingly, stroking her hair. She felt her heart flutter a bit as his warm chest rested against hers, with his soft even breathing.

Slowly she put her hands around his back and rested her chin in the crook of his neck. He was so warm and so soft.

But like all things it had to end, and Bette wanted to slow the rapid flutterings in her stomach. "It meant nothing, just friend hugging a friend. He has a lovely girlfriend of his own who deserves him" she thought to herself.

But "I think I like hugging the best so far" she added shyly Barry grinned, "Me too, it's a lot less painful than slapping." ————

She had been about to leave S.T.A.R. Labs after Barry had returned from saving the subway when she spotted him, sitting melancholy on the patient table.

"Hey Barry, are you okay?" She asked him softly He sat silent.

"Did someone die? Do you want to talk about it?" She asked. "Patti," he sighed deeply.

It had been a month since Patti broke up with him, but he still had hurt feelings. She couldn't blame him, he had been over the moon with her but all the secret keeping and lies took a toll. Despite her feelings she hadn't want them to break up because of it. She actually encouraged him to tell her but it all came too late.

"Sometimes I feel like, I won't be enough for anyone. I'm too secretive. My intelligence scares them off. I'm too much like one of the girls. I've always been friend-zoned." Bette frowned, he must not only be talking about Patti,Iris was in this too.

"And then, I always make such lame excuses and jokes." This was more than the break-up, this was his whole self-esteem in the balance.

"Every time I try to find someone, I do but I end up losing them or endangering all the rest of the female population finds me utterly disgusting!"

Bette couldn't stand to see him like this. He resembled a symbol of hope and life to almost everyone in Central City, and although he couldn't save everyone he tried. He cared and he should know this.

"Barry, I want you to listen to me. Although it feels like it. You can't hold all the faults of the relationship on your shoulders. It's a relationship, a bond between TWO people. So for every mistake you made she made one too, it's not entirely one. Furthermore you're an amazing person Barry Allen.

You have more sense of fairness and justice in you than most people have in their pinkie. You want a fair trial, and you always put 110% in what you do. Believe me, people appreciate that. And in terms of people you care about. Barry you are the sweetest being in the universe. You cheer people up, you reason and sympathize with their troubles. What woman wouldn't love that about you. Know what else they would love about you, let's review" she started counting off her fingers.

"Singing voice is angelic, body 12 out of a scale of ten, your intelligence is outstanding and there is nothing cuter than when you start talking about what you love, you put your friends before your self and that's always very admirable, and most importantly you never stop being you. Which is what every girl looks for. That's true honesty."

Barry looked at her, mouth agape. "You're talking about me?" "Of course I am.” And for once, Bette didn't think about her hands or touching or anything else in the world. She only saw him and all the traits she had described. The incredibly smart, geeky man who saved the world on a daily basis. The man who had helped her in the darkest time and always looked at her with a smile.

She pulled his head closer to hers, gently caressing his cheek as she stared into his piercing brown eyes, and kissed him.

She pulled back, looking at his face for his reaction. "Thanks for what you said" Barry said, looking away.

Bette felt her heart dropped down to the floor, he didn't feel the same way, this was so embarrassing. Even if she had been gone for two years she doubted that people suddenly kissed to cheer friends up. She moved to leave.

"Now may introduce you to French kissing?" he asked. Bette turned back to him, and saw his eyes shining. "Yes" She pulled him closer, and fell into a tight, comforting embrace.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 66

I am happy to report that this chapter has been beta’d, by @satan-parisienne.  They didn’t tell me about any content I should tag, but if I missed something, please let me know.

Happy Thanksgiving Week to all my U.S. readers! Because of the holiday, I’ll have family in town, so there will not be an update next week on the 3rd.  Regular updates should resume on Dec. 10th, so keep your eyes peeled.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was how tired I was. “How does that work,” I groaned as rubbed my throbbing head. “I was asleep for hours.  Why am I exhausted?”

“You were lucid when you were supposed to be resting,” Grey answered as they came over to check my vitals and unhook the equipment from my little trip.

Tyche gave a grudging nod as she held a straw to my mouth.  I drank gratefully, and grimaced. Whatever I was drinking tasted like electrolyte drink and medication.  “Did you catch everything?”

Grey, my sister, and Antoine glanced at each other. Before they could say anything, a buzzing voice cut in. “There are gaps in the recording on your end, which were not unexpected.  The implants are not designed to broadcast outside of your auditory processing center, and I can only perceive vague intentions.”

On my opposite side, I heard the sound of chairs clattering across the floor and my berth sank as two rather heavy people used it to push themselves to their feet.  A string of curses in Japanese filled the air just before a thick, Irish accent boomed out. “She just let you drug her for ten hours so she could question a talking germ. While she is being constantly having her blood filtered to replace her hemoglobin so the same thing you want her to have a chat with doesn’t kill her.  She is sick, she is dehydrated, she is exhausted.  Your questions need to wait. She needs to sleep first.”

I held up a hand on that side without so much as glancing over, trusting that Conor would lean down so I could reach his face.  When I felt a beard press against my palm, I stroked his cheek with my thumb.  “Baby, they’re right.  It’s fresh right now.  People only tend to remember information for forty-eight hours without repetition.  So, it can’t wait, unfortunately.”  I finally turned my head and looked up.

Conor had not only pressed his cheek to my hand, he craned his head down so I could see his face easily. Tears filled his eyes, threatening to spill over. “Sophie.  I know I’ve been an ass, but this is the second time you have been close to dying in less than so many years.  And there is nothing I can do to protect you on this one…”

I tugged him down so I could hug him. “You’re sick, too.  We all are.  But answering questions isn’t going to threaten my life. I promise I will sleep after this.” I leaned as far as I could around him so I could see the scowling face of Maverick behind him. “You hear that?  Sleep. Lots of sleep. After I fill in the gaps, I’ll sleep.”

Maverick turned one baleful, dark eye toward me. He considered me solemnly before nodding “I’ll accept that deal.” He stepped forward, coming to stand next to Conor. “Sophia, we just want to make sure you take care of yourself.”

I nodded. “I know. But sometimes, it comes down to taking care of myself, or letting myself suffer just a bit so that I can take care of everyone else.” Smiling ruefully, I reached for Maverick’s hand. “But that is a huge part of me. It isn’t going to stop. You both need to know that. If you want to talk about it, we can do it after I fill in these gaps and get some sleep.” Once they nodded in confirmation, I turned back to the medical team plus Tyche. “Let’s do this. What do I need to fill in? Point me at your gaps.”

Noah waved with one vomu. “Most importantly, where did Else come from?”

My stomach sank. “Right to the tough stuff.” I swallowed thickly and resisted the urge to look at anyone except Noah. “They said that we, humans, accidentally made them. Here. On the Ark.”

Every voice in the room rose, all at once. I rolled my eyes and covered my ears, noticing that Tyche had done the same. Sure enough, a high-pitched whine filled the room. Judging by the sight of Grey and Antoine hitting their knees and the vibrations coming from the other side of my berth, Noah had employed their own special brand of crowd control. Once the whine stopped, I lowered my hands and Noah gestured that I should continue.

Clearing my throat, I obliged. “Else is… childlike, almost. They don’t mean to hurt anyone. They know us. They… like….us. Like, a lot. They were so, so sorry about what happened to Nixe.”

“You said we made them,” Grey exhaled, trying to get everything back on track.

“By accident. Yes.”

“Did they know how it happened?”

Now I knew why Else had gotten so short with me. “I only know how I was conceived because I was told by someone who was there, Grey. Why do we expect Else to know any differently?”

They nodded, somewhat curtly, to indicate their concession to that point. “If we can determine out how it was created, we can extrapolate how to combat it.”

“That makes sen – wait. What do you mean, ‘combat’ it?”

“Else is a bacterium, specifically one that has infected the humans on the ship and can kill us if left unchecked. By definition, it is a plague.”

Tyche’s eyes widened, then narrowed as she whirled around to face the head researcher. “You mean antibiotics.  As in, killing it.”

“Of course.” The tone was confused, as though this was the obvious solution.  Being that they were the closest we had to a head of medicine, I suppose the solution did seem obvious.  Except one critical piece of information…

Quickly, I flicked open my datapad. “Sophia Reid to Xiomara Kalloe. Xio, are you able to come down to my medbay?  I need you, right now.”

“Ten minutes out. Do you need me to send Miys ahead of me?”

“Noah is already here, and there is no immediate threat.” Not to me, anyway. “I’ll see you in ten minutes.”  Dismissing the screen, I looked back up at my friend and fellow Councilor already in the room. “Grey, it’s not that simple. Else is sentient.  I’m pretty sure.  Which means Galactic Law may apply, hence why I asked Xiomara to come.”

They blinked slowly. “The trials.”

“Yep,” I nodded.  “She’s been digging into Galactic Law ever since then, to make sure we don’t get caught flat-footed again. If Else is sentient, we have to treat them as people under the law.”

“Couldn’t Noah have told you that?” Maverick chimed in, bewildered.

I shook my head. “Unfortunately not.  ‘A similar species, regardless of what point of evolution, cannot make the decision if another species may be sentient.’ It’s to prevent sympathy from overriding logic.”

“Else is a bacterium,” Grey argued.

“With a hive mind.” I gave a pointed look at Noah. “Which means, if they are sentient, they could evolve into something like the Hujylsogox, given time.”

Noah made a gesture of confirmation, sweeping one vomu across its body.  That seemed to settle the matter of Xiomara’s involvement, and we all patiently waited for her to arrive.

Finally, she breezed in the door as though her skin wasn’t ashen from illness. Defiantly of any perceived lack of health, she crossed her arms and braced her feet as she looked at us.  “So, what’s the emergency? I could be lounging around with all I can drink Gatorade right now.”

Before Grey or I could say anything, Antione held up a hand to stave us off.  “Sophia just woke up from her conversation with Else, and we need to know if you are versed in the Galactic Law regarding determination of sentience in a new species.”

Comically, Xiomara slumped slightly, hands dropping and mouth gaping.  Almost immediately recovering, she cleared her throat. “I mean, yeah. I’ve gotten that far.  It’s fascinating stuff, actually.  But why?”

“They can talk.”

“Only with words previously used by you, and they do not retain the information.”

“Because several generations have passed for them!  Humans don’t retain language for more than one generation if there is no way to use it or pass it on.  You know this!” This argument came from my sister.  Tyche was getting as upset as I was, apparently.

“And they re-learn it very quickly,” I tried pointing out.

“So do antique chat bots.”

“Except that Else demonstrates that they know what the words and concepts mean, and can retain internal logic of the conversation.”

“Which makes sense if it is causing you to hallucinate the entire conversation.”

I sent a pleading look at Xiomara, but she only tilted her head from side to side. “Speech isn’t necessarily a criterion, but even if it was, there is no clear determination that Else is capable of intelligent speech.  That seems to depend solely on native communication.”

Damn it. I snapped my fingers rapidly, trying to think of a new piece of information, berating myself for getting into this position. Myself. “Self. Else demonstrates a sense of self.  One independent of its concept of humans. It… they pled for their lives. They apologized for hurting us, and understood what that meant.  Not only that, they corrected me several times on where they came from. Arguing demonstrates the ability to use logic, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Xiomara pointed out. “Conor argues with me all the time.”

“Hey!”

I glared at her.  Now was not the time for jokes.

Apologetic, she held up her hands. “On the other side, though, sense of self as a separate identity from others, along with understanding of the concept of death, are criteria for sentience.”

“What are the rest?” I asked, hope flooding my voice.

“Do they have any subjective experiences?” she asked.

“I’m honestly not even sure what that means,” I admitted, close to tears.

“Opinions,” Antione supplied helpfully.  “Experiences through their frame of existence and perception that they have opinions about unrelated to survival.”

I bit my lip as I thought. “The showed regret?”

“They also know we can kill them,” Grey argued, not giving up without a fight.

“They showed empathy?”

“So does your cat.”

Xiomara shook her head at Grey’s petulance. “Jury is actually still out on cats, so that’s not as definitive as you would like it to be.  But empathy doesn’t count – even among humans, several psychological disorders prevent empathy, but that doesn’t mean those people aren’t sentient.”

“They asked me to stop reciting scientific papers?” I asked in a Hail Mary attempt.

“They had what they needed,” was the suggestion from our self-designated Devil’s Advocate.

“Yes and no,” I said softly, realizing something. “They found it annoying and boring…  They also scolded me for using profanity.” Little things I had initially ignored rushed to the forefront of my memory.  “They knew Conor only gave the catnip to Tyche because he thought she would like it.  They knew Tyche loves me… they knew what that meant. And they actually told me how sick I was, the first time.  I didn’t realize it, but they told me my face and hands were injured.”

“That’s what the nightmare was that made you scream?” Tyche demanded.

Nodding vigorously, I clarified. “When I first came to the medical bay, there was moderate cellular damage in my hands, remember?  We didn’t think anything of it, because it was so simple to fix.  But in the nightmare, my hands were a horror show. I never would have even had them scanned if it wasn’t for that nightmare.  And the bruises around my eyes, from the anemia… they mentioned something was wrong with my face.”

“They told you out of self-preservation,” Grey supplied as the subsequent argument, but the staunch faith was wavering at this point.

