#my bi-yearly drabble

[the-redhead-in-a-dress]

SNW Drabbles (PikeUna)

Just something that's been in my notes app for months and I've never done anything with. I think my idea behind this originally was La'an had turned little in an accident and Chris and Una looked after her before they could turn her back to her regular self. And that this experience made them realize that perhaps having another little one of their own wouldn't be too bad...

________

Christine was ever the professional when one afternoon the Captain came for his bi-yearly physical looking more hesitant than his usual confident self. She had thought nothing of it at first, thinking he was just a little embarrassed that she'd be the one doing his examination. Usually, MBenga covered the Captain's physical but sickbay had been swamped with an unusually high caseload of a rare Andorian flu and he was flat out covering all the patients. So Christine had offered to cover his scheduled check ups for the week.

It was only at the end of the exam in which the topic of his sexual health came up that the Captain's nervousness was explained. She had to have similar conversations about sex with over half the crew multiple times a year, often with many she considered personal friends as well as colleagues. So the nervousness positively radiating from Chris as he sat on the biobed didn't phase her in the slightest, right up until the point in which he mentioned that he would be declining the birth control shots he'd been receiving since he was 16 years old. That was interesting.

She buried her head in the PADD to tick the decline box next to birth control, desperately trying to keep a composed expression before looking up to meet the Captain's eyes.

“This is going to be awkward Sir.” Christine said. “But I need to ask, are you sure about this? The consequences, have you discussed this with your sexual partners.” 

“Partner” Chris clarified with a chuckle. “And yes, we are both fully aware of the consequences that come with coming off of birth control, that was, uh, kind of the point.” Chris’ face turned red as he tried to explain to Nurse Chapel without stuttering.

“I wish you luck Sir. You and Number One will make very cute babies.” She said nonchalantly as she wrote a note in his file on the PADD she was holding.

“I uh didn’t say who.” Chris' face slackened at the mention of Una. They'd been trying to keep their relationship on the down low, and their recent decision to try for a baby was definitely not something they wanted to advertise yet. They were both fully aware their ages meant that their chances of procreating weren't guaranteed, but they had agreed about giving it a go and seeing if it worked out. Their recent experiences with La'an as a toddler had been the spark behind their rather unexpected decision. The experience of caring for her together had led to both of them realizing that the presence of a small child in their lives was something that they actively enjoyed, and now missed now that La'an was back to her usual self.

It had been scary trying to broach the topic with Una, having known her stance on children since they were in their early 20s, they're cute but not something for me. However, halfway through his ramblings Una had cut him off and actually asked him whether he wanted to have a baby with her. He had not so articulately stuttered a yes in response and then they had stood in his kitchen grinning at each other like idiots for several full minutes.

Even the thought of it now, a baby, a Chin-Riley and Pike baby, brought a wide smile to his lips and they hadn't even really started the process yet. Although there had been lots of practice already, because they'd never want anybody to accuse them for being underprepared for anything, in any facet of their lives, professional or personal.

“Firstly, it’s obvious the way you look at her," Christine couldn't help but a grin escape her lips as she responded to the Captain's comment. "Secondly I think La’an will literally kill you if you have a baby with anybody that isn’t Una. And thirdly, I already had to have this conversation with Number One last week and nobody else on this ship except from her has come to let me know they’re willing to procreate anytime soon." 

“Ah, okay."

Not to embarrass him further, Christine turned away from the Captain and moved towards the matter synthesizer in the corner. She played with the settings for a moment before replicating a few vials of what she needed. As she handed them to him she noticed his hands were slippery with sweat.

“You might want to take these supplements every morning, to increase sperm production. I’ve already started Una on something similar to increase her chances of ovulation.” 

“Okay, thank you.” He said awkwardly, hopping off of the biobed in the private exam room.

“Good luck Sir,"

The Captain nodded at her and thanked her for her time and help, before quickly escaping out of sickbay.

Christine shook her head as she watched him leave. Did she just wish one of commanding officers luck in having sex with her other commanding officer? This ship was weird. 