“They didn’t know we were dying.  Not then.” I took a deep breath.  “And they make jokes, when I talk to them.  When I asked if they were deliberate or accidental, they didn’t just tell me they didn’t know.  They made a joke about my parentage.  Which means they took offense.”

Xiomara took a deep breath and ran a hand over her hair. “Boredom, annoyance… being offended.  Those are definitely opinions, and not related at all to survival.”  I held my breath and prayed to any entity that was listening.

“By definition of Galactic Law, Else is sentient.  Antibiotics are out.”

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[maple-writes]

WHG 13: Post Games 4

tagging @concealeddarkness13 @ratracechronicler @onmywaytobe and @nightskywriter

Skyler kept a pace behind Indigo, eyes burning a hole into the back of her head as she brought him into the hanger. He hadn’t wanted to go with her alone, but she’d insisted that too many of them ran the chance of drawing too much attention. At least she hadn’t tried to talk to him on the ride over, content to let him glare out the window and pretend he was anywhere else.

When they were both inside though, she turned to him and gestured to the hovercrafts parked inside. “I’ll let you go ahead, take a look around.”

Skyler walked past her, footsteps echoing hollow in the empty hanger. He looked up at the crafts as he passed them. Most seemed to be only slight variations on the same models, and all of them were years newer than anything Volt had back at home. Judging by their engines, probably faster too. Much faster. Shinier too.  He slowed, craning his neck to look up at his reflection in the metal siding.

Was that really him? He looked… Small. He looked tired, wary, like a rabbit pressing itself into the grass ready to bolt at the slightest hint of danger.

“So, what do you think?”

He turned at Indigo’s voice, thankful she kept her distance. “If they work, any one of them will do fine.”

She hmmed, not bothering with her usual smile, it wouldn’t do anything to fool him anyway. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do then.” Indigo glanced up at the hovercraft a moment before resting her eyes back on Skyler. “You said Volt taught you how to operate it, right?”

He nodded, slowly crossing his arms.

“Alright.” She paused again. “How much solo experience do you have? I can get you a craft, but a co-pilot’s a whole other story.”

Skyler clenched his jaw. He didn’t have a lot of time under his belt as the sole pilot, any time he’d been out it was always with Volt, and more often than not she was the one in charge of the controls. He’d only started branching out to flying himself in the last year, and only had the chance to over solo landing a handful of times.

Indigo gestured towards the craft above them. “I’ve been told they have fairly comprehensive automation systems, and it’s not out of the question to fly them with only one pilot, but for your purposes I’d recommend relying on them as little as possible. Less chance for the ship to be traced.” She met his stare. “Be honest with me, how confident are you that you can pilot this thing?”

“Enough.” He spat the word, but doubt lingered in the back of his mind. He’d only made a few successful landings without Volt stepping in and taking control. “It depends if you want it back in one piece.”

Indigo blinked, raising her eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound good. A smoking wreck is good as a beacon telling everyone where you went.”

Skyler shrugged. “If conditions aren’t ideal, I can put it down slow enough to keep everyone alive long enough to evacuate.”

“Or,” Indigo raised a single finger. “You spend the rest of the afternoon in the simulator until you can land it in one piece.” She pointed towards the far end of the hanger. “What do you think?”

Despite the way his skin crawled at every syllable out of her mouth, curiosity made him lean forward, peering down to the end of the hanger. Volt didn’t have a simulator, and he didn’t know anyone else back home that did. He’d always wondered what they were like. There was no way he’d be an expert when he was done, but it might just be enough.

“Fine,” he straightened his back. “But you can’t come in with me.”

Indigo smiled, turning towards the far end of the hanger. “Trust me Bluebird, I—”

“Skyler.”

“—I’m not keen on being in there with you either.” She glanced back, making sure he followed. “I have some phone calls I have to make anyway.”

Good. Skyler quickened his pace, walking beside her save for about a meter between their shoulders. Their asynchronous footsteps bounced off the walls, until suddenly there were three.

“Ah, Dr. Carmine!”

The two of them froze, and Skyler’s heart leapt to his throat as a swift set of footsteps approached them from behind. They were supposed to be alone.

“You’re an avox.” Indigo hissed before turning around, a polite smile on her face. “Yes?”

A well dressed man stopped in front of them, clasping his hands in front of him. “Thought I’d find you here.” He glanced at Skyler, furrowing his eyebrows. “Who’s this?”

Skyler kept his head down, staring at his feet and trying not to be obvious about his breathing. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t. He had to stand still. Stay quiet. Don’t do anything.

“Him?” Indigo looked down at him, as if just realizing he was there. “A new avox I’m working on.”

The man frowned. “He’s got an odd look for an avox.”

Skyler swallowed, barely supressing a shiver. He didn’t look anything like an avox. His hair, his clothes, hell, even the way he’d been walking side by side with Indigo before this man called out to them. Not to mention his face had been on every screen in the capitol. It wasn’t like he had a look that helped blend in very much, at least back home. He’d always stood out, to the point where he was sure enough everyone at home already suspected he wasn’t from there before he let it slip at the interview.

“Odd?” Indigo didn’t seem nearly as concerned.

“Yeah, there’s something about him..”

The man reached for Skyler’s face, forcing his head up by his chin. Panic shot through him. He wrenched backwards and took a breath to swear, but the next second Indigo shoved the man back and stepped between them.

She squared her shoulders, voice dropping low. “Don’t touch him if you want to keep that hand.”

Skyler stared at her back, hands shaky and hovering over the pocket where he kept his multi-tool, ready to drive the knife as far into that man as he could. But he forced himself to hold still and bite the tongue he had to pretend he didn’t have. His heart raced almost as fast as his thoughts. He just wanted to run, get away, before whoever that was tried to grab him again.

“I’m testing a few things out on him, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t ruin everything,” Indigo did not sound happy. “The neural implants weren’t easy to get my hands on, and it’ll probably be another day before the pathways adjust for it. I don’t want to have to start over.”  She crossed her arms and took a deep breath. “What is it that you want to talk to me about?”

Skyler didn’t pay much attention to their conversation after that, something about Indigo’s work that went over his head. He kept his head down, silently wishing they would be done soon.

Eventually, the man left, and Indigo turned to face him again. Neither of them dared say anything until they were in the simulator room and the door closed behind them.

Skyler crossed the room, pacing back and forth along the wall opposite from Indigo. Every muscle tensed and his dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands as he tried to get his breathing back under control. His thoughts went fast, his legs shook too much. Damn it. He clenched his jaw. His throat hurt and he felt like he was going to cry, but he couldn’t. Not now, not in front of Indigo. She couldn’t know.

“Bastard.” Indigo spat the word like venom from a cobra. “Thinks that just because Snow sent him he can do whatever he wants. I don’t need his lackeys breathing down my neck, I…”

She trailed off when she noticed Skyler sink to the floor. He gave up trying to hold back as his breath hitched and he hid his face under an arm folded over his bent knee. He teared up, wet and sniveling. Pathetic. He should have been able to hold it together, at least until he was alone. But it was too late, and of course to top it all off, every gasp only made his back hurt again.

“Hey, Skyler.” Indigo softened her voice and crouched in front of him. “Sorry about him, I thought we’d be alone.” She sighed. “I should have been more careful.”

“Leave me alone!” He snarled, lunging to swipe at her.

She stood, quickly doubling back out of his reach. For a moment, she didn’t seem to know exactly what to say, looking down at him as he glared through teary eyes. Then she looked away, glancing out the window leading back to the hanger.

“If I was nervous back there, I can only imagine how scared you must have been.” She spoke quietly, almost like she at all cared about how he felt. “I’ll be in the other room. Come get me when you’re ready.”

Skyler kept his head down until the door clicked shut behind her and he sat alone next to the flight simulator. Tears ran hot and wet down his cheek, pushed out as he closed his stinging eyes. Everything felt too heavy and too warm, but at least the floor was cold.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to wake up in his bedroom to Volt calling him downstairs like none of this ever happened. Hell, he even wanted to have another awkward conversation with Warren where neither of them really knew how to talk to each other. But that wasn’t an option. Not anymore. Not until they got out of here, and he needed to be able to get them out in one piece. They were counting on him, they all were.

Would they have so much faith in him if they knew how scared he really was? Then again, they were probably all scared in one way or another. He glanced towards the door Indigo had disappeared through, then sighed. Not yet. He’d get her later, get her to turn on the damned simulator, and he wouldn’t come back out until he was damned sure he could get everyone home safe.

[yandere-society]

can i request a yandere jimin that’s so dependent on the reader that when she goes to work and he stays home (because he’s out of work/works at home), he literally destroys himself and ends up going to her work looking like he was mauled by a bear (not literally but i hope you get the point). it’s totally fine if you don’t do it!!! — 🐹

Labor of Love

word count: 1.7k

author/admin: kimseokmomjins🥀

a/n: this contains extremely graphic depictions of self-harm and mentions of suicide, please read at your own discretion 

The violent vibrations of your cellphone caused you to awake with a startle. You scrambled to silence your phone, knowing Jimin was not fond of his sleep being interrupted by nuisances, but hesitated when you saw your superior’s name illuminating the screen.

Manager Kim never called you, always electing to communicate through e-mail, so his call was a surprise to you, to say the least. Something must’ve gone wrong with the latest project. Carefully sliding out of the sheets so as to not wake Jimin, you scuttled away to your adjoining bathroom and accepted the call. Manager Kim gave you no room to speak, immediately cutting to the chase the second you answered.

“You need to come in now. Our client received your design and he claims it’s not what he asked for. Now the bastard wants something bigger, flashier, and done in 3 hours.” You cupped your hand around the receiver, keeping your voice hushed. “Namjoon, you know I can’t, I have—” 

“Y/N,” he pleaded, “Please. I let you work from home seven days a week, I keep our correspondence solely through e-mail. I don’t ask questions about your lifestyle. I’m only asking you to help just this once.” His desperation pulled at your heartstrings, reminding you a lot of a certain someone. Inhaling, you shut your eyes tightly and acquiesced. “Fine, Namjoon. I’ll come in, but only for an hour or two.” You could practically hear the tension in his voice dissipate as he thanked you for your cooperation. “I knew I could count on you! I’ll see you soon, be prepared for a shitstorm.” Manager Kim ended the call abruptly, leaving you to contemplate your next decision.

There was no way Jimin would let you go into work, much less on such short notice. Some would call him controlling, or even downright insane, but to you, he was just a man with an extremely unhealthy inferiority complex. Jimin was someone who loved fiercely, passionately, but never believed people could reciprocate those same feelings towards him. Not even you, his wife of 3 years, who loved him more than life itself—who held him in her arms after every breakdown, every relapse. 

But being the sole breadwinner of the household meant you had to make the difficult choice: either go to the office or get fired. Either way, you either risked potentially losing Jimin, or losing your house, the car and health insurance. Neither was ideal, but lately, Jimin had been in high spirits. His old scars had finally begun to heal, meaning he hadn’t cut himself in at least three weeks. Maybe he was capable of staying home alone for a few hours. 

You looked at your phone’s digital clock. 6:58 a.m. Jimin seldom got up before noon, so you figured if you left now while he was asleep, you could make it back before he woke up. You rushed to make yourself presentable, trying to take as little time as possible, while also being as quiet as you could. Sneaking back into the bedroom, you knelt down on Jimin’s side of the bed and brushed the hair out of his face. Pressing your lips to his forehead, you gave him a tender kiss, hoping it wouldn’t be your last. “Minnie, baby,” you murmured so as to not stir him. He hummed in response, still deep in REM sleep, but slightly conscious. You continued, “I need to run to the office, okay? I’ll be back soon. I love you.” Jimin mumbled something incoherent and curled into his pillow, looking absolutely serene. 

Collecting your purse, you head past the kitchen, your eyes catching sight of the knife block that sat on the marble countertop. Fearing Jimin might potentially spiral and relapse, you carried the heavy block to the hall closet and hid it behind a stack of quilts, hoping Jimin wouldn’t be desperate enough to tear apart the closet. With a determined nod of your head, you set off to work, saying your silent prayers that everything would be okay.

•·················•·················•

When Namjoon said work would be a shitstorm, he wasn’t exaggerating. Your client, a semi-famous rapper by the name of Agust D, whatever the hell that meant, decided that he didn’t like his promotional advertisements. Three days before his comeback. You were able to get the redesign done, but not without him hovering over your back and micromanaging every minuscule detail, down to the smallest pixel. After hours of edits, you finally had a moment to relax. 

Checking your phone, your eyes widened when you saw that it was currently one in the afternoon. What was even more alarming was that you had over 13 missed calls and 54 unread text messages from Jimin. Fearing the worst, you unlocked your phone and began skimming through his messages, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

[Minnie 8:21 a.m]: hey baby, where’d you go?

[Minnie 8:23 a.m]: baby?

[Minnie 8:25 a.m]: Y/N?

[Minnie 8:30 a.m]: hello?????

[Minnie 8:34 a.m]: whatever you’re doing isn’t funny baby. please respond.

Your thumb scrolled upwards, towards the newer messages. The more recent, the more incoherent and unstable Jimin’s texts became.