[bhelni]

Posthumous Troubles

Sweat beads on a brow that twitches in a frantic effort to take every last inch of the sterile room in. She’s been here for weeks now, beleaguered by the beaten grey wallpaper and all of the faces it shouldn’t have churning therein. The first few nights here had been rife with struggling, wrists belted to an iron bed frame that no longer creaked when she moved on it, favoring instead a steady croon. She’s too tired to writhe against it now and this has earned her the small kindness of having her arms belted behind her back, transforming her into an inert worm that makes its home atop scarlet sheets. Her only comforts can be found in its hues. The situation is difficult, if you asked Hawu how she got here she’d not be able to tell you very much, only that she wanted to be senseless, that that would surely be better than being made to see.

So afflicted is she that the sweep of leather over her forehead is an unwanted surprise. While she spends time marveling over the idea that she has been sneaked up on, the glove is at collecting sweat in a careless smear before skidding down to seize the curve of her jaw, turning her attention from a fleshy growth clawing its way toward her across the boards and up to a face she can’t readily make out through the haze creeping in from every direction. There is wondering to be done as to why Walter has returned to this room, perhaps to yell again? Hawu had scuffed the floor in a fit the other morning, it wasn’t very becoming of her and he had told her so in no uncertain terms. He’d been irate but implementing discipline at the time was, for all intents and purposes a moot point. There are more weighty things to worry about than scuffed floorboards, like young women who’ve got one foot in the grave and the other in madness. “We aren’t feeling any better tonight are we, poppet?” Without very many years under her belt, Hawu can’t hope to be very wise but she knows well that sleeves aren’t supposed to slither up and touch her face. This one billows just beneath her stare and it’s cause enough for her to shuffle violently back against a wall in an effort that nearly knocks every last bit of air from of her lungs. Shrieking is too much work for an already tatty throat so she just hums in that ungainly way that frightened folk are wont to do, a low roar along the mattress and mussed sheets while she rolls to face the wall. Hair gets tangled in a gloved hand, fingers raking along her scalp to reach along the ridge of a cream colored ear. “Be still, girl. The time for madness is all gone to bed, we haven’t any of it left to linger. This is a gift that you’ve got to learn to wield.” Catching a feeble arm, Walter uses it to drag her across the sheets back to the edge of her bed while she cowers. “You’re in need of a bath, food, and drink. See now, we must resume your studies, commit to the rest of our good work. If we stop now it will all have been for nothing.” The words she finds are hard won. Finger wriggle uselessly for the work. Once found, they aren’t the words she’d originally searched for but they arrive on her tongue all the same, bustling out clumsily over a tongue that would rather tie itself into a knot. “I am unfit for it. Never have I felt this cold before, so terribly mad. . . ah, like death.” Ever since she emerged from her own Becoming, Hawu has been without warmth. There is a cold that belongs not to winter’s teeth nor voidal sneers that has stolen away into her marrow to build up a residence in her ribs that grows outward and into every last part of her. It isn’t the sort of chill that makes the bones ache and creak but rather an absence within her that leaves her feeling particularly hollow. This discomfits her for the fact that she’d been warmer before, at the very least she had certainly felt alive, or she thought so. It’s difficult to remember. She feels a lot like her skin has been replaced with tissue paper, all sensations against it having been amplified by scores. Perhaps she’s been left at the bottom of a pond in the form of a stone swathed in soggy paper. Hawu hangs on that lonely idea until a fond croon stained in the hues of worry interrupts her slump. “At this time I can’t return any part of what I took from you. The ritual isn’t able to be reversed, I’m afraid. Even if I wanted for it, you will never be the same as you were before you entered the pond. You’re fit for it, there are merely adjustments to be made.” Walter is drowned out by a choir that turns ceaselessly overhead. Winking lights obscure a face that bends her way, mouth on her temple, her own begins to yawn open while ears slick back. “I want to wither, let me alone.” So he does, he lets her alone for quite some time and wither she does, wasting away atop a bed of scarlet sheets until her tongue is swollen and cracked, stomach calling ceaselessly for relief while she swims in the dream sea she’d been thrust into unprepared. Death thinks to come with bitterness but before anything can truly break away she is heaved from the mattress and dragged out into the hall by belted limbs. His shoes are a muddled clatter on the boards and once her heels skid along the velvet runner Hawu knows she has not been afforded the kindness she seeks. There is no tolerance left in her mentor. He’s saying something but her head is under water, eyes empty as she instead drinks in the sight of a procession of trouping spirits that rise like a storm in her wake. They’ve been talking to her lately, whispering along the soles of her feet, reaching for her knees, weaving through fingers that have grown black due to the incessant clinging. Alarmingly, they’d grown to be more amicable, less so in the way of excitable screaming, dimming down to a murmur of encouragement. She must live, they are desperate for it, harboring a desire to be seen by not just anyone but herself. Being scrubbed is an ordeal. Hawu hasn’t been taken to the tub in quite some time but the water is comfortably scalding. After the bath, she is painted and combed and dressed in black, jeweled so that she can be sat in the hall with a head of curls that slowly begin to spring back up from their wilted state to sit fondly about her face, a riot of off-white mist to crown her head. There’s a ribbon that gets lashed ‘round her throat to hide the cuts there and her hands are left mercifully to their own devices. A violent thought crawls into the back of her head to take root and throb where it gets ignored and made livid in the face of exhaustion. There are better things, like drinking cups of water and eating savory fruits. A fatty steak gets cut thin that loomed over by a concerned Walter who informs her that she isn’t to get up until she finishes every last bite and she obliges him with a misplaced zeal. When she begins to feel sick, she sets her cheek down atop the table. There’s a quivering mass of limbs settled in the chair opposite her but she’s ignoring it, opting instead for lowering her lashes to consider the fork that speaks of being handled poorly by the scullery maids. It tells her that it feels as if its tines are crooked so Hawu counts them and murmurs that they are not crooked but just a bit too shiny. Yes, there will be other meals. She’ll visit with this fork, she promises. Their conversation is interrupted by a stern: “I won’t let you wither.” Hands creep across an aubergine tablecloth, feathering fingers out along the faint patterns sewn into it. Her belly is too full for her to wither now. “I know that.” But everything still aches, doesn’t it? “I would very much like to not hear it again.” Up until now, Walter has been able to provide unto her every last wish her heart dares to harbor in its curves. He is a magic man of divine providence who just so happens to be benevolent with his wealth. Hawu had always imagined that there were Gods that wore masks. At times, the face on the mask happened to be Walter’s but tonight it’s faceless. You see, Walter has lost a lot of his magic in these weeks. He holds no palpable warmth in his hands, life winks out like dying candlelight and while he can silence anyone on the estate he still hasn’t any authority over what he can’t see. A feeling sinks in her, it tells her that there are a lot of things that Walter can’t do, that there are things that he won’t ever be able to do. It doesn’t sit right but it grows louder and louder until Hawu realizes that yes, it must be so. He is just a man, isn’t he? No God whose tongue is the law with hands that can turn all of Hydaelyn with a flick of his wrists but a man. Just that. And he is a very, very bad man, isn’t he? After being helped to her room Hawu finds that the sheets have been changed in their absence, no longer a comfortably scarlet but a hellish white state. He’s got to belt her arms for sleep but she reassures him that she doesn’t need it done. “I’ve got to be sure.” When left to her own devices the idea of a senseless existence dims and dims and dims. A curl is won by unseen hands, woven along the gnarled length of a bony limb growing from the wall whose joints all rest in the wrong places. It isn’t as bothersome as it had been, kinder now in its efforts to be noticed. When Hawu turns to it, her head is filled with a mudslide of things it means to tell her. Among them is the notion that she can provide for herself, can’t she? She’s never done that before. The thought rattles her out of bed and onto the floor where she rests in a fit of sheets and febrile panic. As it stands, the thought is a meager seed that gets planted in the garden of her madness. There wasn’t any expectation of growth. Perhaps it might bloom at one point or another. In any case, Hawu spends the remaining bells of her consciousness thinking with the thing on her wall. By the time she relents to sleep there are motes of light swimming in her hair, waxy wings and stomping hooves crouched in all corners of the room. It will be moons before she grows used to her new company but for now, it’s a novelty that drains her faster than anything on this dark earth. When night comes it brings Walter with it, he arrives to take her to repeat last evening’s rituals and to add further steps to the routine. Slowly, rehabilitation takes its effect, a thought grows in the back of her head. Life is filched up where it had been dropped and studies are resumed. There comes a time when her arms are blackened with clinging stains, her skin only grows thinner and she begins to smoke at the mouth. Light-footed, gauzy and eerily mystic, she coughs up ink in weaker moments. Nothing sits quite right in her but she has grown accustomed to the displacement. Comfort comes to live in her bones, acceptance arrives not long after. It’s been years now.