[Minnie 12:41 p.m]: i get hthat u dotn lovve me anymore and im soty for ebeingf stupoid and ugly and uselass im sorry for a being patheic 

[Minnie 12:41 p.m]: i’

[Minnie 12:41 p.m]: i’ll end it all fro u

[Minnie 12:42 p.m]: YOU’RE MY FUCKOING EVERYTHISNG YOU FUCKING DONT UNETRESTAND I FUCKIGN NEED U Y/N

[Minnie 12:43 p.m]: DO I NEEFD TO CARVE YIUR NAME INTWO MY CHEST TO MAKE YOU HAPPY????? 

By now, fat, hot tears were streaming down your face, dotting the screen of your phone. You eyed the last message you had received, an attachment sent at exactly 1 p.m. Sprinting out of the office without a single word to your superior or client, you frantically played the voice message Jimin had sent. His soft voice echoed in the corridor as you dashed down the stairs and towards the parking garage, filling your heart and mind with worry. 

‘Y/N, my love, my life, my everything,’ he began, his voice hoarse and cracking, likely from emotional duress.  ‘You’ve abandoned me, and I don’t blame you. I’m stupid, incompetent and a waste of space. You complete me, I am nothing without you. And now that you’ve left me, I have nothing else to live for.’  Fumbling around in your purse in search for your car keys, you finally found the object of your search and unlocked your car, hurriedly shoving the keys in the ignition and peeling out of the garage. You couldn’t bear listening to more of the voice message, instead choosing to dial Jimin with the assistance of your Bluetooth controls. Each one was immediately redirected to voicemail, but you persisted in the barrage of phone calls. 

What was no more than a 12-minute drive felt like millennia, your heart thumping so hard that you heard your pulse reverberating in your ears. You raced up the stairs of your unit, taking them two at a time, hoping that it wasn’t too late—pleading with any Higher, Holy beings to let Jimin be okay. Your hands trembled so furiously that it was nearly impossible to unlock your door until finally, you were somehow able to enter the threshold of your apartment. Greeted with nothing but an eerie silence, you began to fear the worst. 

Usually, when Jimin had a breakdown, he screamed and destroyed everything in sight, but all of your decor was exactly as how you’d left it in the morning. The only trace your husband’s presence was the shattered picture frame that lay discarded on the dining room table, a chunk of glass missing. Your eyes traced over the worn mahogany surface before they settled on speckles of blood. You scanned the perimeter, looking for any clues that could lead you to Jimin. Following the droplets, you were led to your balcony, which overlooked the Dongdaemun shopping district. The gentle purr of cars wafted through the ajar french doors, and perched on the balcony railing was a defeated, scarred Jimin. He hadn’t noticed you, at least, not yet. But you noticed him and his current state. Arms streaked with blood— staining his pajama shirt and boxers a light pink— legs dangling idly from the metal railing as if he wasn’t four stories above a busy street, ready to plummet to his death. He looked content, serene, even. 

“Jimin, sweetie,” you choked, words catching in your throat at the sight before you. “What are you—” Before you had time to finish your question, Jimin lept off the railing and threw himself at you and into your arms. Violent sobs wracked his body as he clung to you, like a lost child would to his mother. “I th-thought you had l-l-left m-me,” your husband hiccuped. His hold on you was vice-like, and his wounds were, without a doubt, staining your blouse. “Why did you leave me,” he half-shouted, half-pleaded. “I lost control because of you. I almost ended it all for you.”

You found yourself at a loss for words. You didn’t consider your absence would affect Jimin so profoundly— to the point where he thought suicide was the only way to cope. You almost lost him; almost lost the love of your life. And it was all because of your selfish impulsiveness. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, one hand toying with the baby hairs on the nape of his neck, knowing affection was the best way to calm him down. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” you cooed, tears pricking your eyes. “Please forgive me, I’m so, so sorry. I love you, okay? Don’t ever doubt my feelings for you.” Your husband looked at you with those big, brown eyes that shone so brightly, so innocently. The eyes you loved dearly. 

“Promise?” He asked, his grip around you tightening slightly. “I promise,” you replied with a bittersweet smile. You knew that this would be the turning point of your marriage— you could never trust Jimin to be alone, not even for a few hours. You’d have to sacrifice your freedom, your career, to ensure his safety. But it was worth it just to see him live another day.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up, alright Minnie?” He nodded meekly, letting you lead him towards the washroom so you could tend to his wounds, just like always. 

Time and time again, you’d be there to repair Jimin when he broke down, disregarding the fact that you yourself were the one that was crumbling under all the stress. After all, loving Park Jimin was an arduous affair.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

Tony, Steve, Clark, and Bruce: A Cross-Universe Comparison

I saw a post that, in my opinion, unfairly compared Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne, and this inspired me to write a comparison of the four characters listed in the title above. I believe many people misunderstand a lot of what these characters believe and stand for, so I want to express what I find their stances and motives to be in relation to each other.

As a note, the interpretations of these characters have varied widely, given the multitude of comic book authors and the somewhat differing portrayals on screen. For this analysis, I will be focusing mostly on the film interpretations, as they are better known, with the exception of Superman; this is because on screen, he is intended to be a reimagining of the character. In order to stay true to his nature, I will mostly be using the Superman developed in the comics (particularly the one presented in the Dark Knight Returns).

On the surface, Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne appear to be two fairly similar characters. Both experienced traumatic youths, including the sudden deaths (which were both murders) of their parents. Both Tony and Bruce are incredibly wealthy and intelligent, with almost unlimited technical resources making up for their non-superhuman physical abilities. These two characters, however, are actually closer to opposites than doubles.

In actuality, these characters are each more similar to the other's counterpart: Tony tends more towards Superman's more conformist vision for the world, having gone from a rogue, or individualist, to someone who recognizes his own potential for ignorance and damage and decides he needs to be held accountable. It is Steve Rogers, not Tony Stark, who is the MCU counterpart of Batman.

Steve had initially, at least on a surface level, been portrayed as the ultimate conformist: he gave his life to the army, in order to become a medical experiment who fought and acted at the behest of his country. But in actuality, he maintained his individualistic and rebellious spirit, growing further into that attitude as the franchise progressed. This is why, by Infinity War, Steve has embraced his Nomad identity, fully shirking any responsibility to the larger government, and instead, seeking after his own goals.

This individualist attitude is encapuslated best in Endgame, where Steve says to a high-ranking government official: "I'm not asking for forgiveness. And I'm done asking for permission." This implies that he had, at some point, asked for permission in the first place, but this is not the case. When the Accords were introduced, Steve spoke out against them, refused to compromise, and essentially fled, becoming a rebel and fugitive in the process. Any time an authority, government or not, gives him an order he doesn't agree with, he dismisses it outright.

These actions and attitudes are mirrored almost exactly by Bruce, who not only appoints himself sole arbiter of right and wrong by enforcing his vigilante justice, but also avoids police detainment and other efforts to force him to comply with the law. The law is not sufficient for his purposes, so he does not abide by it. He has no problem with allowing himself unchecked power; for example, in the Dark Knight, he constructs a surveillance system that invades the privacy of every citizen of Gotham to find the Joker. Although he does destroy it, to him, the ends justify the means. He does not believe there is anything wrong with allowing a decision of such magnitude to be left solely in his hands, and in fact, he would not want anyone else to interfere, even a government. He firmly believes he knows what is best--and he intends to plant himself like a tree and say to the government, "No, you move."

Bruce is much more cynical about humanity than Steve, which is understandable, and offers insight into their differing ways of acting on their similar beliefs. Steve was raised in poverty and was bullied, but experienced minimal trauma in his youth, whereas Bruce was traumatized at a young age. Despite having privilege as a child, Bruce was darkened by his trauma, making him use his position of power in decidedly more violent ways than Steve, who was able to grow into a position of power without the scarrings of a traumatic youth. This is what causes the apparent difference between them--on the surface, no one would call Bruce and Steve similar, as Steve is viewed as a "good" character, and Bruce as morally grey at best. Ultimately, however, they act similarly: Bruce uses his troubled past as a justification for inflicting his own form of justice on those he deems criminals, and Steve uses his supposed moral high standing to do the same thing. Both of them also view the advantages they have over average humans as indicative that they are supposed to take action--but, because of their superiority, this action is taken on their own terms. It is similar to the theory of the Superior Man in Fyodor Dostoevsky's novel Crime and Punishment. The Superior Man, expresses the main character, would not be bound by the laws of society. He could break and form them as he pleased, as they only exist to keep the average members of the populace in check. Much of the same attitude is presented by Steve and Bruce, who, as stated, use their physical advantages as an excuse to do whatever they deem "necessary". Because of this the two characters, although they express their idealogies in different ways, share many of the same views.

Another cause of the difference in public interpretation of their characters is that the narrative justifies Steve's decisions at every turn, but Bruce has more of a penalty to pay for his actions. Ultimately, Bruce is also justified by the narrative: he gets a happy ending in the Dark Knight trilogy, at least. (As an aside, this is perhaps a commentary on how in the end, the rich are able to get away with anything, and can do whatever they please with no real consequence. Although I will not make a statement on the veracity of such a claim, it is nevertheless a possibility that the films endeavored to make a pint about it.) Bruce does, however, have to face some costs for his decisions. He is driven into hiding for eight years after taking the blame for Harvey Dent's death, which was caused by a chain of events in which he--and his occasionally selfish decisions--played a major role. Additionally, in the comics, Batman lost several of his companions, with Dick Grayson giving up the role of Robin, and Jason Todd dying because of Batman's oversights. This distinct cost to his actions results in him appearing to be less of a morally good character; in the perception of the audience, if Bruce really made the right decision, would it not then have resulted in victory? It is a firmly entrenched idea, in America in particular, that good will always triumph over evil--and so, if there is any element of good that does not unequivocally triumph, it must not have been purely good.

The similarity between Steve and Superman comes from their acheiving this ideal, this unequivocal goodness, but it is not present in Batman, leading many to wrongly think that Steve and Superman are birds of a feather; in fact, Tony is much more similar to the do-gooder Superman, who feels compelled to utilize his assets and abilities to help the common people. Tony likewise focuses much more on helping others than on correcting injustice as Bruce and Steve do. This is the ultimate distinction between the four characters: whereas Bruce and Steve believe it is their moral duty to correct the injustices they perceive--confrontational heroics--Tony and Clark see their abilities as an opportunity to help others--supplemental heroics.

In other words, Tony and Clark recognize it is not their role to define what is good or bad on an ultimate scale, and instead step in and offers aid in the areas in which they know it is needed. For example, Tony provides scholarships for underfunded college students in order to help them pursue their dreams. He contributes on a larger scale with his technology, allowing much public access to his inventions, such as BARF, that would be good for the common welfare. In this way, he contributes a lot of good without creating his own definition of good; instead, he does what the public perceives as good, just as Clark does when he saves people from accidents or other catastrophes.

Tony often fights, however, to keep the weaponized side of his inventions--namely, the Iron Man suits--private. This is because he had previously been involved with the government in the weapons business, and realized that there was no accountability there, neither for him nor for the government. Countless people died, and there was nothing to keep the people involved in check. Thus, his position on individualism versus conforming to the government depends on each party being kept accountable by the other; he will submit to governm ent authority, as it makes him liable to some higher power and prevents him from making potentially world-altering decisions on his own, but he also maintains enough control that he can exert pressure on the government in return if they begin to grow too large.

This seems to cause him to differ some from Superman, who does not keep the government in check; this is because of a difference in situation. Ultimately, because Superman is so powerful, the government could not actually keep him in check, and so he voluntarily submits to their authority as a way to keep himself accountable. He knows full well that if the government were to "step out of line", he would certainly be able to subdue them, but he recognizes the old adage that "absolute power corrupts absolutely," and does not want to take that chance.

Superman realizes, just as Tony does, that it is not his right to determine what is right or wrong since he is just one man. Unlike Tony, however, Clark is powerful enough to exert his will over everyone. To prevent himself from acting on this temptation, he submits himself to human authority. Thus, Tony and Clark have very similar idealogies: neither fully relinquish autonomy, but prioritize accountability over the freedom to do whatever they would like, because both have seen the consequences of unchecked power.

As a slight aside, this surrendering of control develops to become the source of the conflict between Batman and Superman in the Dark Knight Returns, the comic which not only revitalized the comics industry but also inspired Batman vs. Superman. In this comic, Superman has almost completely relinquished autonomy to the government, and Bruce has become the ultimate symbol of resistance, inspiring violent gangs to assert their forms of justice on the streets. The conflict between the two of them is ultimately reduced to a conflict between their two opposing ideals: conformism and individualism. This also provides great examples to illustrate the difference between confrontational and supplemental heroics: in the comic, Superman sacrifices himself to divert a nuclear missile from its target city, nearly dying in the process; Bruce emerges from retirement to become Batman again, because he believes the condition of society has gotten out of hand and needs him to correct it. He, too, nearly dies in the process of doing so. Ultimately, both survive and go on to continue striving towards their various ideals, allowing each other to function without interference. This is supposed to represent how there is a place for both approaches, and neither is necessarily right or wrong; rather, they balance each other out.

In the end then, it is clear that despite their superficial similarities, the characters commonly related to each other are in fact very different on an ideological level. The reason the pairs (Tony and Steve, and Bruce and Clark) work so well in the same franchise is because they serve as foils and complements to each other: one member demonstrates confrontational heroism and individualism, and the other in turn demonstrates supplemental heroism and conformism. They represent the ongoing battle in the real world between differing beliefs and ideals, and it is precisely this conflict that makes their interactions interesting to observe--whether on screen, or on the page.

[out-of-this-dimension]

Hi there. I was wondering if I could ask you a question concerning the future of the Starfox game series. Now that Starfox Zero over and done with, I wanted to ask you on your opinion on the game itself. Did you like the game? (That is if you've played it) If not, what should be done to truly revamped the series? (As in, what kind of Starfox game would you like to have seen?)

I’m actually glad you asked!  I am planning on doing a series of reviews for each game (I have a review written up mostly for SNES Star Fox right now) and I have a post in my drafts that kind of outlines some interesting ideas I think would be good for the SF series.  I won’t go into as much detail as those posts will, but I’ll hit some of the main points.

1. My opinion on Star Fox Zero – I actually had it preordered and bought a Wii U for the sole purposes of playing the game so yep, def played through it a couple of times! I honestly give it a pretty low score and I find it to be the least enjoyable game of the series in terms of pure gameplay.  I am not a fan of the gyrocontrols in the way they were implemented and I feel like the controls hampered the fun of the gameplay.  I know some people liked them but I think it’s pretty telling when there’s a huge outcry against the controls and there’s not even a way to turn them off.  Sometimes motion controls like that can work as with games like Splatoon or even RingFit Adventure but I feel like on an on-rail game where you have to look between two screens, it just becomes a bit much.  But honestly, I could’ve been fine with the game if the motion controls were the only real problem the game had.  For a game priced at $60, it was despairingly low on content with no multiplayer option at all (and an online versus mode would’ve been so cool!), so it felt more or less like a lesser version of Star Fox 64.  Characterization and aesthetics were on point but the fact that it didn’t expand the plot at all or go into more depth made me feel kinda icky, especially since we were teased a more cinematic experience and Battle Begins definitely teased a more involved plot.  I feel like there were some cinematic moments but ultimately there was no real delivery of what was promised, so overall, the game just felt really… blah.  And when I went back to replay some of the levels, I realized that I didn’t even really enjoy most of them.  I liked the on-rail ones and that was.. basically it.  Some of the boss fights felt too long and tedious for tedious-ness sake.  But that’s a whole other rant for another day.  That being said, I really fought to like the game, I honest-to-god did.  I was even one of the stalwart fans of the motion controls at first.  But really, after maybe two weeks of playing the game, I kinda realized that it was not even near my expectations at all and not in a good way.

2. What should have been done to revamp the series – Unpopular opinion– I don’t think that the series needed to be revamped.  It could’ve just continued and people would’ve forgotten their Command outrage and all of that.  I remember when Zero was announced (it was the first or second E3 I really watched all the way) that there were some mixed reactions to a retelling of Star Fox 64.  Some people were ecstatic.  Some people were not.  I was kinda in the middle where I liked the idea of remaster but I didn’t like the implications of nulling Adventures, Assault, and Command because I did legit enjoy those games. 

I honestly think what they could’ve/should’ve done was just carry on after Assault and make a game that takes place before Command or heck, pick one of the more sensible, series-continuing endings to Command and just roll with it.  People say Command was a “series-ender” but… I utterly fail to see that, especially with endings like the one where the team is back together but Amanda is now present on the team.  There were some really, really easy endings to pick up from that could’ve continued into a game that would’ve progressed the overall story.  

A lot of the fans were kinda happy with how Assault felt like the natural progression from Star Fox 64 in terms of gameplay.  A lot of people also enjoyed the darker plot– I don’t necessarily think Nintendo should go any darker than Assault was by any means.  I kind of have a tinfoil hat theory that Assault’s plot isn’t as good as people think it is, they just liked a Star Fox setting with a scenario that wasn’t Lylat Wars, but again, tinfoil hat theory.  I recognize Assault has its problems but I think it’s a good step in the direction the series feels like it should go in terms of gameplay, if that makes any sense at all.  

3. A Star Fox game I’d like to have seen -- That being said, I’d probably make a game with similar gameplay as Assault but with less mission-by-mission gameplay.  I’d have an adventure mode where the player could go out into an open world setting (even if it’s just a cluster of planets rather than the entire Lylat System) and he could do small mini quests to get upgrades or even do some sidequests that unlock some other gear or maybe lore.  This would be between missions, giving the player a chance to breathe and enjoy the setting a bit more.  I’d make the game longer, with more cutscenes and a story that would be around the same level of convolution as Assault.  Missions would be longer, with checkpoints, and there would be a lot more of them.  I like the RPG aspect of being able to choose different missions, so I’d def keep that along with SF64′s concept of a “true ending” that could be unlocked.  There would be on-foot, Arwing, Landmaster, and Blue Marine missions, with some being on-rails and some being all-ranged mode just depending on the mission because variety is the spice of life.  I would change Assault’s on-foot gameplay style to be a bit more similar to Adventures– less static feeling and more fluid.  I’d also have skill trees for various characters you could play as because I like playing as different characters and skill trees are my jam tbh.  I liked the skill trees in Starlink specifically.

As far as a plot goes, and I know Dash Bowman as the new Emperor of Venom is a super easy plot to do and could have oodles and oodles of SF64/Zero/SNES SF throwback references… I’d actually go with a different threat entirely, with Dash being a background threat that slowly comes to light by the game’s end, which would signal for a sequel.  I don’t know what this threat would be– maybe some sort of secret organization or outside-of-Lylat invaders.

That’s… what I would like to see, tbh, because I do think the series needs to expand its gameplay to keep up with modern gaming times (if Nintendo wants the series to be successful– I just don’t think standard on-rail shooting is enough to satisfy consumers anymore except a niche group) but that’s another post I have planned so stay tuned for that sometime soon.

[multinova]

Heya! Oh I'm so happy the ask box is open, I just love everything you write. Could I please ask for a scenario where Bakuboy takes his girlfriend to meet his parents? I've seen a few of these floating around and I wanted to see how you'd do with it, I really love those fics. Anyway, thank you so much and have a wonderful day!

this was requested to me in goddamn september and i’m just now finishing it. wow, hasana. anyways, i’m back to posting all my finished works and just in time for my birthday this friday! hope you enjoy the read, habibi. 

“I swear, Kirishima, she’s been bugging me all damn day. I wonder why it’s such a big deal for her to meet my shitty parents, it ain’t like they’re any fun.”

Bakugou wondered why meeting his parents was such a huge deal to his girlfriend, he didn’t even like being around them for longer than twenty minutes. [name] had been pressing him all week to set up a day where they could go and visit the Bakugou household. Of course, he had straight out denied her of her request and when threatened by her phantom quirk, he was quick to reconsider.

“Dude, why don’t you just let her go see your parents? It’s not like it’s for a whole week, just a night and then you can return to the dorms when it’s over. That way you can avoid Spirit.” Kirishima suggested as he did his set of leg stretches before they sparred, watching Bakugou glare down at the floor in annoyance.

“Fuck, man. I guess so. Anything to avoid Spirit. She’s a fucking nightmare for sure.” Bakugou shuddered, grabbing his phone and sending a quick text to [name] about tonight’s plans.

to: queen spirit👻                                                                                                  from: bakubabe💕

we’re going to see my shitty parents tonight. happy?

from: queen spirit👻                                                                                              to: bakubabe💕

omg, thanks babe! i can’t wait, uwu!

Bakugou rolled his eyes at the screen, just imagining [name] running around her room fishing for a good outfit to wear. He threw his phone aside by his duffle bag and returned to the ring where he was preparing to spar with Kirishima.

“You did the right thing, man. Trust me,” Kirishima reassured, “Everything’s gonna go great.”

“I really want to fucking believe that.”

That night, Bakugou had washed up and put on a simple black t-shirt with cotton sweats. Nothing too fancy for his old home and boring parents. [name], however, was a different story. The young girl had chose to wear one of her fanciest fall outfits; a tight white turtleneck with black fitted jeans, a pair of knee-high leather boots and a black fur vest brought straight from a vintage shop. She had wanted to bring her designer bag to really impress but was talked down by Bakugou and simply wore a leather pouch.

The two had arrived at the front door of Bakugou’s old residence, and instead of waiting for his parents to open the door, Bakugou used his old key to open the door and walk right in.

When he didn’t see them sitting in the living room like usual, he shouted loud enough so that the two could hear him wherever they were. “Mom, Dad! Your guest is here, goddamnit!”

[name] jabbed Bakugou in the rib for being so loud and uncouth in the presence of his parents. He scowled at her as she put on a quick smile as his parents revealed themselves from the kitchen, covered in flour and various food products. What had they been doing before they arrived? Bakugou shivered at the scary image and wished that he hadn’t conjured that thought in the first place.

“I’m so sorry, my dear! We were preparing a cake for dessert when Masaru here decided he wanted to have a little food fight so we kinda got out of hand.” Mitsuki laughed as she mindlessly dusted off her stained apron and then went to take it off.

“It’s fine! I’m just so excited to meet you two after so long.” [name] gushed as she was led to the couch by Mitsuki’s welcoming hand.

Bakugou wasn’t sure what to do or say in these types of situations and just stayed quiet until he was asked a question or prompted to speak, which Mitsuki and Masaru made sure of real quick.

“So, dear, tell us about yourself. We’ve only heard so much from Katsuki, who refused to let us get to know you for some reason,” Mitsuki sneered, “I mean, if this is the woman you’ve decided to be with possibly for life, then why shouldn’t we know about her?”

“Maybe because it’s none of your damn business about who I date!” Bakugou growled defensively.

The tension between mother and son was thick as Masaru and [name] sheepishly watched as the pair glared intensely at each other as if their life depended on it. They didn’t know what else to do but sit and observe as the two battled it out through the fierce looks in their eyes.

Mitsuki was the first to retaliate, not wanting to waste the precious time that she had with her possible daughter-in-law. “Sorry about my son, [name]. I can only imagine the stress he puts you under daily back at the dorms.”

[name] laughed as she watched Bakugou’s scowl grow in annoyance and rubbed his knee in an attempt to calm him down. She wanted to get along with his mother but not at the expense of making her beloved angry.

“Actually, when we’re in the dorms, he’s much more considerate and kind to me and our friends than he wishes to be. I love him regardless of whether he’s a stick of dynamite or sizzling firecracker.”

[name] moved her hand from its position on his knee to cup his reddened cheek and give him a small kiss of gratitude, to which he allowed at first then pushed her away though he did keep hold of her hand.

“TT.”

Mitsuki and Masaru chuckled at the display and couldn’t have been more happier for their troubling child as he finally found someone that helped to control the rage inside of him. Kinda like how Masaru was for Mitsuki back when they were still young.

“I’m glad to hear that, honestly. I hoped my son would swallow that pride of his and step up to the plate sometime before he left high school. I’d hate for him to end up like his mother at that age.”

“Wait a minute. So you’re admitting that the reason why I’m like this,” Bakugou gestured to himself, “The sole reason is because of you?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it makes it seem as if I put a hex on you.” Mitsuki faked a pout, earning quiet snickers from her husband and [name]. The dynamic between the two was just too entertaining not to watch.

“YOU PROBABLY DID, OLD HAG!”

Despite all the arguments and violent tendencies, [name] was glad she got to meet her boyfriend’s parents. It made her excited to see some of what was to come in the future if Katsuki decided to put a ring on it after graduation. And plus, she’d get to watch the frequent mother-son duo brawl it out with Masaru, who was surprisingly full of many jokes and had much in common with her. 

Katsuki had better wife her up too or else he’d have to face the wrath of Spirit, in addition to Mitsuki. The thought of such team-up was more scarier than that Samara bitch from the Ring. 

[shiroganc]

INTRODUCTION.

   To start things off, I just want to say, I’ve been writing Shiro for a  while.  I made this blog less than a month from when the show first premiered, and before then, wrote him on Skype (ᴛʜʀᴏᴡʙᴀᴄᴋ) with some friends. I’ve spent a  lot  of time in this character’s head space. I was here for every development as the seasons pushed forward, and took pride in integrating every detail into the way I wrote him.  Even when I had doubts in how the show portrayed him, they were justified  ——  for instance, Shiro not feeling like himself in seasons 3 through 5, to find out the clone theories were true.  I’ve always felt the show did an insane amount of justice to this character.  I’ve always felt the creators put their love and devotion and careful consideration into every step they took with him, therefore, I stayed as true to the canon as I could.  He’s a character I connected with, a character I related to, and a character I wish I could be more like.  Over the past two years, I’d been praised on how  canon  my Shiro felt. How the dialogue felt natural for him to say, how his actions and decisions genuinely felt like something the character in the show would choose.  I like to believe I am familiar with the character.

    I understand he wasn’t really  meant  to make a return.  When they killed him off in season two, he was meant  to stay out of the series. Even then, they found a way for his return to feel natural.  I brought further development with his relationships between other characters, showed us bits and pieces of his past that we had never seen before, and even explored how his future would differ from his previous endeavors all while following the same path.  Season six and seven were an emotional joyride for Shiro fans, and to this day hold some of my favorite content the series had to offer.  When I attended  NYCC  and JDS told the audience his favorite Voltron moment was when Shiro activated the ATLAS because of everything it meant for him  ——  Shiro’s perseverance, his adaptability, his strength, his leadership being taken to the next level  ——  I couldn’t agree more.  I believed they would continue to serve this character justice, and I couldn’t wait to see what else was in store.