In a dark room in the Shroud, a spectre hangs its head and weeps at the desk of a doctor who has taken pity on him. Consumed with a sense of grief he hasn’t ever known, the muck of regret wells up beneath his eyelids and spills over for a thing he can’t ever fix. Time will tell if it’s real or not but at the moment he must devote himself to the work of sucking up tears so that when the door creaks open and a girl with silvery hair wafts in she isn’t made aware of their presence. He wants to do everything that he can to prevent her ruination.

He’s shocked to see them together, disappearing into a leather-bound journal while clothes get tossed to couches. They’ve been shopping, these two. See them, these shining girls with their eyes gleaming gold in the dim. The doctor is Hawu’s best friend and they are at settling into tea and cigarettes and chatting with giddy voices about nothing in particular.

She’s got enough life in her for the both of them.

Hawu likens her to a creature borne of messy things like love. She’ll see the world bend to her and will tear the heavens down in her name should it be asked of her. Build a castle for her—if she didn’t already have one, that is.—break the earth up into little pieces when she isn’t doing the same for her.

She tells her she’s envious of her affliction. The doctor flutters and laughs.

It’s been years now.

Hawu has a father, he's a very tall man that happens to have very long ears too, there’s shadow that clings to the side of his face of her own making. It winds its way down to a stump so that it can become his arm. He speaks to the earth and it speaks back but she hasn’t much of a mind to translate it. They are a simple pair, absolved of their own shortcomings so that they can meet in the middle. He’s good to her, they have some sort of unspoken accord. He won’t ever judge her for the cold.

They lean against one another in a clumsy shamble, having come back from an excursion that has left them both covered in a film of dust. Laughter drains up into a sky so thickly cobbled in starlight that there is nary a space for blackness among it all. It all ends in a fit of coughing and a groan but Hawu still has time for a cigarette. As she pats him down with a kerchief that does very little to help their sorry state, he tells her funny tales.

He makes the world quiet enough to bear.

Hawu tips an ear and says he’s the most human thing she’s ever met. Somehow, it’s a compliment.

It’s been years now.

Walter is dead. Hawu stalks through tall grasses alone, there’s a clump of dirt that has wedged itself in between the heel of her boot and its sole but she hasn’t the mind to pay attention to it. Scrambling up over the dead bark of a fallen tree, she struggles not to snag her gown on its ratty branches.

There’s a mage swathed in black from head to toe that looms down the way, the one she had been selfish with. It wasn’t right for her to want for what she’d done but that didn’t change the fact that she wanted it more than anything. He’d taken to it well enough and while there still yet remains a lot to learn she can sleep well knowing that the gift hadn’t come about by her own hand. It was just a blessed accident.

When she calls out to him, he pivots at an odd angle. He’s got a churlish demeanor but it only serves to tender fondness in her. A  liquor-green stare accompanies an alarming bass that shakes the world whenever he speaks. It arrests her, sets her heart up in her throat, electrifies her bones. They’ve come here to learn and to make fools of themselves while doing so.

He’s in possession of all the warmth she’ll ever want.

Lips tug into a familiar smirk that Hawu mimics. She tells him that there is work to be done.

It’s been years now and that aged thought has bloomed into an entire life.

[unioncolours]

A 3rd Majsasaurus Year ✨

Another Majsasaurus year has passed. This day, 22nd of September 2022 marks three years since I published my first fanfic. After my first year as a fandom member, I wrote my first Majsasaurus Year, and 22nd of Sept 2021, I published my 2nd Majsasaurus Year. Both highs and lows has managed to fit into the first two years and the third year has been a mix of those two.

Let’s see what fandom shenanigans I’ve been up to the past 365 days! Please continue reading if you’re interested 💜

The first fic I wrote after 22.9.2021 was actually a fic that for a long time was just called “the emo au”, aka A Gang of Fallen Stars. Yes, another fic with a sky analogue, but it had to be done, haha. A Gang of Fallen Stars was an angst Shikadai x Inojin modern au whose time period spanned for only a week, a real challenge in my narrative which usually span over months or years in most of my fics. In true 2021 fashion this was partly a struggle as well, as I started to write it already in the summer but had to put it on pause. In October all chapters of the fic were published, and I was satisfied with it, even if I during a re-write would change some of the ending.

After said emo au I dabbled back into smut for a little while and wrote a super soft fic where Saiino had sex. It is called “With your body as my canvas”, and was fairly well received and I remember thoroughly enjoying writing it and the symbolism in it.