                    That being said,  these qualities I love in him felt a bit  cheated  with Season eight.

SEASON EIGHT.

    The last season had plenty of moments I loved ; but instead of feeling like something the creators poured their hearts into, this season felt like a hollowed out husk of what their original vision may have been.  I understand the creators never really had full control over their content, and Dreamworks had pulled their punches, and I believe the show’s finale gravely suffered for this.  None of this hurt is directed toward the cast, the producers, the animators, or anyone else who worked so hard to bring the content to us.  Without them, I would’ve never been able to even  be  this deeply invested in Shiro.

    I never wanted to be a canon divergent blog.  I never desired to stray away from how the character was meant to be perceived.  Aside from some crossover and OC shenanigans, all of his behavior and canon stayed intact.  I wanted to preserve everything I loved in him in the first place.  But after being unsatisfied with the ending of Season eight, I’ve decided against following his conclusion solely for how out of character this felt for him.  This doesn’t mean I don’t believe anyone’s opinion is invalid.  If this was a perfect finale for you, I would never want to take it away or argue your happiness.  But as I plan to continue writing Shiro, I need to differentiate what I intend to keep for his canon.

   Shiro has traditionally been viewed as the  STRONGEST  character on the team.  When digging deeper into his psyche ( and honestly, some really obvious moments on screen ) there are plenty of moments we see  WEAKNESS.  All of these moments felt justified in one way or another  .  He wasn’t a damsel in distress, but all the same, was never an invincible knight.  With physical and mental restraints, I still saw the character shine.  Season 8 seemed to throw that concept away in various moments.  We never see Shiro’s physical ability ( aside from a filler episode’s arm wrestle ) , and are sometimes even betrayed. I don’t mind seeing Shiro get knocked down, but a major part of his character is  getting back up again.  

    Whatever way you view Shiro and Keith’s bond, their relationship is a major point of the series. The entirety of season two up until the end of season six allowed us to see their bond as something beyond confined limits, something that quite literally transcended life and death. There are countless moments where these characters confide in one another, rescue one another, and fight for one another.  To see all of this lead up to not a  SINGLE  conversation in season eight was a bit boggling.  Even as brothers, as a ship, as close friends,  however  you see these two, Keith and Shiro’s relationship was the strongest between the Paladins. To see them so far apart when every season before they were beside one another felt like an utter betrayal, especially after the reveal of Shiro’s sexuality  —  as if Shiro couldn’t have  any  kind of close attachment with another male character in the show , especially after the  ❛ I LOVE YOU ❜ being such a pivotal moment in the series, and honestly, in animation history.  It is rare to see two male characters be able to confess any kind of love ( familial or romantic ) explicitly.

   Shiro didn’t fight this season.  Shiro barely spoke to Keith, or in that case,  any  of the other Paladins. He felt like he was degraded to how the fandom’s meme vision declared him the ‘ father ‘ of the group, and therefore, lost a ton of character in the process.  I was ridiculously stoked to see him at the helm of the  ATLAS, as I thought this would be the peak for a character I’ve devoted so much time to.  Although I saw him take the helm in a few scenes, it was his characterization that was sacrificed.  There is a  big  difference between a character’s arc being  concluded  and it being  erased.

THE EPILOGUE.

   I won’t be keeping Shiro’s written off ending  ——  this includes the relationship, and his departure from the Garrison crew.  I don’t plan to retire Shiro or incorporate that relationship into his canon the way I did with Adam.  I would rather not get too deep into this.  If you liked the ending, that is entirely fine.  Just don’t expect to see that content on this blog. 

CANON DIVERGENCE.

Shiro and Keith’s bond strengthens after what happens at the cloning facility.  He does directly bring up memories as they begin to flood back from Kuron’s time with the Paladins, including Keith’s confession. He would throw himself  immediately  into the line of fire to save Keith given the opportunity. 

After the events with Haggar, Shiro stays at the helm of the ATLAS for as long as he can as their ADMIRAL , traversing the universe and patching warring nations. He fulfills his dream of exploring the universe all while devoting his time to helping others, while keeping enough time for his own mental health to repair gradually.

Depending on what ship I am writing, Shiro maintains his relationship aboard the ATLAS.  With almost every pairing I write, his significant other is either  already  part of the ATLAS,  Team Voltron, or finds a spot within the ship’s crew.  Although he doesn’t make any drastic sacrifices to his own desires and dreams for the sake of a relationship, he learns from past mistakes and takes time to devote himself to be at their side. 

The  ATLAS  maintains a close relationship with the Blade of Marmora, and assist their cause to provide resources and rebuild what had been lost to the Galra Empire.  After ten thousand years of submission, there is a  lot  of work to be done. 

Pretty much everything I am considering veering off the show’s canon takes place after the end of Season 8, and some points during.  This all depends on how much whoever I am writing with kept from Season 8 as well, so if you have any questions, I will clarify. 

[thebibliomancer]

Mythologi-Girls short: For the Dinosaur Who Has Everything

It was the second snow of the year in Colossopolis. First snow had come in July thanks to a weather control device built by the Flurry Fury. These things happened in this city.

But with first non-machine assisted snow came Maria Martinez, the Marvelous Mariposa’s annual secret gift exchange.

Those that ranked superheroes solely by powers might dismissively say that Mariposa’s only power was the butterfly wings growing from her back which gifted her flight. And sometimes sleep or poison powder that could be dusted from those wings, depending on era. Superhuman physiology could be startlingly inconsistent.

But Maria Martinez, the Marvelous Mariposa’s true superpower was alliteration. But also networking. She was friends with nearly the entire superhuman community. Even gruff loners with no friends who ‘work best alone’ like Nemea, grudgingly counted Mariposa as a friend.

She was the big heart of the Exemplars, the amazing, spectacular, and pick an adjective assemblage of heroes dedicated to protecting the world, Colossopolis, and the world again, for good measure. There was no mightier league of defenders on Earth than them.

Even the Mighty League of Defenders from the 40s would gladly admit that the Exemplars were, well, exemplars.

And this reputation owed to Mariposa’s efforts at building a bond between the team so they weren’t just some high profile heroes sitting at the same table. And she claimed that the secret to that was team building activities. Which included, among other things (such as an annual baseball game against another hero team), secret gift exchanges during the happy holidays.

So there came a day, like many others, where Mariposa herded everyone into the lounge where a variety of different holiday decorations signaled that this was certainly the most wonderful time of the year, as the bard said.

She did a quick headcount. There was herself, obviously.

Shieldmaiden and Jerboa sitting next to each other on a couch. Shieldmaiden had been vocally against letting the ex and sometimes current thief join the team and had kept a close eye on her while at headquarters and on missions.

The Archimage was on a mission to the space between spaces and probably wouldn’t be back until spring. Or he might arrive before he left. The space between spaces was odd like that. Filling in from the regular kind of space was Zxyqb, the alien enchanter. As in, the alien who was an enchanter, not an enchanter of aliens.

“I do that too,” he said with a triple wink. And then preceded to clarify that he meant romantically.

Out of kindness to human tongues, he went by Z or Q for short. He was the Archimage’s sometimes enemy, sometimes apprentice, and sometimes godfather. Space was also odd like that.

Z was sitting on top of the tv because ‘lol doesn’t understand human culture’ was the aesthetic he had chosen for this iteration of himself.

Founding member Al Wight, the Cobalt Champion, sat in a special reinforced end chair that could support his war machine of a body.

Last but certainly not least, not an official member of the team but still valid: Hank Higgins, Two-Fisted Science Adventurer. He had been Mariposa’s husband back in the day when it felt like they had to marry someone and it may as well be a friend. Now he was the Cobalt Champion’s boyfriend slash mechanic. And also a two-fisted science adventurer.

He had pulled a chair next to the Champion’s.

“Is this everyone?” asked Mariposa, shaking the top hat of the Mystifying Legerdemon. The hat had been an extra-dimensional storage space but after the Exemplars had freed the magical Hardaway Bunny from within, it lost its power and was now just a fairly fancy hat in the Exemplar trophy room and part time storage for slips of paper with names on them.

“There’s Clever Girl upstairs,” said Cobalt Champion. His servos hummed at the lower bound of hearing as he shrugged. “She’s not on the team but she is a house guest.”

“You know the unspoken rule for house guests. If they sleep on our couch, eat our food, and fight our home invaders, they’re close enough to team to participate in activities and chores.”

Mariposa told the HQputer to contact Clever Girl in the labs. In a nanosecond a link was formed between the vidscreen in the lounge and the one in Clever Girl’s special machine lab. On the activated lounge screen, a Compsognathus face loomed large sniffing at the corresponding screen curiously.

“Get down! Get down from there!” cried out the high-pitched synthesized voice of Clever Girl. The pink-feathered velociraptor spoke English only thanks to a device implanted in her throat. “You learned to beg at mealtime, you should be able to learn that you are not allowed on top of that!”

A floating mechanical hand, controlled by a device around Clever Girl’s wrist, picked the Compsognathus up and placed it on the floor.

She noticed the active vidscreen and the Exemplars staring at her on the screen.

“Naughty Thing!” she shrieked at the off-screen Compsognathus. “This is what happens when you sit on control panels! You activate vidscreens and lasers with your butt!”

“Actually, we called you, Clever Girl,” said Mariposa.

“Oh, hello allies of Cobalt Champion. Very busy currently. No time to help fight colorful rival tribe in human streets. Very busy.”

Clever Girl had learned that explaining exactly what she was busy with would be met with bafflement from anyone but the most science inclined. She had started imitating excuses she heard from others but after a few parroted excuses like ‘I have to wash my hair’, ‘lady troubles,’ and ‘I have been framed for murder by my dark reflection’, Clever Girl had decided that it was safer to just stick with ‘very busy.’ Which she repeated to emphasize the level of business.

Only two ‘very busy’s was fairly promising.

“If you’re only very busy very busy, would you like to join us for the first half of the secret gift exchange?”

Clever Girl tilted her head in confusion so Mariposa explained the concept. And then explained it again. And then had Cobalt Champion explain it. And then forbade Jerboa from explaining it.

Mariposa wouldn’t have thought it would require so much explanation. But Clever Girl was a velociraptor from a lost world who was made super-intelligent by a glowing meteor.  You just couldn’t assume the same life experiences.

In the end, Clever Girl agreed that it would be faster to just experience it in person.

Clever Girl doubtfully hovered her helper hand over the hat in Mariposa’s hands. It delicately hovered lower and plucked a scrap of paper from within.

“And what do I do with this now? Do I eat it?” the velociraptor questioned. “Ha ha, that was a joke. I do not eat random items anymore. But first question was serious. What do I do with this now?”

“You read the name inside and keep it a secret.”

“Oh, it has writing inside. … I have read the name. Now what?”

“Now you have until the end of the month to get the person written inside a gift.”

“In this context, what is a gift?”

“Its… like, a present. No, that’s a synonym!” Mariposa chastised herself.

“I should obtain a… synonym?” The voice synthesizer was sophisticated enough to convey the skepticism.

“Okay. A gift is a nice thing you give someone. Something that you think they’ll like or something you think they need. You either make it or buy it but…”

“Yes, I have no money,” Clever Girl confirmed. “But I am good at making things. I can make something for the name written on this paper. Yes. Much to plan, much to do. Very busy. Very busy. Very busy. Very busy-”

And the very busy’s trailed off as Clever Girl walked out of the lounge, pondering and planning.

“Okay so apparently we have a dinosaur living in the tower, that’s cool,” Jerboa said. “Thirteen-year old me would be thrilled. But hey: I have experience with mad scientists from heisting and such and it is usually a red flag when they get that absorbed into a new project. Should we have… clarified like a size limit or a…. megaton limit?”

“Why do you hate fun?” asked Zxyqb, dismissively.

“How dare you.”

“Alright, alright,” soothed Mariposa. “Try not to piss off someone that might end up getting you a gift. And also: I shouldn’t have to say this but no spite gifts.”

She passed the top hat around the room and everyone selected a scrap of paper. The hat was passed back around to Mariposa and she took the last one.

She unfolded it, read it, and frowned.

Clever Girl.

This was going to be difficult.

“What do you get the dinosaur that has everything?” Mariposa mused.

“A storage unit?” suggested the Cobalt Champion.

The two heroes were on the moon, fighting a rabbit-person with a hammer. At some point, probably right before the end, it would all start to make sense, but now the two heroes were just going with the flow.

The Archimage had indeed returned before he left but had only had time to shout “MOOOOOOON!” before vanishing.

This morning, Mariposa and Cobalt Champion retroactively remembered that happening three weeks ago. Nonetheless, they flew to the moon to check it out. Given that the Moon was fairly big, it was astonishing that they ran into something the first place they looked but that’s the life of a superhero.

The Champion blocked a hammer blow that pushed him back, furrowing the ground. His retaliatory blow sent the rabbit-person soaring into the sky. Less impressive than it sounded due to the lower gravity.