During this time, I noticed my favourite ship Shikadai x Inojin had 75 fics on AO3 and I started dreaming of reaching 100 before 2022 would begin. I reached out to my friend SpicedGold and together we plotted to write as many Shikajin fics as needed so we would reach 100 before 2022. We are only two people, so it was a nailbiter to see if someone else would upload fics to help us. Someone might think that three months sounds like a lush time schedule for 25 fics, but if you think so you are privileged with a popular ship, and Shikajin isn’t.

As part of this Shikajin-scheme, I re-wrote a twitter drabble to a fic, May I have this dance? Said fic was another sweet, fluffy modern au about dancing and coming out – as if I haven’t written that already hahahaha. I also re-wrote another twitter drabble to a fic at the very end of December 2021 as a gift to @notquitejiraiya, The Message, which was another dance fic for the boys, which consisted of empowering ideas of representation in Shikajin format. The final day in December I uploaded two fanarts as a work on AO3 as a gift to SpicedGold, a desperate try to get the 99 to a 100 – and we made it! It felt almost as a mini-fandom event with only two members, she and I, and we had tons of fun hyping each other up to write the fics to reach 100.

The longest fic to this ‘mini event’ was a 7k long Shikajin one shot, A study of Emotions, which I am so satisfied with. It’s nothing but an introspection fic, and those who know me, knows I believe I suck at introspection. But what do you know, apparently I am capable of writing a fic that is almost nothing but that!

Besides my common ships I write, it seems almost as if I have a bi-yearly need to write a wlw-smutish fic, and as part of that I wrote a second chapter to my former one shot Another Light, a TemaSaku (Temari x Sakura canonverse) fic. The second chapter gained a lot of traction to the fic, and to this day I am thoroughly pleased with both of them and very surprise of the love the fic recieved. Who knows, maybe you can read in Majsasaurus Year 4 about a possible third chapter to the fic? I might want to write some hot ladies have sex again.

Another one shot received a second chapter too around the same time in November 2021, namely 48 hours to live, a surprisingly well-received short story of only 5k (with both chapters counted), which tangled a canon divergent idea of Shikadai being awake during the hostage-bomb situation from the anime and manga. The fans loved that fic, and I am happy about that.

All in all I published/updated 8 works on AO3 the final four months of 2021.

Those of you who read my 2nd Majsasaurus Year might remember there was a fic, an Inojin-centric fic, I had written in the summer of 2021, but had such complicated emotion towards that it had made me cry a few times. I cried because I believed I would be misunderstood or hated for the fic, I cried over a complicated interaction with two beta readers and so much more. The fic rested for six months – a well earned time I needed to let the story sit inside me  – before I finally gathered the courage and uploaded Let them bloom 16.1.2022 after amazing encouragement from Becks (@notquitejiraiya) and SpicedGold.

Contrary to my negative emotions the fic received amazing feedback and I am grateful I didn’t delete it back when it felt tough.

I also uploaded my so far first and only fic from another fandom! A little pit of pain is a short fluff fic called A little bit of pain, featuring the ship Inumaki Toge x Okkotsu Yuuta from the anime Jujutsu Kaisen, and that fic was written as part of a minibang, the first event outside fanweeks and zines I’ve been part of. It was nice and challenging to write a fic of another fandom, and the fic has a cute fanart attached to it!

You all have probably heard how spite is the greatest fuel to fanfiction? Spite was one of the reasons I decided to write my second fic for 2022. I missed writing Shikamaru x Temari, Shikatema, and I missed writing long fics and I missed writing physical angst, which in my humble opinion is the superior angst (which you know if you’ve read me, he he). During the latter half of 2022 I engulfed myself in fluff and mostly one shots; well-needed after the emotionally challenging summer of 2021, and now I was ready for angst once more.

I had already for a year had the idea of a Shikatema WWII-AU, which setting was in the northeast of Europe, and I decided that 2022 will be the year I’m writing it. I began writing 1.1.2022 and uploaded the first chapter of “no one cries for unknown soldiers" the first week of February. It featured Shikamaru and Temari as nothing but common infantry soldier – they weren’t high in the hierarchy of the army and just did their job; killed people while trying to save their own humanity. But, anyone who has read the news the past half year knows that a war unleashed in late February in Europe, when I had already three chapters published of my WWII-fic. It was frightening to read the news and it felt surreal when I was in the middle of writing a similar fic. Talk about the worst timing ever.