“Why are we fighting rabbit people on the Moon?” the Champion wondered. “What happened to fighting bank robbers with gimmicks?”

Mariposa dodged another one of the rabbit-people, juking to the side and sticking out her leg so the over-enthusiastic moon lapine sprawled into the dust. “The economy?” she opined.

The Champion laughed, a harsh staticy sound. Another moon rabbit took a swing at him so the conversation lulled for a bit.

“I guess you got Clever Girl for the gift exchange,” he eventually said.

“She is hard to shop for!” Mariposa wished she could fly. This fight would be easier with some mobility. But physics are physics and they were on the no-air part of the Moon. “She likes building death machines, likes eating meat, and likes her pet Things. But outside of that…”

“She’s only known about human civilization for half a year,” the Champion said. A hammer hit him in the head and he paused to throw the offender. “It was very overwhelming for her. Discovering a whole world outside her valley. I tried to ease her into some movies but…”

Mariposa spotted a glowing whatsits half-buried in the Lunar dust. It was clearly some magical nonsense so she dove for it. Once she lay her hands on it, she felt a tingle pass from it through her gloves and then the rabbit-people were gone.

Well. Hopefully this made sense at some point, Mariposa mused.

“Wait. You didn’t start her off with Jurassic Park, did you?”

“It was Hank’s idea,” the Champion said, defensively.

“Don’t pass off the blame,” she chided. She patted some dust from her spacesuit. “How’d that go?”

“She went off and sulked somewhere after seeing the velociraptors.”

Mariposa wondered if seeing unfeathered giant shrink-wrapped versions of herself had hit the uncanny valley hard. “So she’s probably not going to be keen on movies. And we probably shouldn’t let her learn about society from media anyway. I wonder if I can just get… pet sweaters for her two compies.”

The Cobalt Champion held out an all-purpose radiation/magic/etc blocking containment unit for Mariposa to drop the glowing whatsit into it. “Well, they’ll like the gift even if she doesn’t. In that they love tearing at fabric.”

“I had wondered what happened to the curtains.”

A week later, moon nearly forgotten (Z had explained it but Mariposa hadn’t understood the explanation and had eventually stopped asking follow-up questions), Mariposa was stopping an eerily luminous legion of little dolls from robbing a bank.

It was that kind of whiplash - going from fighting aliens from an alternate dystopic moon one week to stopping a semi-automated doll heist - that kept life fresh. Some superheroes complained about how repetitive the life got, fighting the same villains month to month. Mariposa did not have that problem.

The doll heist ended as these things must inevitably. With a woman in a turquoise dress in handcuffs.

After a brief fight scene - page or two tops, if that's how you’d measure it - where Mariposa had to dodge the surprisingly agile dolls and their tiny knives, she pulled down a hanging advertising banner and used it to round up the dolls.

They would cut through that eventually so she took the bundled dolls and locked them in a filing cabinet.

Dolls restrained and bystanders not in danger of receiving tiny stab wounds, Mariposa found the Turquoise Fairy watching nearby.

She immediately offered her wrists when she saw Mariposa approaching.

“Coming quietly, Turquoise Fairy?” asked Mariposa, locking the handcuffs around the offered wrists.

“I do not agree to that name,” said Abella Guignol. “I don’t know why the press dubbed me that but I don’t agree to it.”

“You always wear a turquoise dress and you bring dolls to life like that movie,” Mariposa said.

“I wish! There are cell phones from 90s smarter than these semi-automated idiots!”

“What were you doing here today? I didn’t think robbing banks was your MO.”

“MO-st certainly not!” Abella scoffed. “I’m above scrabbling for money like the colorful idiots you fight. I’m an artisan!”

“Who sends dolls to attack superheroes.” She picked Abella up and flew her to the bank.

“It's the best way to stress-test them.” She shrugged and booted the filing cabinet open. She snapped and the dolls obediently climbed out one at a time and stood in a line. “Tsk. You broke Denver’s head.”

“Consider her stress tested. So what were you doing here today?” Mariposa repeated.

“Well, I’ve been working on their object recognition. I showed them various coinage and then sent them out to gather coins. From fountains and the street. Wherever.”

“... So you had them scrabbling for money?”

“No I- When you put enough layers- it's different when its an experiment, clearly!”

“And you, Abella Guignol, alias Turquoise Fairy, programmed or taught or whatever your little wooden robots to prioritize efficiency.”

“I wouldn’t personally term them robots. Seems reductive.”

Mariposa sighed. “So you taught them to prioritize efficiency so they went for a bank to hit whatever small change goal you set for them all in one go.”

Abella also sighed, but with much less frustration. “The dears do try so hard to meet my standards.”

“And since you were nearby, I can only guess you saw that the ‘experiment’ had gone off the rails but decided to watch instead of course correct.”

“If I hold their hands-”

“Their tiny, creepy hands,” said one of the bank tellers, coming out of hiding.

Abella narrowed her eyes but continued on. “If I hold their hands, they’ll never learn.”

“What am I going to do with you, Abella?” Mariposa shook her head.

“Historically? Take me to a cell for a couple hours until I can be deported back to the realm of magic.”

“So this is what monotony feels like,” she mused.

“Well, I for one enjoy our talks,” Abella deadpanned. “I do of course feel....”

“Sorry?”

“Well, more embarrassed. Is there anything I can do to make up for it?”

“I’ve been trying to think of a gift for a friend and she’s a hard shop. I don’t suppose you know Clever Girl?”

“Is she the purple one?”

“Pink.”

“Then I don’t think so.”

“She’s a dinosaur.”

“Maybe a damsel?”

“I think that’s dragons.

“Oh. Well. I always say that you can’t go wrong with a nice doll?” Because of course Abella would say that.

“I don’t know that she’s particularly into dolls but… You wouldn’t happen to do commissions would you?”

“Hm, well I don’t typically but for a good acquaintance like you who I’ve inconvenienced, I could make an exception. Do you need it soon?”

“By the end of the month. Probably not enough time for you-.”

“Oh, I could make a quality doll in a week. Not to brag but I’m a peerless craftswoman,” she bragged.

“Oh!”

“But gathering the materials would take some time. I’d need the first moonbeam of spring and I’m fresh out. And wood from a blood-blooming tree.”

“Okay. But what if you made a not-magical doll not made out of murder tree?”

Abella cocked her head and looked at Mariposa like she had suddenly started gibbering. “What would be the point of that?”

Mariposa was flying patrol over Colossopolis, on the lookout for ne'er-do-wells or a nice bagel, when a shadow suddenly crossed overhead.

The butterfly-winged hero reflexively dodged the taloned divebomb that crossed where her flight path had been.

There was another blue blur towards her so Mariposa looped to dodge. She ended the loop with a midair axe kick that nearly missed the winged woman who reared back flustered to avoid the attack.

Harpy of the Mythologi-Girls paused, her strong brown and tan wings keeping her stationary for a moment. Her expression changing from fluster to determination.

Mariposa could barely get out a “Giving up after two tries?” before Harpy’s uniform again blurred into a blue streak and Mariposa had to dodge another rake of her taloned feet.

It had become their thing, testing their respective airborne agility against the other. A creature of the air her whole life, Ciel- Harpy, was the superior six out of ten times. But the other four, Mariposa managed to surprise her and earn a look of awe.

And that was the second greatest reward.

After Ciel was satisfied with the back and forth, she flew down to land on a rooftop and gestured Mariposa down. No sooner had Mariposa’s boots crunched gravel, Ciel engulfed her in wings and planted a kiss on her.

And that was the greatest.

“Next time, you surprise me,” Ciel demanded.

They sat down on the roof ledge. Ciel put one wing around Maria like a blanket and nuzzled her head into Maria’s shoulder.

“You’re cuddly today,” Mariposa noted. “We usually mess around in the air for longer before you want to snuggle up.”

“Haven’t seen you around much lately.” It may have been a reproachful statement. It was hard to tell with Ciel. She was a soft-spoken woman of subtle expressions and long stares at the horizon.

“Sorry, busy month. Had to go to the moon to prevent… still not sure, actually. And then there was some other stuff. It’s always something or other.”

“We’ve been investigating a weird orange present stealing goblin,” confided Ciel. Where we meant the Mythologi-Girls team. “It turned out to be Ginger. Someone had shown her the Grinch. So she got Ideas.”

Ginger being the Teumessian Fox of legend. Early in her career that might have weirded out Mariposa but she was dating a harpy these days so weird was the new normal.

“How’s she working out?”

“She’s fun,” said Ciel. Not answering the question, not really. “You’re preoccupied. I can practically hear your brain ticking away. Tick tick.” She tapped Mariposa on the forehead with each tick.

Ciel was perceptive, for all that she seemed absentminded.

“A little preoccupied. I’ve been trying to think of a present to get Clever Girl for the Exemplar gift exchange. No luck all month.”

“Clever Girl? That pink proto-bird? I don’t know much about her.”

So Mariposa explained Clever Girl in brief. How a velociraptor had been exposed to a glowing space rock, became super-intelligent, was alienated from her kind by her intelligence, tried to capture Cobalt Champion a couple of times to reverse engineer him, how she ended up in Colossopolis after chasing the Champion, had a breakdown at discovering intelligent non-dinosaurian life, and had ended up living with the Exemplars.

After she recapped all of that, Mariposa was surprised to find Ciel crying.

“You okay?” she asked, pulling out a handkerchief.

“Yes. Sorry. Yes. I didn’t think I’d ever empathize so much with a proto-bird. When I appeared in this modern world, I had no direction, no family, no friends. I was a monster of the gods with no task and no gods. I was lucky to be found by M.A.G.I. I was lucky to help found the Mythologi-Girls. It sounds like Clever Girl had a similar situation. She’s lucky to have you and the Exemplars.”

She leaned harder against Maria who put an arm around her. They sat together, warm despite the winter wind.

“Okay,” Ciel eventually said. “Buy me a sandwich?”

After a month of trips to the moon, struggles against supervillains, one rather polite alien invasion, one rather less polite one, and a living statue that broke into Exemplar Tower for some reason, it was finally the day to exchange gifts.

Provided the emergency alert didn’t go off, calling the Exemplars into action. But it hadn’t so far.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Jerboa announced, disappointing Mariposa and her magical hat full of numbered slips.

Jerboa stood up and shoved a small wrapped box at Shieldmaiden. “Surprise, I’m your secret admirer!”

“Gift giver,” said Mariposa.

“Potato, potahto,” Jerboa said, flapping a hand dismissively.

Shieldmaiden took the box and shook it cautiously. “If this explodes…”

“Why, I would never!” Jerboa said, jumping behind the couch.

Shieldmaiden sighed but nevertheless ripped the wrapping off and opened the box. Inside was a very fancy comb. Shieldmaiden raised an eyebrow. “Well. Thank you? I sure hope you didn’t steal this.”

“I would seldom ever!” Jerboa protested. “For your information, I sold my thieves tools to buy that!”

“Well, unqualified thank you then. I will be sure to use it once my hair grows back.” She took off her hat and as said, her head had been shaved.

“Gasp! I sold my thieves tools to buy you a comb but you shaved your head to buy me a primo thieving tip? How gift of the magi of us!”

“No I- wait, how did you know that I drew your name?”

“Oh, I rigged the drawing so we’d get each other.”

“So next year Jerboa isn’t allowed to touch the hat,” Mariposa announced.

“That just means I’ll have to think of a way to rig it without touching it. Challenge accepted.”

“I shaved my hair to donate to one of those kid wig charities,” Shieldmaiden said. “I got you this.” She handed Jerboa an envelope.

The ex and sometimes current thief opened the envelope. “A gift certificate?”

“Its like money. You can buy your own primo thing.”

Jerboa moped.

Zxyqb floated off of the television. “Then I shall go next, shall I?”

Mariposa dumped out the hat. It’s time would come another day.

The alien enchanter extended thumb and forefinger on each hand and held them in a rectangle. He drew the hands away from each other to make a larger and then larger rectangle until a large box appeared in the shape.

Zxyqb pushed the floating box towards Mariposa. “For you, beautiful chairwoman, a token of my esteem.”

Mariposa opened the box. There was an alien skull inside with razor sharp teeth and an elongated cranium. “Is this real?”

“Of course. Only the worst space knave would attempt to pass off a fake. It’s a great challenge to beat one of these beasts in close combat and preserving the skull is no mean feat either. By possessing this, the galactic community will know that you’re the kind of person who could manage such a task, or has the respect of someone who could, … or bought it at a souvenir stand.”

“Okay. Thank you. What am I supposed to do with it though?”

“Paperweight?” Zxyqb suggested.

Mariposa put the skull down. “Okay, so who wants to go next?”

Hank Higgins, Two-Fisted Science Adventurer raised one of his two fists. “I drew Z’s name so I’ll go.” He pulled out an envelope with a gift certificate. “Sorry, I didn’t know what to get you. You drink music to get intoxicated and have six eyes. Your ways and biology are literally alien to me.”

“That is true. The way my liver functions doesn’t correspond to any of the physical laws of this planet. But thank you. I shall take this money and spend it on a hat. Love a nice hat. Did you know Earth is known as the planet of hats to the greater universe? Have a devil of a time cracking lightspeed but your hat technology is light years ahead of most planet’s.”

“I……. did not know that.”