Despite this, I still absolutely loved my fic and finished it, with the final chapter uploaded in April 2022. I have never put down so much work on a fic, as every chapter was beta read. Normally I’ve only been beta read for the zines – short work, and the process was completely different with a long fic. I also both read books and watched movies for the fic. I even commissioned an artwork by @mheerdraws as a fic poster, and I love it dearly.

Despite my own joy in writing and publishing and making my friends cry; it was sure bizarre and at times emotionally heavy when I was “living a war” inside my head as I wrote the fates of the characters at the same time as I feared for the real world. Still, this fic was the first one since autumn of 2020 that I felt proud of. I’ve felt satisfaction before this, but pride is another, much stronger emotion. I was proud of what the war fic became, even if I had to go a bit insane for it.

After the WWII-fic I had talked with my friends a bit of how intriguing it was to give real world ethnicities and nationalities to our beloved Naruto characters beyond the ��poorly researched Japanese interpretation” or the basic north American default (looking at you, high school, and collage AUs). We talked about making the characters Europeans instead and what those settings could do to them. I hosted a 100 followers fic raffle on twitter, and my friend @thespookymoth won the raffle! Based on our discussions she requested Shikajin in Berlin, and I wrote the modern au emotionally angsty but ah so fluffy 5k one shot “I won’t let you feel fear” with the boys being German, which was uploaded in May 2022. So fun!

Summer was on after that. I travelled to Berlin for a week, and it was so fun after having writing about the city in both a historical and modern concept through fics.

Do you hear it, it’s the bi-yearly wlw-need once more calling. Even if I like Temari x Sakura a decent amount I had become very interest in the potential Temari x Ino had, and I knew I wanted to challenge myself with a new format. This new said format is a long one shot – a one shot longer than 15k. I wanted to write one story without breaking it into chapters and this pairing got the maiden try of it. Wind in my hair ended up being 18k words and was a modern au feat smut story of Temari and Ino. This story had also its own somersaults during the writing process, with one draft thrown into the bin after I crumbled with one of my first ideas and had to rewrite the rest. Despite the difficulties behind the scenes, I like how the fic turned out! Not only did I write this pairing during June; I also hosted a mini pride series on my twitter where I uploaded Shikajin, Temari and Ino headcanoned as different sexualities. That was fun!

In late July 2022 I started writing my following long fic. It was time for Shikajin again and I needed and yearned for another longer work do dedicate my writing life to. This writing process was prioritised at the expense of other fun projects and fan events, but that is simply how I work. I can’t write multiple things at once because I don’t feel good having multiple wips.

I lamented my new slowness at writing (compared to the golden age of 2019 and 2020) while working slowly at the new Shikajin fic, but undying support from my friends made it all worth the process. To image them curse at me fuelled me.

Labyrinth of Confusion, my new long fic premiered 20th of September in 2022, as part of my now three-year anniversary. So far only one chapter is uploaded, and I sincerely hope I will look back to this fic with love, compared to whatever I felt after Hope in the Universe. I am lowkey excited. Hopefully my readers will also love it. My friend Soverel was kind to draw me a fic poster as a gift 🤍

So far I’ve written/published 6 works in 2022. It has been a year. I’ve drawn a bit on my tablet and posted fanart of Shikadai and Inojin, I’ve bought one zine and also finished all the work for the Ino-Shika-Cho-zine I am part of, but other than that, my zine career is over. I have continued to nurture my little corner in the form of a small Discord Server together with notquitejiraiya and SpookyMoth and I’ve read fics. I am happier than I was in 2021, definitely, and for that I am grateful – I’ve managed to feel better in my fandom life as well. But being in fandom is a very human experience. I have been jealous, envious, disappointed and angry of fandom related issues, there’s no point in lying. At times I’ve had my account on private when I felt like everyone hated one of my artworks (which was a lie, no one hated it). I’ve muted more words than ever on twitter after reluctantly accepting it's okay to not stomach everything I see. I have had fandom friend separation anxiety, and everything connected to that.

But I’ve also been giggly and happy and have had lovely and silly discussion about my favourite characters and pairings. I have been for hours in voice chats, and I’ve laughed so much and so loudly. I have been in awe of the talent my friends have. I have even had dreams of my fandom friends and I gained a few new ones over the past year. I have let ShikaTema consume me during the spring, I have loved every second of Shikadai and Inojin in the Boruto anime, I have had fun with a new ship from another fandom, and I have kept being Majsasaurus Bex online.