“And that knowledge is my gift to you.” Zxyqb tipped an imaginary hat. “Who next then?”

“Since it seems we’re doing some sort of chain, I’ll go next,” said the Cobalt Champion. He pulled out a small box and passed it over to Hank Higgins.

Hank opened it up. “A reservation card?”

“Since I was lucky enough to draw your name-.”

Jerboa snorted.

“-Or because someone rigged it.” A synthesized sigh. “I scheduled us a fancy dinner date night. You always do say we should go out more.”

“I do. But you can’t eat. So until the date, I’ll spend every moment in my lab writing a sense simulation program so that we can both enjoy our night out,” Hank Higgins said, putting an arm around Champion. “Even if was sinisterly arranged by a former master thief.”

“Pfft, ‘former,’” Jerboa said.

Nobody stepped up to volunteer. “Who drew the Champion’s name?” asked Mariposa. She ran through the names that had already gone. “Clever Girl?”

The labcoated velociraptor looked up from a small computer she had been working on. “Oh. Apologies. I had been watching, of course but when I got what I feel was the gist of it, I decided to multitask. I have been listening. It is now time to present my gift or present to Al, yes?”

Clever Girl stood up and gestured at a massive and lumpy wrapped object bigger than a person. “Please, unwrap it.”

The Cobalt Champion tore the wrapping loose, revealing… a big piece of technology, vaguely weaponlike.

“I built you a proton cannon!” Clever Girl explained.

“You sure did.”

“Why not try it on?” she suggested.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to do inside… city limits.”

Clever Girl moped.

Mariposa reached behind her chair and pulled out a box. “By process of elimination that leaves my gift for you, Clever Girl.”

The dinosaur turned toward her.

“I kept asking myself ‘what do you get the dinosaur that has everything?’ and, well, open it up.”

Clever Girl tore open the box and pulled out a bomber jacket with an Exemplar E logo on the shoulder. The jacket had been heavily tailored to fit the velociraptor.

“And what is this?” she asked.

“The Exemplars used to have team jackets. Back in the 90s. And there were still a few spares in storage so I had one altered for you.”

“I see.”

“I hope you like it.”

“If she doesn’t want it-” Jerboa started before Shieldmaiden elbowed her.

“The reason we wore these jackets was that the 90s were a very chaotic time for the Exemplars. Weird changes in powers, personal drama, clones, things that seemed important at the time but didn’t really go anywhere. And in a small way, we wanted a symbol of stability, that we belonged somewhere and that people had our back. I kept asking myself what to get you because you have all the science stuff you could want, a nice lab, and two… pets? But someone reminded me that only very recently your whole world changed. So I just wanted to give you a token to remind you that the Exemplars are here for you. We have your back.”

Clever Girl stared at the jacket. “I am really quite moved! Thank you, Maria Martinez. I shall try it on.” Her floating mechanical helper hands helped her into it. “I appreciate your token. It may be outside the rules of this gift exchange but I got you a token of my own to thank you for my residence here.”

The helper hands dropped a box in front of Mariposa. She opened it up and pulled out a weapon looking red-colored pod-shaped machine.

“This is the prototype I built to test of concept the proton cannon for Al.”

“So, a kind of proto cannon?”

“Try it out?”

“Not inside!”

The emergency alert went off. Shieldmaiden ran over to a console. “A spaceship has just landed in the park. They are… demanding we turn over all of our snow?”

Mariposa stood and pointed. “This looks like a job for… THE EXEMPLARS!”

“Maybe bring the proton cannons?” suggested Clever Girl. “Also safety goggles. And some mild radiation shielding.”

[hopeishappinessff]

Holding Onto Hope: Chapter 36

Narrator:

Embarrassed. Humiliated. A laughing stock perhaps? No… no one was laughing. Final conclusion… an utter disappointment. He prayed for an escape… prayed that maybe he could somehow melt away into the cushioned chair he occupied. Or disappear into thin air, if at all possible. He wanted to simply spontaneously combust, because this was entirely too much to bear. Sure, he was aware that a day would come that someone would actually explain to him… him. He was a complex mixture of a human, he knew that. But now that the day had arrived for him to better understand just how complex… he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thrown up yet.

Through pursed, paper thin, pink lips, she sighed and kept her eyes trained on the healthy stack of papers splayed atop her shiny desk. His eyes were cast downward, but he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. He just knew he didn’t have the guts to look at either of them. Dr. Stevenson… or Dr. Yates. She was visiting him on a flat screen today, but for the first time in a long time… he couldn’t look her in the eye. No… not while they were both attempting to apparently ruin his life, yet again.

“Manic-depressive illness or manic depression… commonly known as, bipolar disorder. This disorder is characterized by extreme mood swings that include emotional highs, or mania and hypomania, and lows… depression. During the mania or hypomania phases, the patient will endure extreme euphoria, you will feel full of energy or unusually irritable. Hypersexuality, also referred to as compulsive sexual behavior or sexual addition, can also exist as a sign of the disorder and is described as a dysfunctional preoccupation with sexual fantasies, urges, or behaviors that are difficult to control. Episodes of mood swings may occur rarely, or in your particular case, multiple times a year and they will affect your sleep pattern, energy, activity, judgment, behavior, and ability to think clearly.” Dr. Stevenson read from one of the papers, now held captive between the tips of her fingers. She continued to pause occasionally between paragraphs, as if waiting for him to say something. But, what was he supposed to say? What could he say? What words could be said to make anything about this situation better? Yes, he was aware of his diagnosed mental illnesses. What he was not aware of was an ‘explanation session’… a dual therapy session with the sole purpose of explaining to him exactly what it was that he would be living with for the rest of his life.

“Dissociative identity disorder or DID… a severe condition in which two or more distinct identities, or personality states, are present in – or alternately take control of – an individual… often described by some, as an experience of possession. One can also experience memory loss that is too extensive to be explained by ordinary forgetfulness. DID reflects a failure to integrate various aspects of identity, memory, and consciousness into a single multidimensional self. Usually, a primary identity carries the individual’s given name and is passive, dependent, guilty, and depressed. The alters’ characteristics – including name, reported age and gender, vocabulary, general knowledge, and predominant mood – contrast with those of the primary identity. Certain circumstances or stressors can cause a particular alter to emerge. The various identities may deny knowledge of one another, be critical of one another or appear to be in open conflict. Possession-form identities often manifest as behaviors that appear as if a spirit or other supernatural being has taken control of the person.”

His chest was heaving, he was desperate for air… and for her to stop talking. Though his eyes were squeezed shut, he could feel the emotion brewing behind his lids… burning the corners of his eyes… itching to be released. He wasn’t even sure if she was still reading from that damned paper or if his desperation to stop hearing her truths was loud enough to drown her out, but he certainly could not hear her anymore.

“Dr. Stevenson…”

She tilted her head upward only a centimeter, but her eyes raised completely and her brows bent in the corners when she noticed Christopher sitting there, hyperventilating. It was the stern voice of Dr. Yates who finally shut her up and her heart rate immediately catapulted when she realized her patient was nearly on the verge of passing out.

“Christopher!” She half yelped, half gasped… because now his face was as red as the shiny polish on her fingertips.

“Dr. Stevenson, please…” Again, the melodic, firm sound of Dr. Yates voice was what planted Dr. Stevenson’s bottom in her chair, because she was well on her way to fleeing from the room to call on Richard and perhaps a few other security guards. She’d been on edge with this particular patient, ever since the failed observation therapy session that almost landed Dr. Yates in a hospital last year in December.

Dr. Stevenson cut her eyes sharply in the direction of the flat television screen and her lips pursed in an almost non-existent manner as she waited for further instruction from Dr. Yates. She sighed delicately and removed the glasses from the bridge of her nose, staring at the young man through the screen as he continued to struggle to compose himself.

“Christopher…” He tensed at the sound of her voice and held his breath completely until she diffused him, “Open your eyes.”

It was magical almost, the way she so easily delivered a polite command and his body responded before his mind could fully comprehend what she’d said. His eyes parted and blurred in an instant, because the tears were prepped and ready to fall, but just that easily… she’d soothed him into opening his eyes. Like the expert she was.

“Lift your head.”

Like a pained old man, he gradually lifted his head and eventually, his blurred vision had no choice but to lock eyes with her. She wore a smile on her gracefully aging face and when he saw it, he temporarily forgot that Dr. Stevenson was still in the room… staring at him cautiously.

“How are you feeling today?”

He went to drop his head, a natural reaction he’d inherited lately under the… circumstances. But Dr. Yates was quick to lift a question brow to accompany her smirk, catching his attention before he could confide in the back of his eye lids again.

Clearing his throat, he sniffled and sighed, not even bothering to acknowledge the tears rolling casually down his flushed cheeks “I’m… alright.”

With a sudden look of confusion, Dr. Yates tilted her head curiously and blinked a few times “You’re… alright? Are you sure?”

Nodding, he finally surrendered to the overwhelming urge to drop his head, but this time he kept his eyes open and simply watched the tears trickle into his lap.

“Well, if you are alright… are those happy tears that you’re crying?” She asked, confusion lacing her words.

Suddenly he became unnecessarily mesmerized by the tears he shed, but really he was just too ashamed to acknowledge the real reason Dr. Yates was questioning him… she knew he wasn’t alright. He constantly internally praised her for being so incredibly intelligent and vigilant, so he knew she knew… he was not alright. But he was embarrassed by that thought… embarrassed to admit that the response he’d just given her was really just a cover for the truth. He felt like a complete and utter failure. Here this woman was, reading directly from his personal file and dropping the truth on him in a way he could have never been prepared for. Dr. Stevenson always seemed a bit rough around the edges to him and she never seemed to be one to have much sympathy for a person like him… but in this case, could he really blame her? She was simply doing her job, explaining to him in detail exactly how fucked up he was.

“Chris, if you’ll just let me finish…” Dr. Stevenson began to ramble, but Dr. Yates was always one step ahead.

“Sara,” She cut her off quickly and politely, like a car in traffic with a driver kind enough to toss a hand up to acknowledge they had indeed just cut someone off, “If I may?”

Dr. Stevenson look peeved, annoyed that someone was doing her the courtesy of shutting her up and stopping her from sounding like a heartless witch. She sighed firmly through her nose, but obliged to Dr. Yates request by slowly lowering the piece of paper back onto her desk.

“Christopher… if I may?” She was asking for his permission now… permission to continue on with the dauting task of verbalizing just how much he sucked as a human being. With a quick glance up at the screen, he sniffled once more and nodded his head… okaying her to continue on with the torture.

“Now, from my observation Christopher, I’m not so sure if you are indeed ‘alright.’”

He didn’t bother to respond… didn’t even bother to raise his head in her direction again. She was about to call him on his bluff and he had no energy to deny it… he simply was not alright.

“Like most of us, you’ve got a story. And if you’re curious to hear it, from my perspective anyway… your story is quite remarkable,” That certainly got his attention and whether he desired to or not, his head lifted on its own accord and he frowned at her… because surely she was mocking him, “There was once a young boy who, due to a series of awfully unfortunate events, lived a very angry and not so happy childhood. He witnessed turmoil beyond his control… turmoil that no human, let alone a child, should ever have to witness. And often he felt compelled to step forth to take action against the turmoil… because it involved his family, his mother. He would do anything to protect her, even at such a tender age.”

“Christopher, I want you to understand something… that young boy, filled with anger and not so happy feelings, who was undeservingly stripped of his happiness and forced to endure a life style that some fully matured men have never experienced… that is your story. And sometimes, in order to protect itself… the human mind will create its own chapters in order to ensure you are able to stay on the path of your story. Your mind created its very own protection against the chaos around you, because it was all it could do to survive. Thus, your altered personality was born.”

Born. The way she spoke of it, of Kin… the way she explained him and his ‘birth’ was rather relieving to him. Somehow, she made it make sense. Because she was indeed an expert.

“This entity became a safe haven for you, but in turn… he would often wreak unnecessary havoc on those around you, because the sole purpose of his existence has always been to protect you… which allowed you, so you thought, to protect those around you. Even as a child, your alter existed namelessly. He became your strength, your courage, your ability to stand against anyone you believed to be a threat against you and your family. But then… one day… a small bundle of happiness pulled into the driveway next door. She stepped foot from that car and swarmed you with an almost foreign feeling of peace… of genuine joy. That’s a feeling that we all crave, isn’t it? Joy? But for you, that feeling had become so foreign and forgotten… the moment you recognized it for the first time in your childhood, it became addicting. Overwhelmingly so. Sy’Diyah… Hope… she charmed her way into your life by simply moving in next door and from that day on, you couldn’t get enough of her, the way she made you feel whenever in her presence, the pure love that you could identify with that seemingly only she could fill you with, the peace… oh the peace and the solace. It was truly an addiction.”

Addiction was right. His eyes shut again and this time he managed to conjure up an entire image of her perfect face, perfect skin, perfect eyes, perfect smile, perfect hair. He imagined her right there in front of him, her sweet smell wafting around him, as addicting as it was. Her stare twinkling as she smiled lovingly at him. Her bump… the baby bump, protruding directly at him to remind him of the love they shared. He missed her, incredibly so.

“Even now, as you sit and delve into the many memories and images you’ve got stored solely in her heart for her… you feel it don’t you, the peace?”