Thank you to everyone who has been on this journey with me. Thank you to those who would join my server even if I was a worm. And those who read my stuff, encourage me, and join in on my silly little adventures. Special thank you go to everyone whose commented my thing and have been kind.

I love you.

-        Bex

[abouttemperedgrace]

The premise and organisations involved

Obviously, large-scale conflict is a must in a set-up that is so ripe for it. So! the content that I have written (that will slowly be edited, updated and re-posted on this side-blog) and will be writing, will include references to certain organisations that facilitate this particular brew of world-wide friction. They are groups that are itching to tear each other down, or at least trying to take each other down a notch. My main characters (particularly the protags, if I may) are part of one or more of these groups and interact with most of them, over the course of their arcs. I am really trying to have no 'black and white' groups. Sure some of them are darker grey than others, but they each are made of individuals and that is something I wish to draw attention to, over everything else. I hope a brief description of these organisations, will help people not feel too lost if/when they follow my content. This is for reference, because I'm not a prolific writer and I do not know how to integrate all my brain creations within the drabbles, I do want to share it nonetheless. The reverse also holds true though, so this might seem a little confusing without the supplementing drabbles. It'll all make sense in good time! (Or so I hope) [Time for things to get just a tad longer ;)] Descriptions are under the cut.

SPAN.CC [Accurately pronounced Span, C C. But fondly (and not so fondly called) Spank. It was an accidental pun that I decided to stick with, some humour in this heavy-conflicty stuff]:- So, SPAN CC is an acronym for a group of companies, who have heavily monopolized their respective markets and then formed a coalition. They're well intentioned and wish to push for more unity amidst mankind and practice a more sustainable way of life. However, they do have disproportionate amount of control and not the depth of knowledge to enact their goals... smoothly. With their fingers, toes (and a lot of other parts) dipped into: Entertainment, education, science, technology, health care, food industry, space travel (and all the resources gathered from there), energy etc etc, they certainly have accumulated a lot of power. With all of that backing and privilege, of course, the right thing to do, is to give back to the community in more tangible ways. So, in the interest of ‘Equanimity, Expedience, Excellence’ S.P.A.N.C.C fund and rebrand the U.N into- The Global Confederate (G.C).

G.C:- The Global Confederate, with 'Conscience. Concordance. Cognizance' sought to redefine borders, demilitarize regions and erase the concept of countries to establish a peaceful, progressive, global citizenry. And they succeed. They did so through political moves like trade blocks and some brute force. Countries were re-labelled numbered Sectors and Regions (more on that later), since that was considered more neutral and more pro-unity. Naturally, no change is without resistance. Civilian dissent through the process and after, was rampant. But, more importantly, in retaliation Quantum Brigade (Q.B) rose like a phoenix from the ashes of this revolutionised global military compound.

Q.B:- Is an organisation that comprises of ex-military folk from all over the world, who, on principle, did not wish to integrate with Global Confederate. This organisation seeks to overthrow G.C and establish a new, global, permanent martial law. Which they believe is a more transparent and honest way of governance, than the facade of merit based democracy that G.C promises to hide its autocratic oligarchy. In this cyclic mess of power-seeking, no spark becomes a fire without folks rising to curtail the inferno. Folks that are not shy to seed themselves behind both the frontline of the war, for their own ulterior motives. So, in an attempt to mediate this tremulous hostility, Spectral Syndicate forms (SpecSyn).

SpecSyn:- Is a clandestine group that operates from within the ranks of G.C, S.P.A.N.C.C and Q.B. They play by their own rules to allegedly prevent divergence from the original, unadulterated objective: A fairer and more egalitarian society. They try and mitigate damage with a utilitarian philosophy. Additionally, they try to curtail the organised crime that has been running amok amidst all this chaos. A particular illicit organisation that flourishes and thrives (barely) under the radar is: The Nexus.

Nexus:- Is a world-wide network infamous for all sorts of illicit activities. Known and yet untouchable, since it is rumoured that the organisation is funded and run by the big shots from the groups mentioned above. Bi-yearly The Nexus organises and manages a very high-profile event called the Bloody Blitz, which is essentially a convention that boasts the latest advancements (legal and illegal). It does so with little to no concern for the safety of the subjects involved in these entertaining demonstrations.