He nodded finally and sniffled hard, because he could feel the tears brewing again “Dr. Yates I… I miss her.”

“Understandably so Christopher. Please, open your eyes,” He obeyed, parting his lids to her magical charm, “You are here, in this facility, away from your loved ones and away from the one true love of your life… because you deserve to be the greatest version of you that you can be. For them, but most importantly for you. You are not to blame for the misfortunes of your childhood or for your minds natural response to the turmoil in your young life. Had your remedy, your altered personality, not been born… I am honestly not sure that you would have flourished to be the young man who sits before us today… I’m not sure that you would have survived.”

Chris had never thought of it that way. He stared at her through burning eyes thoughtfully, pondering the thought she’d just ignited in his mind. Had his altered personality not been born from his real-life chaos, would he have survived? Was he really too weak to stand on his own as a man… was Kin seriously all of his strength?

“But Dr. Yates, his file clearly discusses in detail his lifestyle before moving off to Georgia for school. It doesn’t make much sense to me that you don’t believe he would have survived in a lifestyle that he willingly chose to live.” Dr. Stevenson finally managed to find her voice after she too became deeply enthralled in the sultry sound of Dr. Yates explanation.

“Who said it was done willingly Sara? Who said any of it was done willingly? The violent habits and the entire lifestyle created solely by the alter, the excessive desire for multiple women and sex, which as you just read is a direct characteristic of the bipolar disorder… combined with the DID… these occurrences are not done willingly. Even the slightest hint of vulnerability and weakness from Christopher, and Kin has always been the direct result. I’ve examined Christopher’s case from top to bottom, inside and out. His diagnosis is simple enough, but once closely observed, more complex than I’ve ever studied. Christopher and his alter are nearly two separate beings, if not for the fact that they indeed share one physical form,” Swiftly turning to face him, she wore a grave expression that nearly startled him, “The most interesting observation during this process… your alter doesn’t even respond accordingly to your dosages. The only reason you’ve been able to avoid blacking out in your recent sessions is because of the months of intense psychotherapy that has been forcing you to focus. You see, the top priority in your case is not to necessarily treat any symptoms, because truthfully that is nearly impossible… but rather educate you in the art of focus.”

Dr. Yates was indeed correct, Chris had been on a daily regimen with the psychotherapy sessions since his last black out and truth be told, he’d been doing an outstanding job. In every way that he could, he’d been non-stop focusing. Whether lying flat on his back on the sterile cot in his room, counting the small specks decorating the tiled ceiling. Or sitting in a corner in the recreation room, tuning in only to the faint sound of the clock ticking on the opposite side of the room… even over the chaotic sounds of the other patients sharing the space with him… he always made sure to focus. And it helped, it truly did help. The tactic, surprisingly instilled by Dr. Stevenson, aided him in his quest to control his thoughts, which allowed him to keep control of his own emotions… and more importantly, it allowed him to remain in control of himself.

“And, of course, the additional dosages of Zoloft. Synced with the focusing strategy, I believe it’s been a big help…” Dr. Stevenson muttered.

“You are correct, to a certain degree,” Dr. Yates noted, “However, the medication is only used to address the depression, anxiety, and it suppresses any anger. Unfortunately, we have to remember that the alter may not always respond to it.”

Eventually, Chris noticed that his tears had completely subsided, though he was left with an aggravating afterburn along the brims of his eyes. What was really the point in crying? It was upsetting to hear such negative truths about yourself, but he mustn’t forget the focus and dedication he’d put into this entire process in the span of a few months. Several of his psychotherapy sessions had been much more intense than others, some often brewing emotions within him that he often felt as if he could not control. But, as Dr. Yates had mentioned, he had been in control because he had mastered the art of focus. In fact, he’d been so consistently focused and if he had nothing else to be proud of in this precise moment in his life, it was that small fact. It was quite a huge accomplishment for him because for the first time since he could remember, he was absolutely in control. He smiled at the thought.

--

Chris

I may have been crazier than I thought, I wasn’t quite sure. But I tried not to dwell on that because then I would really start to believe it and I felt like that would completely change me as a person. I didn’t want to change… I just didn’t want to deal with these illnesses anymore. But if they continued to set me up in these sessions with not only one doctor physically sitting in front of me, but one on the flat plasma screen TV right beside her as well… I would have no choice but to know that I was insane. I was pretty positive no other patient in this institution had to endure their therapy sessions quite like this, but this is what they thought it took to get through to me.

Shifting my gaze from Dr. Stevenson to Dr. Yates, who’s bright and beaming face sat perfectly aligned in the center of the flat screen television, I sighed softly and shifted awkwardly in my seat. They were both watching me curiously, waiting for me to tell them why I thought I should be released from this sterile prison. I fiddled with my fingers and looked past the flat screen and out the window on the other side of the office. In all honesty, I didn’t know why I should be released or… if I should. I mean, I felt like I was making progress… no, I was sure that I was making progress. I was putting forth a serious effort to get myself together because I did really want out of this place. But the real world… everyday life… the place right outside of the hidden barriers of this building… it scared me. Petrified might have actually been a better term. Yes… it petrified me…

“Christopher…” Dr. Yates was speaking now and the sound of her voice alone never failed to capture my attention, so without further ado I turned my head slowly to face her… or the screen that she was presented to me on, “Are you afraid to leave?”

Lord where did this woman come from? She wasn’t even technically in the same room as me, yet she sat there and read right through me like her office was located in the middle of my mind. I could feel Dr. Stevenson staring at me, just waiting for me to give her something to write in that little yellow notepad. But, as usual, I trained my vision onto Dr. Yates and readied myself to respond to her and I even kind of pretended that Dr. Stevenson wasn’t even there. She wasn’t who I wanted to talk to… she never was. I’m sure she knew it too, thus the extravagant television set up with my therapist on it.

“In a way… yes.” I muttered.

“Why? Why are you afraid to leave the institute?” Tearing my eyes away from the screen, I peered at Dr. Stevenson from the corner of my eye and refrained from frowning at her question. I hated the way she spoke to me so… so… typically. I mean, sure it was her job to ask me questions and understand the gist of me and all that jazz… but in my opinion, she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know how to be in tune with her patients like Dr. Yates… she didn’t know how to do anything like Dr. Yates.

“I just am.” I turned to look back out of the window and decided at that moment that I would no longer be addressing that woman. This was a session between Dr. Yates and I and she… she was just filling space in the room.

“You’ll be leaving on a fresh slate… and you know that, you’re okay with that… aren’t you? The fear here… lies in the prospect that your fresh slate will be tainted by the horrors of the outside world… please, shut me up at any time and tell me that I’m wrong Christopher… you know not to be afraid to correct me.” She said, laughter mixed softly in her last statement. Smiling to myself, I slowly shook my head to not only indicate to her that I would not stop her because she was not wrong… but also because I could almost feel Dr. Stevenson tensing in her seat. In reality, she sucked and the more Dr. Yates took over these sessions with me virtually, I’m sure she was beginning to understand that more and more.

“So essentially, you’re not afraid to leave… you are afraid to come back.” Dr. Yates finished her observation and I glanced from her to the other occupant of the room, because at this time I didn’t feel as though she deserved the title of doctor, and nodded my head. “I just… I don’t wanna mess up again.”

They were both writing, jotting down whatever it was that they concluded from what I’d said. I could never understand the purpose of the notebooks and I never much cared for them. I was focused on the hand across the table from me writing quickly like I’d just said a mouthful and almost didn’t hear Dr. Yates speaking through the television.

“Would you mind, Dr. Stevenson, if I had just a moment of time with Christopher?” She asked. Her question surprised us both and while I sat still in my seat with raised brows, Dr. Stevenson turned to face the TV before glancing back over her shoulder at me and smiling tightly.

“Sure… take your time.” She didn’t even bother to look back at Dr. Yates. She simply rose swiftly from her seat and glided quickly out of the room. My eyes remained glued to the shut door for a moment as I absorbed what’d just happened… she was in her feelings, because a woman miles away from us just gave her the boot from her own office. I almost snickered aloud, but Dr. Yates cleared her throat and got my attention before I could.

“Christopher…”

“Yes ma’am?”

“No formalities now,” She chuckled, “How have you really been?”

“I’ve been good… better. How have you been?” I smiled.

She smiled in return “Why haven’t I thought to excuse that woman long ago?”

We both laughed, but softly because I really didn’t know how far Dr. Stevenson had ventured away from the door.

“I have been very well, thank you for asking. I haven’t had a successful opportunity to speak to you one on one since your very last session here at the school with me. I wanted to pick your brain a little off record, if you don’t mind.”

“No… I don’t.” She sat there smiling for a while in her signature pose with her hands crossed onto the surface of her desk. It didn’t really look like she even had the notebook in front of her anymore and for that, I was thankful. She really was only interested in having a completely off the record conversation with me… and in a way, I was kind of excited about that.

“I’m sorry that I could not actually be there with you, but you seem to be doing exceptionally well. Communicating comfortably and more frequently… that is phenomenal.”

“I guess.”

“You guess…”

“I don’t really like it here… the people.” I explained slowly.

“It’s not a comfort zone for you. That’s understandable. But you are doing wonderfully during your time with Dr. Stevenson. I must commend you there.” She beamed.

“Thank you.” I smirked.

There was a moment of silence that left me with my head down, unable to face her piercing stare, and I thought maybe she was waiting for me to speak again… so I did.

“Dr. Yates… I-I never got to apologize to you for what happened when you were here…”

“I cannot accept that apology.”

Quickly raising my head, I eyed her with furrowed brows and opened my mouth to speak, but… no words came out. What? Did she really just say that?

“You cannot apologize for something completely out of your control. What happened that day in our therapy session… that was something that you could not prevent, even if you tried. I don’t want you to feel remorseful in any way for actions that were not yours.”

I felt myself nodding as she spoke and though she was right, I couldn’t ignore the regret for what I did that day… but it did also feel a bit strange apologizing on behalf of that other side of me. I didn’t even know what’d happened… until they forced me to watch the footage. And as I sat there staring at the gray image of myself stalking around the room at her, eventually corning her and threatening her in a way that made my stomach churn, I knew I had to offer her an apology as soon as I got the opportunity to.

“I wanted to give you an update, about Hope.”

All the sadness and memories of that last therapy session with Dr. Yates went right out the window the moment I heard that name. Hope… my Hope… my heart.

“What’s wrong with her?” I blurted.

She laughed softly and shook her head as she watched me visibly flinch in my seat, nerves clearly on end “Nothing at all. She’s doing wonderfully… very focused on her studies now. Perhaps a bit too focused, but she’s doing well non-the-less.”

“That’s good…” My voice drifted off for a moment as I thought briefly about her face. Her beautiful face and her pink and always pouted lips and her cute baby hairs that wisped with even the slightest wind and her wild mane of hair that cascaded all over her head like a golden waterfall…

“She’s about eighteen weeks along… and she glows like a ray of sunshine every time I see her.” My heart sank… I hadn’t expected her to discuss the pregnancy. As I said before, I knew she knew that Hope was pregnant, but I guess I completely forgot that she was there with her and I was not and there was a high possibility that they were still in contact in my absence.

“How is the baby? Does she even know what she’s… we… does she know what we’re having?” I didn’t even know I was capable of speaking this fast again because everything I did in life now seemed to be done leisurely.

Dr. Yates seemed to catch onto that because I caught the smile on her face that almost looked like a proud mother watching her child take its first steps.

“The baby is fine… and healthy. She does not know the sex… because she prefers to wait for you to find out.” That right there… those words right there, lit me up from the inside out. I felt like the sun itself would consume my entire body and beam right through my chest. She wanted to wait for me to find out what the gender of our baby was… she wanted to wait for me for something in life period? That made me feel like… the proudest man on earth. It made me feel like standing up and running through the rest of this treatment program so I could get the hell out and run all the way to Georgia to her. She was waiting for me… she was still thinking of me… she hadn’t left me behind.

“Christopher,” Her voice snapped me out of my frantic and joyous thoughts and I blinked rapidly as I turned my attention to her, “My goal here is to help you. You being in this institution will not benefit you… you being out there, in the real world, with your loved ones will.”

The rapid blinking stopped abruptly and I damn near stopped blinking altogether as my heart began to race while I waited almost impatiently for her to go on.

“There is a deal in the works at this time and nothing has been finalized, but… I am working very frivolously to have you released into the care of your mother. There is an entire case pending and I’ve been preparing all things necessary to present to the board of the institute to prove that home treatment would better suit you.”

My eyes shut while she continued to speak. I’m not even sure what she was talking about, something to do with this case that was pending against me, but the only thing my mind could focus on was what she’d said about me being released. I had to repeat a mantra in my head… don’t get your hopes up… don’t get your hopes up… only for these people to let you right back down. But I would simply be lying if I said my heart didn’t flutter with anticipation.

“I cannot make any promises, but I can guarantee you that if you do your part… if you continue to excel in your sessions and you continue to maintain your cooperation with Dr. Stevenson and with whatever regulations they implement for you… I will do everything in my power to get you home.”

Mentally I tattooed those words on my brain and held onto them dearly… there was no doubt in my mind that I would hold up my end of that deal no matter what.

[barker11wind]

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